Who Do You Say I Am?

One of my favorite moments in the gospels is a conversation. It's quiet, intimate. Jesus is walking with his friends and asks them a seemingly simple question: What do people say about me? They respond, sharing the buzz from the crowds, the names and titles people are tossing around. But then Jesus turns to them directly. The question becomes personal: What about you? Who do you say I am?

This is no longer a discussion about public opinion. It’s about relationship, about trust. Jesus protects this sacred space so that his friends can find their voice. So they can speak for themselves.

More Than a Title

Peter responds, "You are the Messiah."

It’s a big moment. And Jesus, rather than celebrating or publicizing it, immediately warns them not to tell anyone. Why? Because this isn’t about fanfare or political movements. It’s about something quieter and deeper. Something sacred.

What’s fascinating is that this is only the second time the word "Messiah" appears in the Gospel of Mark. The first was in the very first sentence: The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God. That was months ago in our reading. Eight chapters of miracles, healings, exorcisms, teachings—and not once did Jesus use that word for himself. Mark held it back. Jesus held it back. Until now.

Why the restraint? Because there’s something powerful about coming to a realization in your own time. Jesus waits. He makes space. He lets his friends carry this story in their hearts until they are ready to name it aloud.

Holding Hope Gently

Think about Peter. He's walked beside Jesus, left everything to follow him. He’s heard the teachings, seen the miracles, watched demons flee. Don’t you think he’s thought about this before?

I imagine Peter sitting around a fire, the words right there on the edge of his tongue, but not quite ready. Maybe afraid. Maybe unsure if he was allowed. And I imagine Jesus, knowing all along, but choosing not to say it for him.

Sometimes we know the answer. We know the hope. But we’re waiting for someone to ask us what we think. Waiting for someone to care enough to listen.

A Faith That Grows

This is what Jesus has been saving: not just the title, but the moment. The invitation. Because faith isn’t about having all the right answers from the start. It's about the process. The journey. The gradual unfolding of who God is, and who we are in light of that.

Faith is not a race to the finish. It is, more often, a stumbling journey—cloudy image by blurred vision, unsure foot by timid step—toward the Divine. And Jesus, our guide, is patient. He isn’t in a rush to get us to the end. He wants to walk with us, to hear our story, to meet us when we're ready.

So if you're not there yet, if you still have questions, if you're still waiting to find your words—know this: the story isn't over. And when the time comes, Jesus will be listening.

Because Divine welcome goes all the way down. And the realization of that love, when it comes in your own words, at your own pace, is far more powerful than being told.

You get to say it for yourself.