Isn’t Caesarea Philippi gentile territory? Why is Jesus moving back and forth between Jewish and Gentile territory so much? 

The local prince, Philip, was a son of Herod the Great and thus Jewish, but his subjects were mostly Gentile.

Why would Jesus choose a place like that to raise the question of how people were understanding him and his mission? Still more so, how the disciples thought of him?

Fewer people in a gentile area would recognize him, and he might actually have more privacy. But the gentile location might also remind us that some gentiles—the Magi, the Roman centurion, the Canaanite woman— had already recognized Jesus’ spiritual power. In any case, being out of earshot of Jewish opponents would make a discussion of the subject freer because more private. And Jesus explicitly insists on keeping it private: he “sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.” (vs. 20)

I notice that he asks the question two different ways. The first time he asks about who people say “the Son of Man” is, the second time about “who I am”? Is there any real difference?

We’re already used to “Son of Man” as referring to Jesus (e.g. 8:20, 11:19). Jesus used it as a rather humble, non-committal way of designating himself—almost a way of fending off any grand claims about who he is. The shift to “who I am” acknowleges that the disciples know him more closely and personally.

Well, he certainly gets some odd answers. We talked earlier about Elijah—how he was taken up into the heavens rather than dying and how he was expected to return in the last days (11:14). But did Judaism have some notion of transmigration of souls that would allow people to identify Jesus with John the Baptist or Jeremiah? 

Not officially. In the case of John the Baptist, that couldn’t be right, anyway, since he and Jesus were too close in age. But even Herod Antipas had already expressed the same thought (14:2). The two men’s ministries seemed just too much alike in the way they inspired such large crowds. But people could certainly think of Jesus as embodying the spirit of John or Elijah or Jeremiah or some other ancient prophet without thinking literally of reincarnation. And Jesus doesn’t comment further—just changes the subject by asking the disciples what they themselves are thinking. 

Is Simon being his usual charge-ahead self? Or is he responding on behalf of all of them?

It’s his own idea, I think, since Jesus responds by telling Simon that he, individually, is “blessed.” And the benediction he utters is very solemn, even using his full name: “Simon son of Jonah.” The original Jonah, of course, was one of those ancient prophets that some may have been identifying with Jesus. And Jesus may be hinting here that Simon, too, is filling a prophetic role—perceiving something of God’s will that’s hidden from most people—a hint made explicit when Jesus goes on to declare his words a divine revelation. 

Why does Simon get a new name out of it? Does Jesus do that with anybody else?

Mark tells us (3:17) that he gave an additional name to the sons of Zebedee: “Boanerges” or “Sons of Thunder.” Maybe that had something to do with their temperament. And further back in the scriptural narrative, God changed the name of Abram to Abraham and Sarai to Sarah to mark a major shift in their story (Genesis 17). Here, the name “Peter” (Petros) is a play on the Greek word petra, which means “rock.” If it’s a comment on Simon’s temperament, it can only be ironic, as he will repeatedly prove to be fallible and unsteady. So, this new name is more easily taken as underlining the importance of what he’s just said. 

Did Jesus really believe he was the Messiah?

He praises Simon’s insight; but never in Matthew, now or later, does he use the term of himself. And, in fact, we’ll see that what he meant by “messiah” wasn’t what was commonly assumed. Instead, he redefined it. “Messiah,” which literally means “anointed,” was primarily seen as a royal title, since the monarchs of ancient Israel, beginning with Saul (1 Samuel 10:1), were inaugurated by anointing. And “theMessiah,” in Jesus’ day, would awaken expectations of a longed for resurgence of Jewish independence and military might. Jesus tacitly accepted the Samaritan woman’s salutation of “Son of David.” But his message about the kingdom of the heavens has to do with the power of love, not military might. It’s significant that Jesus accepts the title, even here in Matthew, only implicitly—by praising Simon’s inspiration. 

He does more than that! He proclaims him a rock and the foundation of the church and the possessor of the keys of heaven. 

Yes, it sounds as if Peter has just been named chief apostle, doesn’t it? And Peter seems to hear it that way. But as it turns out, this moment of glory just opens the door for another of Simon’s great pratfalls in the next segment of the story. So what do we wind up with? Jesus is the Messiah—but don’t tell anybody. And Simon is the rock on which Jesus’ “church” (the word refers to the people, not the building or the organization) will be founded; and he has the keys of the kingdom. Yet, he promptly breaks into Jesus’ prediction of his forthcoming passion and death in a way that shows he understands nothing of what Jesus is really up to. So much for possessing the keys to the kingdom!

And what are the keys supposed to accomplish? I don’t quite follow the language about binding and loosing.

It had a technical sense in the Judaism of Jesus’ time, meaning the power to decide what was permitted and what was forbidden in terms of the Torah. Jesus is putting Simon in charge of that. His decisions will be so perfect that they will be not just earthly. They will be accurate reflections of the kingdom of the heavens. It’s the kind of power held by the scribes, priests, and Pharisees who are having so much trouble with Jesus’ message! 

And then Simon gets everything completely wrong?

Yes. From being prophet of God in vs. 17 he’s turned into Satan incarnate in vs. 23. He can’t understand that Jesus’ suffering, as a revelation of God’s love for humanity—is essential to the kind of Messiah he is. He can only understand “Messiah” in exactly the way Jesus wants to avoid: the king who will rule by force. 

The real meaning of Jesus’ Messiahship will be revealed in his suffering and only those who embrace it can be real disciples (vss. 24-26). If my goal is only to save my own life, I’ve missed the point of God’s gospel of love. Only by embracing the vast generosity of God’s love, the way it embraces everyone, can a person lay hold of the future.

Does he mean the Second Coming?

Yes, Jesus speaks of himself—the humble, ordinary Son of Man—as coming again in judgment. Then the Kingdom of Heaven will no longer co-exist uncomfortably with this present age in which the violent rule. The two will be separated once for all. And to be shut out of the Kingdom of Heaven—or, more precisely, to have shut oneself out of it—is the true death. 

Isn’t that punishment an exercise of violence?

It is the divine confirmation of our choices, positive or negative. No wonder Jesus was so disturbed by Simon Peter’s tacit embrace of violence in vs. 22. It was exactly the kind of choice that would exclude him from the kingdom.

But the final verse here goes off in a different direction: “there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.” What’s that about?

It’s a mysterious saying that’s never been really explained. Some interpret it as reflecting an early Christian belief that Jesus would return to judge the world before the last of the disciples present there had died. On the other hand, Matthew’s Jesus is always wary of guaranteeing anything to any individual. Even Simon Peter’s greatest honor was quickly followed by a serious lapse. 

Again, the prediction could be understood as meaning that the Kingdom of Heaven will come in the lives of Jesus’ own followers as they learn to live by the gospel of love. Some dismiss this a “mystical” interpretation. But we know that it can have far-reaching practical implications, as the example of, say, Francis of Assisi shows. The kingdom of love can in fact be made manifest in human lives.

It’s also worth noting that only “some” of the disciples will see the second coming. This sounds like a kind of caution: don’t count on your status as disciples to bring you to the Kingdom of Heaven! Yet again, it might be a foreshadowing of the story to follow, the Transfiguration—which only three of them will witness. Perhaps we should hold onto all of these possibilities. Matthew’s Jesus doesn’t mind speaking in ambiguous or mysterious terms.

Next up: A TERRIFYING REVELATION AND AN EMBARRASSING LACK OF INSIGHT (chapter 17)