Personalisation is a process of turning something common into something unique. I believe that in certain well-known chain coffee shops, baristas write clients’ first names on their disposable cups. A piece of jewellery turns an ordinary dress into my dress. Stickers on possessions, tattoos on the skin… Noting methods of personalisation can produce an endless list. At the heart of it lies our profound need to be unique, to be special, to be one of a kind. It doesn’t only apply to things; tangible ways of personalisation are external and relatively easy methods of achieving a sense of being a unique person, however illusory it might be. Sibling rivalry exemplifies such a need on a deeper level very clearly. Each one of us wants to be loved very personally and feel that each of us is treated as very special indeed.
In today’s gospel, Jesus’ two-stage conversation with his disciples related to such a desire in reverse. His first question: “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” was a bit like when we Google our own names or try to find out what other people think about us. Unlike us, though, Jesus wasn’t trying to find out what others thought of him. His question aimed to set the stage for the forthcoming second question. Let’s stop here for a moment because the first one was important, too, but in a different way. Generally, people remember others’ opinions because they either agree or disagree with them. In other words, we get emotionally attached to other people’s opinions in negative or positive ways. Neutral points of view get quickly forgotten. If you need proof of it, just look at politics. When people pass on someone else’s ideas, it’s easy to spot whether they agree or disagree. So, Jesus’ question: “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” was, in fact, a way of finding out which one of the public opinions his disciples had adhered to or identified with. It’s a paradox we can see very frequently: each person claims to want to be unique, but the way to achieve that is by belonging to a group of people sharing the same values, opinions and lifestyle.
Honestly, there’s nothing wrong with that. We are social creatures by design and need others, whatever form or shape it takes. Jesus didn’t argue against, clash with or dismiss the views passed on by his disciples. Instead, he asked them another more challenging question: “But you, who do you say I am?” Answering this was harder than the first one. Adherence to external opinions is easy because we can change our minds at the drop of a hat should they become unpopular, risky, or threaten our social stance or job prospects and so on. Sometimes, we criticise politicians for changing their opinions however and whenever it suits them, but they are hardly a unique group. Answering the question: “Who do you say I am?” was far more consequential; it meant entering into a closer personal relationship with Jesus that would impact their lives.
I imagine there must have been a deafening silence when the disciples were looking for “the right answer”. Perhaps they looked at one another, unsure of what to say. Eventually, Simon Peter broke the silence and offered his answer: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Jesus’ response to Simon’s declaration looked like praise: “Simon, son of Jonah, you are a happy man!” But the following words could indicate that Simon had not yet grasped the whole meaning of it: “it was not flesh and blood that revealed this to you but my Father in heaven.” It was an old-fashioned way of saying that Simon’s utterance wasn’t a result of his reflection (flesh and blood) but an instinctive, visceral, spiritual realisation. It was the beginning of Simon’s journey towards a thorough understanding, a journey where he would experience his weaknesses, imperfections and failures – as we will see next Sunday – and learn from them.
Many of us here are cradle or long-term Catholics. We have been taught and trained in various aspects of the Catholic faith: its moral code, prayers, liturgy, sacraments and so on. They are the uniform, important canvas of our lives. But there’s more to our faith than adherence to what we have been taught. Each one of us must find our own answer to this question: “But you, who do you say I am?” Having been raised in a Catholic family from birth (and I’m grateful for that), I faced that question when I was around 19. I don’t recall having my answer ready then, but it started a spiritual journey to find out, a journey of highs and lows, a journey of successes and failures. The latter have been far more important than the former because they offered learning opportunities.
Did you notice that St Matthew didn’t say whether the other disciples had offered any answers? Yet we know that Jesus didn’t dismiss any of them for the lack of their immediate responses. As testified by the gospels, He continued training them for their future roles and vocations. They would eventually find their answers. If not in words, certainly in the way they lived their lives and were martyred in the name of Jesus. Today, you might not know or give Jesus your answer to his question. But if you keep looking for it, you will find it, and in the process, you will develop a very special, personalised bond with Christ.
