At the height of his popularity as both a teacher and preacher, Jesus took his disciples to Caesarea Philippi, at the foot of Mt. Hermon, and conducted a brief public opinion poll. “Who do people say that I am?” he asked.

“Well, that’s kind of a tricky question,” they responded. “Some claim that you are John the Baptist returned from the dead. Others suggest Elijah or Jeremiah, or one of the other prophets. It sort of depends on whom you ask.”

Of course, under normal circumstances, to be compared with any of these great prophets would have been considered a high compliment. But I doubt very much if Jesus took it as such, because it meant that people still did not see him as the Messiah. Instead, they saw him as merely another prophet sent to prepare Israel for the true Messiah.

Then again, that may have been part of why he was so popular in the first place. As long as people viewed Jesus as just a messenger and not the genuine Promised One, they could continue to hope for the kind of Messiah they actually wanted. They could admire Jesus’ works and listen attentively to his words; and yet, still hold onto their dreams that, when the real Messiah shows up, things will be different. No longer will there be pain or sorrow. No longer will there be violence or oppression. The poor will have plenty to eat, the homeless places to live, and most important of all, Israel will be restored to her former glory!

Let’s face it; it’s always easier to believe that the Messiah is coming, than it is to believe that the Messiah has already arrived. If the Promised One is still on the way, then at least we have a handy excuse for why the world remains filled with misery and suffering. However, if the Promised One has already been here, then suddenly we have a dilemma on our hands—namely, why is the world such a mess?

Interestingly enough, it is precisely when the disciples start proclaiming Jesus as Messiah that his popularity among the people begins to plummet. Why? Because he isn’t the kind of Messiah they envisioned. In fact, he isn’t even the kind of Messiah they desire. In a word, Jesus is a disappointment.

But therein lies the rub—we don’t get to mold the Messiah into something befitting our own desires. It’s the other way around. The Messiah shapes us to fit his. Hence, Jesus’ original question, back there at Caesarea Philippi, remains a valid one. “Who do you say that I am?”

If you believe that he was really more of a messenger (someone to point the way, rather than someone who is the Way), then you can admire what he said and did, but all the while, secretly keep hoping for someone better—someone who will solve all your problems and satisfy your every wish. However, if you believe that Jesus Christ is the Messiah, then the search is over, and you will need to accept that Jesus did not come to fulfill your wishes. He’s not Santa Claus, or a good luck charm, or your own personal genie.

Maybe the reason the world is still such a mess—despite the fact that the Messiah has already arrived—is because we still have work to do. After all, Jesus told us, “You are the light of the world and the salt of the earth.” Put another way, maybe the question shouldn’t be, “What do we expect of the Messiah?”, but rather, “What does the Messiah expect of us?”

In an essay written shortly before his death, Walker Percy imagined the following scenario. Suppose a group of top scientists have come together for a weeklong conference to discuss and debate the latest findings on everything from superstring theory to genetic engineering. What would happen, Percy wondered, if in the middle of this meeting, a fire broke out in the convention hall, and a man rushed to the podium and said, “Follow me. I know the way to safety!”

Percy’s conclusion is that the people in the room would quickly be able to distinguish this statement from all of the others they have been discussing. In the first place, the statement “I know the way to safety!” is not a scientific claim. The conferees cannot afford to mull this statement over, debating the pros and cons, and decide to test it out later in a laboratory. An immediate response is required. In the second place, the statement “I know the way to safety!” must be evaluated more on the basis of trust than evidence. In other words, rather than asking the man first to prove that there actually is a fire, the conferees will need to decide, right then and there, whether or not he is trustworthy.

For example, if the man told the scientists to flap their arms and fly out through the skylight, they would likely dismiss him. If he spoke like a lunatic with all manner of ranting and raving, they would likely dismiss him. If they knew him to be a liar, they would likely dismiss him. However, if he spoke with authority, in perfect sobriety, and with every outward sign of good faith and regard for their safety, they would follow him—and likely, with great haste!

The reason I share this hypothetical scenario is to underscore the point that, as Christians, our walk is every bit as important as our talk. Like the man at the podium, we, too, have an urgent message to share; and like his, our message will be evaluated more on the basis of trust than evidence.

Let’s admit it; the claims of Christianity are not the kind that you can analyze in a laboratory, or prove through a series of mathematical equations. We can pontificate on this doctrine or that doctrine until we’re blue in the face; but if we do not appear trustworthy, then most folks will simply dismiss what we are saying as idle chatter.

So how does a Christian appear trustworthy? By having our actions match our words—that’s how. After all, a faith that is professed, but only haphazardly practiced, is hardly a convincing witness. If we want people to follow Christ, we must do more than merely tell them about his life. We must start living it!