Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea
Philippi,
he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of
Man is?”
And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others
Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”
He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?”
Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the
living God.”
And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of
Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in
heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church,
and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of
the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven,
and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.”
Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell
anyone that he was the Messiah.
***
Who do you say that Jesus is?
Awhile ago we were preparing for a church rummage sale, and
there was in some church closet, a print of a famous Warner Sallman
painting of Jesus. Jesus’ long dirty blond locks cascaded down a fair-skinned
countenance, highlighted by a sharp Greek nose and full pale lips. His beard
also was light, and thin like many of the Portland
hipsters and young men around Baker today, and in like manner if he entered
your house, he probably would look more like our former Youth Director, Luke
Rembold than anything unfamiliar. That is to say that Jesus, in this picture
was totally white, totally like us.
And this is what cultures do. They take images of God and
make them look like themselves. The Braham of hinduism have dark hair. The
Aztec Gods look like tan warriors. The Egyptian hieroglyphics are colored with
brown skin, while in the U.S.
we have often colored Jesus with the Crayola skin color - nude, which is only
our version of nude. This practice of translating the image of God into our own
context is what has helped religions spread, and if this is what is happening,
I am all for it, but I am afraid, in America our image of Jesus has limited our
ability to portray Jesus even our own country’s people, who do not look like
that painting, who essentially do not look like us.
A handful of years ago, some forensic anthropologists began
to research and study what Jesus would have actually looked like. Most likely,
his customary short black hair was coarse and curled, his brows unruly and
thick, his eyes one continual black pupil like my hispanic sister where you
can’t decipher where pupil starts and where it stops. Jesus’ dark weathered
skin and traditional beard would get him stopped at airport security, though
his height and weight would have been un-intimidating, closer to the average of
the time for a Gallilean Seminte man of five feet one inch and 110 pounds. Not
exactly what our Flat Jesus outlines suggest or that Warner Sallman painting.
Likewise, one of these forensic anthropologists was riding in a taxi in New York to present on
his findings and got into a conversation with middle-eastern immigrant taxi
driver. The anthropologist showed the driver the image, and the driver was
shocked, “it looks like me,” he said. And through that divine image the taxi
driver’s view of Christianity became one that could include him. Here the anthropologist
was a disciple saying, this is who Jesus is.
The location of Caesarea Philippi is similar to how New York City plays in
the aforementioned story. It is Caesarea Philippi and therefore Caesar’s city.
When Peter names Jesus the Messiah he believes that Jesus will give the
Israelites political independence. Peter believes Jesus is anointed for this,
like a king to the thrown. Peter believes Jesus will overthrow the Rome, and this is what
Peter believes will be the keys to the Kingdom of heaven. Still today, we
believe that our country, our race, will end up on top. We have a hard time
believing that all of humanity is given the keys. We have a harder time handing
out the keys to others who do not look like us, when we imagine Jesus looked
like someone we know. How can we hand over the keys to the stranger who is held
up in the airport, who is pulled over on the side of the road, who is begging
on the street asking for a ride to the Rainbow Festival. We show them that they
are a kin to Jesus’ image.
We did this when we drew the Advent Windows, that hang in
our Fellowship Hall at Christmas time. There were a handful of tests to make
sure that even with light shining through the transfer paper, that Jesus looked
dark, not light. We wanted those with dark skin to be able to say, “it looks
like me.” We wanted to remind those of us who prefer the Warner Sallman
version, Jesus probably looked more like the immigrant we are not letting into
our country. And how might our image of immigrants, of different races, of
various religions change, if we knew Jesus looked very dissimilar to your
historically white Presbyterian
Baker City
family? How might the racial makeup of our congregation change if we changed
our image of Jesus? When my sister has come to church here, she has noted that
she is the only minority in the congregation. Would she feel more included
welcome if we depicted Jesus more like her?
Because of this, and because who we say Jesus is, is
important, and foundational, instead putting that painting of white Jesus to
sell at the rummage sale, I was walking with it to the trash, when an older
congregant stopped me. She wanted to keep it in the church, she wanted to put
it up somewhere, and I get this, its nice to think Jesus is like us, but I
wonder how thinking Jesus is like us, limits our ability to see he is also like
others, limits others ethnicities different that white, to say, “it looks like
me.” and so that picture is probably back in some church closet again, until we
are ready to throw it away and exchange it for one that looks a little more
like a new-yore taxi driver.
