During 2022, I chose a different Lenten discipline. I wore a collar every day of Lent -- from moment I got up until I went to bed. 

The point of the experiment was to be a silent witness of the Church -- at the grocery store, the dry cleaner, the gas station, everywhere I go.

There were all sorts of unexpected encounters. One of them entered my dreams on Friday night. I had gone to sleep pondering today’s sermon, and sometime during the night I began reliving an encounter from that Lenten experiment.

On the Friday before Palm Sunday 2022, I took my dog for a walk, as per usual. Early in the walk, a gentleman I did not recognize stopped to ask about Dursey: “What sort of dog is this? Does he hunt? May I pet him?” -- the usual questions we hear. After a few minutes of chatting, we parted ways. 

But 45 minutes later, our paths crossed again. This time, he began the conversation differently: “Seeing you again is sign. What do people call you?”

“My name is Paula. This is Dursey. What is your name?”

He told me his name, and then he asked the question again, “What do people call you?”

The second time he asked the question, it dawned on me that he was not asking about my name. Instinctively, I reached up to my neck and felt the collar. I smiled at him and said, “Most people call me Paula. Some people are more comfortable calling me Rev. Paula. What is the sign you see?”

Today’s Gospel reading happens midway through Matthew. The disciples have been with Jesus for a long time. They’ve heard the Sermon on the Mount, a long series of parables and teachings. They have seen first-hand many signs of Jesus’ divine nature. Peter has already walked on water and felt the rush of faith. Jesus has calmed the waters, fed thousands of people with little food, performed healings—emotional and physical.

In today’s text, he is wondering: Do people get it? Have they put the pieces together? And so, he asks the disciples, “Who do people say I am? Who do you say I am?”

The first question is much easier, telling Jesus what the crowds think doesn’t require any skin in the game. ‘Some people think you’re John the Baptist…Some think you’re Elijah, or another prophet’.

The second question is much more personal. He’s asking the disciples to assimilate all that they have seen, heard, and felt: “Who do you say I am?”

The gentleman on my walk addressed me as Rev. Paula, and then told his story. He and his wife were lifelong members of a church in Little Rock.

They retired at the end of 2019, and them moved to North Richland Hills just weeks before the pandemic. They came for the quality of life in Fort

Worth. There was no family here. And, they hadn’t found a church before everything shut down.

During the pandemic, his wife became ill. She died just a few days before our encounter.  He was lost and not in a geographical way. He didn’t know how to go forward and he had no one to listen. He had gone for a walk hoping for a sign.

And along came a collar, not once, but twice.  The second time, he stepped out in faith.

Peter is the one who will answer Jesus’ question: “You are the Son of the living God”

It is an extraordinary proclamation of faith.

We grew up with the Gospel stories of Jesus, with Paul’s teachings, with our own life experiences with God.

But in the year 27, when Jesus gives the pop quiz to his disciples, no one on earth has ever uttered the words: “You are the Son of the living God.”  It is a brand new thought, completely born in faith. Jesus acknowledges it:  Peter, there’s no way you could have figured this out on your own.  God has revealed has revealed this to you! 

Jesus tells Peter: I will build my church on this rock.

It is not a rock of strength. It is a rock of faith. 

In this story, the author used a Greek term for ‘church’ : ekklēsia. (phonetic…ecclaseeya). It’s literal meaning is, “those who are called out.” Putting that together with Jesus’ words to Peter: ekklēsia is all those who have been called out from unbelief—through faith—into new life in Jesus Christ.

We –all believers--are the church.

In our time…

In this community…

In my Lenten experiment, the collar was a visible sign to people. It meant different things to different people.

At the grocery store, some people invited me to cut into the cashier/check-out line. Others openly stared.

On my daily walks, people who had been exchanging ,“Howdy’s” with me began to tell me about a sick sibling or child or parent.   

Grocery stores, the walking trails, hospital rooms, a sanctuary, whenever and wherever believers gather, it is a moment of ekklēsia. Church.

Wherever Jesus walked, people were drawn him. He wasn’t wearing a collar. He didn’t have a steeple.  He didn’t have a TV Network.  Yet people knew there was something different about this teacher. 

In a violent world where poverty and disease were rampant, Jesus spoke of Hope, Joy, Peace, and Love. He spoke of eternal life. He spoke of the power of faith. 

He founded his church on the Rock of Faith. And the baton is handed to us, in our generation, to share his eternal message with our community.

I wonder if we ask the people of Southwest Fort Worth, our geographical community, “Who do people say St. Christopher’s is?” What will we hear?

And “Who do you say we are”?