All of thee, and none of me!

Have you ever received a compliment that went straight to your head? A boss praised your work, and soon you started imagining yourself after the next promotion entertaining fantasies of superiority over your co-workers. Maybe a mentor singled you out, told you what he saw in you, and soon you imagined yourself becoming someone truly great. Maybe it was more subtle. A friend who confided in you how much they appreciated you, how they could always count on you, and a little bit of your ego swelled, "yes, I am such a good friend."

Who doesn't like a compliment? A promotion? Being trusted with an important task by someone you respect?

But there is a danger that accompanies these moments.

The very affirmation meant to strengthen us can become an occasion for pride.

We begin to believe we have arrived. We start to speak with an authority we have not yet earned. We might not say it out-loud, but we begin to assume a posture of superiority. We start to relish in our self-importance.

And often, it is precisely then that we fall.

Peter fell into this exact trap.

In the span of a few short verses, he moves from the mountaintop of divine revelation to the valley of a devastating rebuke. Just moments before, Jesus had blessed him: "Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven" (Matthew 16:17).

Peter had been given a new name, the keys of the kingdom, and the authority to bind and loose. These were not small tasks; they were major responsibilities. And Jesus had given them to him.

To a first-century Jewish audience, this language was unmistakable. By handing over the "keys of the kingdom," Jesus was invoking the ancient office of the Royal Steward in the Davidic Kingdom. In Isaiah 22, the prophet speaks of Eliakim, who is given the "key of the house of David" to carry on his shoulder, with the authority that "he shall open, and none shall shut; and he shall shut, and none shall open" (Isaiah 22:22). As the Royal Steward (or Master of the Palace), Eliakim functioned as the prime minister, managing the affairs of the kingdom and speaking with the king's authority in his absence.

Jesus was anointing Peter as the steward of His new kingdom.

Furthermore, the specific authority to "bind and loose" (asar and hatar in Hebrew) carried profound, practical weight in rabbinic tradition. It granted Peter two distinct spheres of authority within the early church:

Legislative and Interpretive Authority: Rabbis used "binding and loosing" to describe the interpretation of the Torah. To "bind" meant to forbid an action, declaring it unlawful, while to "loose" meant to permit it. Peter was being given the authority to make binding, authoritative decisions regarding faith, ethics, and doctrine as the new covenant community navigated unprecedented challenges.

Judicial and Disciplinary Authority: On a communal level, these terms referred to the power of excommunication and reconciliation. To bind someone was to place them under a ban or declare them out of fellowship due to unrepentant sin. To loose them was to lift the ban, offering forgiveness and restoring them to the community.

Jesus was not just handing Peter a compliment; He was handing him the administrative and spiritual reigns of the early church.

Who wouldn't feel a little "puffed up" and proud after given such lofty responsibility?

But after a little bit of conversation about what this particular mission, this new Church Jesus was going to build, must become, and how it will come about through Jesus' prediction of his suffering and death, Peter dares to rebuke Jesus.

He thinks he has a better idea. One that makes more sense.

And almost in the same breath, Jesus turns to him and says, "Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things" (Matthew 16:23).

What happened?

 

When Confession Meets the Cross

The Greek word Matthew uses for Peter's action is telling. Peter "took him aside" (proslabomenos) and "began to rebuke" (epitiman) Jesus.

This is the same verb used when Jesus rebukes demons and unclean spirits.

Peter, a freshly-chiseled rock, presumes to correct the very Son of the living God whom he has just confessed.

The one who received the keys now tries to lock the door against the cross.

Peter was not wrong about who Jesus was. His confession was true, illuminated by the Father himself. What Peter had not yet grasped was how this Christ would be Christ, how this Son of God would reign.

He confessed the title but rejected the throne. He wanted a Messiah who conquered without suffering, a King without a crown of thorns, a Savior without a cross.

How often do we do the same?

We say the creeds. We name Jesus as Lord. We may even have moments of profound spiritual insight where we sense, as Peter did, that flesh and blood has not revealed this to us.

And yet, when the shape of discipleship begins to take the form of a cross, we take Jesus aside and try to talk him out of it. Surely not, Lord. This shall never happen to you. This shall never happen to me.

 

The Severity of Love

Notice how stern the rebuke is. Jesus does not pull Peter aside and say, "Now, now, don't get ahead of yourself, Peter." He does not say, "Peter, I understand your concern, but let me explain."

He calls him Satan. He calls him a stumbling block.

