Matthew​ ​16:21-28 

Have​ ​you​ ​ever​ ​noticed​ ​that​ ​in​ ​the​ ​movies,​ ​the​ ​hero​ ​always​ ​gets​ ​begged​ ​not​ ​to​ ​go​ ​and​ ​save
everybody?

“No,​ ​its​ ​too​ ​dangerous​ ​Superman–​ ​they’ve​ ​got​ ​Kryptonite.”

“No,​ ​Captain​ ​Kirk​ ​-​ ​Jim,​ ​you​ ​can’t​ ​do​ ​it,​ ​they’ll​ ​kill​ ​you.”

“James​ ​(as​ ​in​ ​James​ ​Bond),​ ​please​ ​don’t​ ​do​ ​go,​ ​I​ ​can’t​ ​stand​ ​to​ ​lose​ ​you.”

And​ ​then​ ​usually​ ​the​ ​hero​ ​leaves​ ​anyway,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​performs​ ​some​ ​heroic​ ​act.​ ​​ ​Sometimes​ ​the hero​ ​may​ ​get​ ​compromised​ ​for​ ​a​ ​while,​ ​like​ ​Superman​ ​with​ ​the​ ​Kryptonite,​ ​but​ ​they​ ​escape. They​ ​get​ ​themselves​ ​out​ ​of​ ​the​ ​jam​ ​and​ ​save​ ​the​ ​world​ ​in​ ​the​ ​process.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​maybe​ ​save​ ​the​ ​whole galaxy​ ​if​ ​its​ ​Captain​ ​Kirk.

And​ ​I’m​ ​glad.​ ​​ ​So​ ​are​ ​the​ ​Lois​ ​Lanes,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​Dr​ ​McCoys,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​many​ ​objectified​ ​women​ ​that James​ ​Bond​ ​has​ ​taken​ ​advantage​ ​of,​ ​I​ ​mean​ ​saved.

Because​ ​they​ ​are​ ​safe​ ​now.​ ​​ ​They​ ​can​ ​rest,​ ​and​ ​we​ ​can​ ​rest.​ ​​ ​The​ ​world​ ​is​ ​a​ ​better​ ​place​ ​because the​ ​hero​ ​has​ ​solved​ ​the​ ​world’s​ ​problems.

Maybe​ ​I’m​ ​weird,​ ​but​ ​that’s​ ​what​ ​comes​ ​to​ ​mind​ ​for​ ​me​ ​in​ ​the​ ​Gospel​ ​this​ ​morning.

Peter,​ ​learning​ ​that​ ​Jesus​ ​intends​ ​to​ ​put​ ​himself​ ​in​ ​harm’s​ ​way​ ​to​ ​save​ ​the​ ​world,​ ​acts​ ​just​ ​like​ ​Dr. McCoy,​ ​or​ ​Lois​ ​Lane.​ ​​ ​“You​ ​can’t​ ​do​ ​it,​ ​Jesus.​ ​I​ ​won’t​ ​let​ ​you.​ ​​ ​I’m​ ​going​ ​to​ ​do​ ​everything​ ​I​ ​can to​ ​keep​ ​you​ ​here,​ ​safe!”
But​ ​how​ ​can​ ​you​ ​blame​ ​him,​ ​really?​ ​​ ​We​ ​wouldn’t​ ​have​ ​the​ ​story​ ​of​ ​Superman​ ​or​ ​Star​ ​Trek without​ ​the​ ​love​ ​of​ ​Lois​ ​Lane​ ​for​ ​Superman​ ​or​ ​Dr.​ ​McCoy​ ​for​ ​his​ ​friend,​ ​Jim,​ ​and​ ​we​ ​wouldn’t have​ ​the​ ​passion​ ​of​ ​Christ​ ​without​ ​the​ ​love​ ​of​ ​Peter​ ​for​ ​his​ ​beloved​ ​Jesus​ ​and​ ​his​ ​fear​ ​of​ ​what​ ​he now​ ​knows​ ​will​ ​be​ ​a​ ​loss.​ ​​ ​If​ ​Peter​ ​just​ ​sat​ ​back​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​”oh,​ ​ok,​ ​so​ ​you’re​ ​going​ ​to​ ​die,​ ​that’s cool”​ ​we​ ​wouldn’t​ ​think​ ​very​ ​much​ ​of​ ​Peter,​ ​would​ ​we?

