2 Lent
Rev. Lupton P. Abshire
Being Wrong
Romans 8:31-39
Mark 8:31-38
My father loves to tell his war stories – especially the ones that are true! He fought in the
Korean War, many years ago, and has a fixed repertory of tales, most of which are exciting and
funny, and lend themselves to being enjoyed over and over again. There is one war story,
however, that has always caused me to pause and shutter as I considered the fate of the person
involved.
It was 1952, in the midst of the Korean War. The location was the infamous Heartbreak
Ridge. At the time there was a regimental commander, holding the rank of colonel, who was a
stickler for getting things right. Always precise about rules, he also was a military romantic,
maintaining a “gun-ho” enthusiasm paired with a “guts and glory” idealism.
One of the things this commander was concerned about was the communication lines that
ran the length of the forward trenches and connected these crucial defensive positions with the
command center. These vital communication lines were not being properly buried and in turn
were exposed and vulnerable to shrapnel fire and direct assault. Seeing that his directives to
correct this defect apparently were being ignored, the commander decided to teach his men a
lesson on the danger of leaving these lines exposed. So, one day he secretly went out with a pair
of clippers and cut the communication line wherever he found it uncovered.
That very night there was a surprise enemy attack. It began with an artillery barrage.
Then came a direct, fixed-bayonet assault. The G.I.s, now without communications, broke and
retreated in panic, not without a number of soldiers being wounded and killed.
The colonel was quite right about the danger of losing communications with
headquarters, and the next day he was promptly relieved of his command.
What became of that commander, so proud and sure of himself, I wonder? My father
doesn’t know. Of course, his career was over. But what became of him? More to the point:
What became of his heart? What became of his soul? What becomes of anyone who finds himor herself, not just doing wrong, but being wrong?
There is another “war story” I want to share with you this morning. This time it’s not
from the 20th century, but rather from the first century. This war story is of a somewhat different
nature, not because it doesn’t entail battling against an external foe—it has that—but here, in the
Gospels, the primary battlefield is within. The Heartbreak Ridge in this war story is the human
heart, the human soul.
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*
*
Jesus struggled with his disciples. So often it would become dismally clear to him that
they simply missed the point of his ministry. The disciples struggled with Jesus. So often it
would seem to them discouragingly evident that Jesus was not what he should be. And so,
regularly, Jesus and his disciples found themselves in a state of mutual conflict. Jesus found it
hard to understand how his disciples could be so small-minded, while the disciples thought Jesus
was just…too much.
2
And then one day Jesus asked the question that seemed to changed everything. He asked
them, “Who do you say that I am?” The breakthrough came with the chief disciple, Peter. He
answered, “You are the Messiah!”
Then Jesus began to teach. What he taught was that this Messiah, this Savior must
undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the religious authorities, be killed, and…. As he
spoke, the faces of the disciples began to darken. Some looked incredulous; jaws slack, eyes
wide. Others appeared almost nauseous, as if they were on the verge of becoming physically ill.
John put his hands over his face and began weeping.
Peter, meanwhile, began vigorously turning his head right and left indicating his sharp
disapproval. Jesus finished what he was saying: “…then after three days the Son of Man will
rise again.” But at this point it was clear, even if any of the disciples were still listening to him,
no one appeared to be in any condition to contemplate this final profundity.
Then Peter silently stood up with an expression on his face which—combined with his
muscular, intimidating stature—suggested authority and severity. He gestured to Jesus to follow
him to a spot a few yards away from the others, just out of hearing range. Then he faced Jesus
directly and commandingly. Even though Jesus was a bit taller than Peter, at that moment it
appeared to the others who were watching that Peter towered over Jesus. Peter began to speak:
“This must not be!” But before he could completely deliver his order, Jesus suddenly turned
away from him, and in front of all the other disciples, publicly rebuked him.
He said in a loud voice for all to hear, “Get behind me, Satan!” and then slowly turned
back to face Peter, looking him right in the eye. Peter immediately felt a wave of fiery anger
shoot through him. “How dare you!” Peter’s anger screamed out. “How dare you say that
to me!” his emotions echoed within him.
But now his anger turned to hurt, because the more Jesus held him in his gaze, the more
Peter began to realize how truly devoted he was to Jesus, how he utterly respected Jesus, how he
believed in him—and how the two of them were in total opposition.
And then something very strange happened. Jesus was talking to Peter, now in a quiet
voice, saying, “You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” But Peter
wasn’t really hearing him. He had become absorbed in an intense inner revelation. What he saw
within himself was just how much he truly loved his Rabbi, his teacher, his Lord.
His heart was melting.
How very strange. Just a few minutes before Peter had been aflame with rage and
indignation; after which he was like a hot coal, steadily burning out hurt feelings and dimly
glowing with a sense of shame. But now, almost miraculously, an entirely new fire had leapt to
life. Now Peter was aglow with a love for Jesus greater than he had ever known before.
How strange. Even stranger was the joy that had entered Peter’s heart, and the thought
which accompanied it. Peter thought: “I, Peter, am wrong. I am wrong! Praise be to God that I
am wrong—and Jesus is right!”
3
At this point the other disciples began to gawk at Peter. What is this? Has he lost his
mind? He’s dancing. He’s dancing and leaping and singing! He’s like one of those cripples
Jesus healed. The disciples were astounded. They were sure it was all over for Peter. They had
never seen him so enraged. And they had never seen Jesus so…true. So devastatingly true.
Of all the amazing things the disciples had witnessed thus far in following Jesus; this had
to be the most incredible yet.
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Years later, another follower of Jesus, one with a fierce, commanding disposition not
unlike that of Peter, wrote to a community of Christians in the city of Rome, “For I am
convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to
come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate
us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
To that list Paul could easily have added: being wrong.
Father in heaven! Teach us to pray rightly so that our hearts may open up to you in prayer and
supplication and hide no furtive desire that we know is not acceptable to you; nor any secret fear
that you will deny us anything that will truly be for our good; so that the laboring thoughts, the
restless mind, the fearful heart may find rest in and through that alone in which and through
which it can always be found—by joyfully thanking you as we gladly confess that in relation to
you we are always in the wrong. AMEN.
[Concluding prayer by Soren Kierkegaard, 1842]
--March 19, 2000
Christ Church, Georgetown
Washington D.C.