There is not much we know about him beyond his name: Matthew Ayariga.

But his story, or what we know of it, matters to every one of us here this morning. It is a story of faith and courage that should humble every one of us. It needs to be told — and it is one that should make us think more deeply about the central question in this weekend’s gospel:

Who do you say that I am?

Matthew Ayariga was born in Ghana in the 1980s or early ‘90s. It is believed he was raised a Christian. We don’t know if he was Catholic.

At some point, he left his homeland to be a migrant worker and found his way to Libya and the port town of Sirte. There, he befriended a group of Coptic Orthodox construction workers from Egypt. He worked with them. He lived with them. Perhaps, even, he prayed with them.

His life was otherwise unremarkable, and we probably never would have heard of Matthew Ayariga, except for what happened on February 15, 2015.

That day, Matthew was one of 21 construction workers rounded up by ISIS militants, who seized the men to make them an example to the world.

Video captured what happened next. The militants marched the men, all wearing orange jumpsuits, across a beach in Libya. They lined them up and ordered them to kneel.

Many of the prisoners could be seen moving their lips in prayer.  The video called them, “people of the cross, followers of the hostile Egyptian church.”

One of the militants questioned Matthew Ayariga about his faith. He didn’t look like the others. What did he believe?

Matthew replied simply, “Their God is my God.” 

A few seconds later, all 21 men, including Matthew, were beheaded.

Just last year, Pope Francis added those 21 men to the Roman Martyrology, the Catholic listing of all who have died for the faith.

The pope said: “These martyrs were baptized … in blood, blood that is a seed of unity for all followers of Christ.”

What moves us this morning is how Matthew Ayariga had the courage to speak up. In his way, he answered the question, “Who do you say that I am?” For his answer, he gave his life.

This morning, that kind of courage challenges us. We hear a gospel that makes all of us look deeply at what we believe. But it goes further than that.

I was struck by one part of this gospel. It isn’t something Jesus does or says.

It’s something he doesn’t say.

When addressing his apostles, he doesn’t ask, “Who do you think that I am?”

He asks, instead: “Who do you say that I am?”

It’s a question about a public declaration. About bearing witness.

Jesus is asking his followers: What do you say to others? What do you show the world?

Peter, of course, knew the answer: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”

But what about us? 

This Sunday, Jesus stands before each of us and asks, “Who do you say that I am?”

He doesn’t ask us what we think, what we hold in our hearts, what we believe.

He asks us: What do you say?

What do we announce to others — by how we live and what we say — about Jesus Christ?

Do we honor him with how we live our lives?

Do we make clear that we are people of faith, hope and charity? That we follow the Christ of compassion and forgiveness, of justice and mercy?

Can people look at us and say, “There goes a Christian”?

In the second reading, James puts it bluntly:

What good is it, my brothers and sisters,
if someone says he has faith but does not have works?

Put another way: We need to walk the walk. We should be signs of contradiction. Do we stand up for the victimized, the vulnerable, the weak? Do we defend the defenseless? The persecuted, the poor? Do we give a voice to the ones who might be too afraid to speak up, the ones who have no one to speak for them?

At this moment in particular, are we in Florida willing to defend the unborn and go against the political tide and, when it matters, choose life?

This gospel makes it plain: our great call as Christians is the call to proclaim what we believe, to live it, despite whatever crosses may come.

It’s a call to announce the Good News daily — to speak and live the gospel even when it is hard, when the stakes are high, when the struggle is real, and to let God’s grace help us to do the rest.

As we prepare to receive the Body of Christ this morning, we pray for the courage to be his voice. To persevere. To follow the command that we hear so often in the scripture, and “be not afraid.” To stand as signs of contradiction in a doubting and sometimes hostile world. And to do it, always, with confidence, with trust, and with joy.

This Sunday, may we follow the words of that familiar hymn and “lift high the cross”— and proclaim the love of Christ to a waiting world.

The words of Jesus should echo in our hearts.

“Who do you say that I am?”

What will be our answer?