The​ ​church​ ​has​ ​inherited​ ​Peter’s​ ​resistance​ ​to​ ​change​ ​and​ ​loss,​ ​through​ ​the​ ​ages.​ ​​ ​We​ ​go​ ​in centuries-long​ ​cycles,​ ​remembering​ ​who​ ​Jesus​ ​really​ ​is​ ​and​ ​forgetting​ ​in​ ​favor​ ​of​ ​staying​ ​safe inside​ ​a​ ​building,​ ​or​ ​preserving​ ​the​ ​Church​ ​as​ ​if​ ​it​ ​is​ ​ours​ ​and​ ​not​ ​Christ’s.​ ​We​ ​are​ ​just​ ​like​ ​Peter. We​ ​forget​ ​that​ ​the​ ​mission​ ​of​ ​the​ ​church​ ​is​ ​not​ ​to​ ​be​ ​comfortable​ ​or​ ​a​ ​made-to-order​ ​spiritual experience​ ​like​ ​a​ ​“Have​ ​it​ ​your​ ​way”​ ​Burger​ ​King​ ​cheeseburger​ ​but​ ​to​ ​be​ ​out​ ​there​ ​and vulnerable.​ ​​ ​But​ ​if​ ​we​ ​didn’t​ ​forget,​ ​we​ ​wouldn’t​ ​be​ ​very​ ​human,​ ​would​ ​we?​ ​​ ​The​ ​collect​ ​for​ ​the day​ ​takes​ ​this​ ​pattern​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Church​ ​into​ ​account​ ​by​ ​asking​ ​God​ ​for​ ​the​ ​increase​ ​of​ ​”true religion”.

The​ ​architects​ ​of​ ​my​ ​seminary​ ​chapel​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​address​ ​this​ ​problem​ ​in​ ​part​ ​by​ ​placing​ ​the​ ​cross outside​ ​the​ ​building.​ ​​ ​At​ ​the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​nave,​ ​there​ ​are​ ​windows,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​cross​ ​is​ ​placed​ ​outside the​ ​building​ ​beyond​ ​the​ ​glass​ ​to​ ​continually​ ​remind​ ​us​ ​that​ ​the​ ​mission​ ​of​ ​the​ ​church​ ​lies​ ​outside the​ ​walls​ ​of​ ​the​ ​building;​ ​that​ ​the​ ​purpose​ ​of​ ​worship​ ​is​ ​to​ ​feed​ ​us​ ​to​ ​go​ ​back​ ​out​ ​into​ ​the​ ​world and​ ​do​ ​the​ ​work​ ​we​ ​are​ ​called​ ​to​ ​do.​ ​​ ​Remember,​ ​we​ ​do​ ​not​ ​have​ ​a​ ​recession​ ​in​ ​the​ ​liturgy,​ ​but we​ ​process​ ​back​ ​out​ ​into​ ​the​ ​world​ ​at​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​service​ ​to​ ​do​ ​the​ ​work​ ​we​ ​are​ ​called​ ​to​ ​do. The​ ​Church​ ​is​ ​never​ ​in​ ​recess​ ​so​ ​there​ ​is​ ​no​ ​recession.​ ​​ ​On​ ​the​ ​side​ ​of​ ​the​ ​seminary​ ​chapel​ ​is​ ​a wall​ ​of​ ​windows​ ​overlooking​ ​downtown​ ​Austin,​ ​again​ ​intending​ ​to​ ​draw​ ​us​ ​into​ ​the​ ​city,​ ​where the​ ​cross​ ​of​ ​discipleship​ ​pulls​ ​us.​ ​​ ​I​ ​have​ ​thought​ ​about​ ​that​ ​architecture​ ​often​ ​as​ ​we​ ​live​ ​here into​ ​our​ ​mission​ ​as​ ​the​ ​Cathedral​ ​for​ ​the​ ​City,​ ​with​ ​all​ ​of​ ​our​ ​wonderful​ ​outreach​ ​into​ ​the​ ​park and​ ​beyond.

