It was a question whispered in the middle of a thunderstorm.
Twelve campers were huddled around a sputtering fire. Rain tapped the roof of the wooden shelter like fingers on a drum. Somewhere beyond the trees, wind shoved the world sideways. One of the younger boys—a thinker, the kind who keeps quiet until his thoughts boil over—broke the silence.
“But who is Jesus, really?”
No one answered right away. Not the counselor poking at the coals. Not the older teen scrolling on his flashlight app. It was the kind of question that lingers in the air because it deserves more than a quick reply.
Jesus once asked a question like that Himself. He wasn’t trying to stump anyone—He was inviting them to look past the rumors and opinions and come face-to-face with truth.
“Who do you say I am?” (Matthew 16:15)
Simon Peter, impetuous and passionate, answered first: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”
And in that moment, Jesus didn’t correct him. He didn’t shrink from the title or dismiss it as metaphor. Instead, He affirmed Peter’s answer with something astonishing—he hadn’t figured it out on his own. God revealed it to him.
Which is remarkable, because Jesus didn’t walk around flashing His heavenly ID card. He didn't glow with divine light in every crowd. Most days, He looked like a common carpenter who happened to heal the sick and calm hurricanes.
Yet He said things only God could say.
“I and the Father are one,” He declared in John 10:30. No ambiguity. No hemming or hedging. Just a bold, categorical statement. And later, He added the line that still echoes through centuries: “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” (John 14:6)
It’s overwhelming to think about—because no other spiritual leader made a claim like that. Not with such clarity. Jesus didn’t offer to point us toward truth; He said He is the truth. He didn’t suggest a path; He is the path. He didn’t claim to know the meaning of life; He called Himself the Life.
That changes everything.
And yet…the question still remains: Who do you say He is?
Not your pastor. Not your friends. Not your parents. You.
The world has had many answers over the years—prophet, teacher, moral visionary, myth. But Jesus didn’t leave space for vague categories. His words close every loophole. Either He is who He says He is—fully God, perfectly true, living and reigning—or He isn’t.
Maybe you’ve felt the tension of that question. I have.
Late at night. In seasons of loss. On the days when prayers get swallowed in the silence and grief stands in the hallway like an uninvited guest. That’s when the question finds you again—Who is Jesus?
Is He just a chapter in your old Sunday School coloring book? Or is He the still, steady voice that breaks through the chaos with hope?
Once, Jesus asked that question near the region of Caesarea Philippi. Today, He asks it in your kitchen. In your car. At your hospital bedside. Under your covers and behind your doubts and during that one song in church that makes you cry for no clear reason.
Who do you say I am?
It's not a test—it’s an invitation. An opening into a deeper kind of knowing. A personal declaration that doesn’t stop at facts—but plants roots in the soul.
Peter’s answer wasn’t perfect, but it was genuine. And what Jesus told him next still stuns me: “On this rock I will build my church.” Not on Peter’s title or ability—but on his confession.
The whole structure of the Church—the community of grace and hope that spans centuries—is built on the answer to one question.
So maybe, before the rain stops, before the fire dies out, before we scroll past the moment—maybe we need to whisper our answer too.
You—you are the Christ. You are the Son of the Living God.
Even when I don’t feel it. Even when I don’t understand everything. Even when the storm is loud.
That’s who You are.
And You still are.
It was a question whispered in the middle of a thunderstorm.
Twelve campers were huddled around a sputtering fire. Rain tapped the roof of the wooden shelter like fingers on a drum. Somewhere beyond the trees, wind shoved the world sideways. One of the younger boys—a thinker, the kind who keeps quiet until his thoughts boil over—broke the silence.
“But who is Jesus, really?”
No one answered right away. Not the counselor poking at the coals. Not the older teen scrolling on his flashlight app. It was the kind of question that lingers in the air because it deserves more than a quick reply.
Jesus once asked a question like that Himself. He wasn’t trying to stump anyone—He was inviting them to look past the rumors and opinions and come face-to-face with truth.
“Who do you say I am?” (Matthew 16:15)
Simon Peter, impetuous and passionate, answered first: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”
And in that moment, Jesus didn’t correct him. He didn’t shrink from the title or dismiss it as metaphor. Instead, He affirmed Peter’s answer with something astonishing—he hadn’t figured it out on his own. God revealed it to him.
Which is remarkable, because Jesus didn’t walk around flashing His heavenly ID card. He didn't glow with divine light in every crowd. Most days, He looked like a common carpenter who happened to heal the sick and calm hurricanes.
Yet He said things only God could say.
“I and the Father are one,” He declared in John 10:30. No ambiguity. No hemming or hedging. Just a bold, categorical statement. And later, He added the line that still echoes through centuries: “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” (John 14:6)
It’s overwhelming to think about—because no other spiritual leader made a claim like that. Not with such clarity. Jesus didn’t offer to point us toward truth; He said He is the truth. He didn’t suggest a path; He is the path. He didn’t claim to know the meaning of life; He called Himself the Life.
That changes everything.
And yet…the question still remains: Who do you say He is?
Not your pastor. Not your friends. Not your parents. You.
The world has had many answers over the years—prophet, teacher, moral visionary, myth. But Jesus didn’t leave space for vague categories. His words close every loophole. Either He is who He says He is—fully God, perfectly true, living and reigning—or He isn’t.
Maybe you’ve felt the tension of that question. I have.
Late at night. In seasons of loss. On the days when prayers get swallowed in the silence and grief stands in the hallway like an uninvited guest. That’s when the question finds you again—Who is Jesus?
Is He just a chapter in your old Sunday School coloring book? Or is He the still, steady voice that breaks through the chaos with hope?
Once, Jesus asked that question near the region of Caesarea Philippi. Today, He asks it in your kitchen. In your car. At your hospital bedside. Under your covers and behind your doubts and during that one song in church that makes you cry for no clear reason.
Who do you say I am?
It's not a test—it’s an invitation. An opening into a deeper kind of knowing. A personal declaration that doesn’t stop at facts—but plants roots in the soul.
Peter’s answer wasn’t perfect, but it was genuine. And what Jesus told him next still stuns me: “On this rock I will build my church.” Not on Peter’s title or ability—but on his confession.
The whole structure of the Church—the community of grace and hope that spans centuries—is built on the answer to one question.
So maybe, before the rain stops, before the fire dies out, before we scroll past the moment—maybe we need to whisper our answer too.
You—you are the Christ. You are the Son of the Living God.
Even when I don’t feel it. Even when I don’t understand everything. Even when the storm is loud.
That’s who You are.
And You still are.