The word Matthew uses here, skandalon, is the very same word used later to describe the cross itself. Peter, who wishes to remove the scandal of the cross from Jesus, becomes a scandal to him.

Why such severity?

Because to whom much is given, much is expected.

A parent does not discipline the neighbor's children with the same seriousness as their own. A teacher does not push the disinterested student the way she pushes the one with genuine promise.

Jesus rebukes Peter harshly precisely because he loves Peter deeply and sees what Peter can become. The severity comes from a well of love, from hope.

Saint John of the Cross once wrote that "the endurance of darkness is preparation for great light." Peter must endure the darkness of this rebuke because Jesus is preparing him for the great light of the resurrection and the even greater burden of shepherding the Church.

But before Peter can lead others to the cross, he must first accept it himself.

 

The Enthronement We Fear

Here is the heart of the matter. Peter had allowed Jesus to be enthroned in his mind as Messiah, but not yet in his heart as the Crucified One.

There is a throne in every human heart, and by default, the ego sits upon it. When Christ comes to us, he does not simply share the throne. He does not become a divine advisor to our ongoing reign of self.

He comes to depose the pretender.

And here is what Peter could not yet see: the ego cannot simply be exiled. It cannot be sent away on holiday while Christ takes over.

The ego must be crucified.

The old king must die so that the true King may reign.

This is why Jesus immediately turns from rebuking Peter to teaching all the disciples: "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it" (Matthew 16:24-25).

The throne Christ takes in us is not made of gold. It is made of wood. It is not encrusted with jewels but with iron nails. It is not raised on the shoulders of admirers with pomp and circumstance, but takes shape on a cursed hill just outside the city walls.

This is the true throne. This is where He becomes true King. This is where we must go, too.

 

Living This Today

How, then, do we live this? How do we confess the right things, embrace our calling, without immediately becoming a stumbling block? How do we get past the imposing presence of King Ego?

First, examine the compliments and callings you have received. Where has God gifted you? These are precisely the places where pride will attempt to build a rival throne. Bring them daily to the foot of the cross.

When I was a seminary student, they gave me an award my second year. It's given to one student in every class. It came with a small scholarship. It was for a demonstration of excellence in systematic theology. The professors gathered and chose the recipient each year... and they picked me.

Oh, what an occasion for pride this was!  Not only did it convince me that I should continue in my doctoral studies, but in my mind I heard: "you're the best theologian in your class!" And how I acted like it! How often, often totally unaware, did I use this to enthrone my ego, to imagine I stood above my classmates. Even as I'm writing this, I can hear the echoes of pride coming back. "Ahh! Now your readers are going to know how great of a theologian you've always been!"

Arrogant rubbish! All of it. Because I wasn't that great. I wrote good papers, sure. I managed to impress a few professors. But in my heart, I was far from the Kingdom.

If you've read my book, "Offensive Grace," you know that God rebuked me for it. In the harshest way possible. And I'm grateful for that. I called it a blessed humiliation. Because it doesn't matter how "intelligent" we are, how much we're recognized and accomplish. So long as we are allowing King Ego even a shred of authority in the throne of our hearts, there is only one path forward. The ego/pride must be crucified.

Second, when you sense yourself taking Jesus aside to rebuke him, when you find yourself resisting a suffering he seems to be permitting, pause. Ask whether you are setting your mind on divine things or on human things.

We do this all the time. Probably in ways we don't even recognize. We look to the teachings of Christ, things that don't accord with the way we think they should be, and we start looking for loop-holes, ways to justify the worldly wisdom that we think is a little more "refined," more appropriate for our "enlightened age." We do not surrender our intuitions, our feelings, our ways we wish things were, and try to carve out a new image of what it means for Jesus to be "Christ" that is molded a little more closely to the kind of Christ we'd like Him to be.

Third, pray for the grace to welcome your daily crosses, not as intrusions on your life with Christ, but as the very means by which he enthrones himself within you. Remember, the Lord disciplines those He loves. When trial comes, when hardship arrives, do not bend back in toward King Ego and revel in your misery. Unite all such suffering to His, and in that way, even the most painful things we endure can become the occasion by which He takes His rightful throne in our hearts. This is not cause to beat our fists against the wall, as a child does who is protesting his discipline. It is an occasion for gratitude. It's not easy to do. King Ego does not go quietly to the guillotine. But it the only path to true holiness, to real hope, to real life.

Lord, crucify in me every rival king. Reign in my heart from the cross, that I may truly live. All of thee Lord, and none of me!