But​ ​Peter​ ​is​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​preserve​ ​a​ ​different​ ​religion,​ ​in​ ​keeping​ ​Jesus’​ ​body​ ​intact.​ ​​ ​Peter​ ​still doesn’t​ ​understand​ ​all​ ​that​ ​Jesus​ ​has​ ​taught-​ ​which​ ​has​ ​been​ ​primarily​ ​as​ ​a​ ​living​ ​example​ ​of healing​ ​the​ ​sick,​ ​and​ ​feeding​ ​the​ ​poor,​ ​and​ ​living​ ​on​ ​the​ ​street​ ​with​ ​those​ ​who​ ​have​ ​nowhere​ ​else to​ ​go,​ ​by​ ​building​ ​relationships​ ​with​ ​all​ ​different​ ​kinds​ ​and​ ​sorts​ ​of​ ​people–​ ​and​ ​only​ ​rarely​ ​by speaking​ ​in​ ​synagogues​ ​as​ ​the​ ​scribes​ ​or​ ​professors​ ​do.​ ​All​ ​of​ ​his​ ​relationship​ ​building​ ​has​ ​lead up​ ​to​ ​this​ ​ultimate​ ​moment​ ​of​ ​sacrifice.

Because​ ​the​ ​giving​ ​of​ ​Jesus’​ ​life​ ​only​ ​makes​ ​sense​ ​as​ ​a​ ​saving​ ​action​ ​if​ ​Jesus​ ​is​ ​who​ ​he​ ​says​ ​he is:​ ​the​ ​Son​ ​of​ ​God,​ ​the​ ​Messiah:​ ​the​ ​Christ.​ ​​ ​If​ ​he​ ​is​ ​not,​ ​then​ ​his​ ​death​ ​is​ ​just​ ​senseless​ ​violence.

But​ ​even​ ​though​ ​Peter​ ​has​ ​said​ ​he​ ​believes​ ​Jesus​ ​is​ ​the​ ​Son​ ​of​ ​God,​ ​he​ ​hasn’t​ ​put​ ​the​ ​pieces together​ ​yet:​ ​​ ​he​ ​is​ ​waiting​ ​for​ ​the​ ​Superman​ ​that​ ​will​ ​put​ ​down​ ​the​ ​Roman​ ​Empire​ ​and​ ​free​ ​the nation​ ​of​ ​Israel​ ​from​ ​the​ ​Emperor.​ ​​ ​He​ ​can’t​ ​see​ ​how​ ​Jesus’​ ​death​ ​saves​ ​anything.

And​ ​how​ ​much​ ​more​ ​confusing​ ​that​ ​Jesus​ ​goes​ ​one​ ​step​ ​further​ ​and​ ​says​ ​that​ ​not​ ​only​ ​will​ ​he die,​ ​but​ ​also​ ​that​ ​his​ ​followers​ ​have​ ​to​ ​take​ ​up​ ​the​ ​cross,​ ​too!​ ​​ ​How​ ​shocking​ ​that​ ​Jesus​ ​tells​ ​his followers–​ ​the​ ​disciples​ ​then​ ​and​ ​us​ ​now–​ ​that​ ​to​ ​follow​ ​him​ ​will​ ​mean​ ​taking​ ​up​ ​the​ ​cross,​ ​a Roman​ ​imperial​ ​death​ ​sentence.​ ​​ ​That’s​ ​a​ ​hard​ ​thing​ ​to​ ​hear.

The​ ​piece​ ​that​ ​Peter​ ​didn’t​ ​get​ ​is​ ​the​ ​thing​ ​that​ ​neither​ ​Superman,​ ​nor​ ​Captain​ ​Kirk,​ ​nor​ ​any​ ​other movie​ ​hero​ ​can​ ​offer.​ ​​ ​There​ ​is​ ​resurrection​ ​after​ ​the​ ​cross.​ ​​ ​Jesus​ ​is​ ​going​ ​to​ ​save​ ​the​ ​whole world,​ ​and​ ​he​ ​invites​ ​his​ ​followers​ ​to​ ​enter​ ​that​ ​journey.​ ​​ ​A​ ​journey​ ​into​ ​vulnerability,​ ​not triumph,​ ​not​ ​status,​ ​power,​ ​or​ ​control.​ ​​ ​A​ ​journey​ ​of​ ​letting​ ​go,​ ​not​ ​of​ ​holding​ ​on.​ ​​ ​A​ ​journey​ ​of entering​ ​into​ ​the​ ​fragility​ ​of​ ​humanity,​ ​not​ ​of​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​manage​ ​it.​ ​A​ ​journey​ ​of​ ​not​ ​being​ ​afraid to​ ​trust​ ​in​ ​a​ ​power​ ​greater​ ​than​ ​our​ ​own​ ​ego.​ ​​ ​Can​ ​you​ ​imagine​ ​a​ ​church​ ​whose​ ​committees​ ​ran on​ ​such​ ​a​ ​structure?​ ​Or​ ​a​ ​world​ ​where​ ​being​ ​with​ ​each​ ​other​ ​and​ ​learning​ ​about​ ​each​ ​other​ ​was the​ ​way​ ​forward​ ​rather​ ​than​ ​political​ ​maneuvering,​ ​power,​ ​and​ ​war?

This​ ​isn’t​ ​a​ ​Superman​ ​movie​ ​where​ ​Lois​ ​gets​ ​to​ ​stay​ ​home​ ​and​ ​get​ ​some​ ​very​ ​cheap​ ​grace​ ​while Superman​ ​does​ ​all​ ​the​ ​work.​ ​​ ​This​ ​is​ ​real,​ ​incarnational​ ​grace.​ ​​ ​This​ ​is​ ​the​ ​real,​ ​hands​ ​on,​ ​dirty and​ ​messy​ ​love​ ​of​ ​God.​ ​​ ​This​ ​is​ ​true​ ​religion.​ ​Jesus​ ​isn’t​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​shame​ ​or​ ​guilt​ ​Peter.​ ​He​ ​is offering​ ​Peter​ ​an​ ​invitation​ ​to​ ​something​ ​Peter​ ​hasn’t​ ​understood​ ​yet.

This​ ​incarnational​ ​grace​ ​through​ ​the​ ​cross​ ​is​ ​the​ ​love​ ​of​ ​God​ ​that​ ​Jesus​ ​lived​ ​life​ ​on​ ​the​ ​streets​ ​of Jerusalem​ ​for.​ ​​ ​That​ ​he​ ​was​ ​born​ ​into​ ​a​ ​barn​ ​for​ ​instead​ ​of​ ​a​ ​nice​ ​comfy​ ​house,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​those​ ​who are​ ​born​ ​into​ ​challenging​ ​environments​ ​can​ ​feel​ ​Jesus​ ​as​ ​they​ ​bear​ ​their​ ​cross.​ ​​ ​Jesus​ ​ate​ ​with​ ​the poor,​ ​so​ ​that​ ​the​ ​unsheltered​ ​in​ ​Balboa​ ​park​ ​can​ ​know​ ​that​ ​there​ ​is​ ​a​ ​saving​ ​God​ ​with​ ​them​ ​as they​ ​bear​ ​their​ ​cross.​ ​​ ​This​ ​Christ​ ​lived​ ​with​ ​those​ ​that​ ​are​ ​sick​ ​and​ ​healed​ ​them​ ​so​ ​that​ ​people today​ ​can​ ​know​ ​that​ ​there​ ​is​ ​a​ ​God​ ​who​ ​walks​ ​with​ ​them​ ​as​ ​they​ ​bear​ ​their​ ​cross​ ​of​ ​pain​ ​and illness.

And​ ​Jesus​ ​lived​ ​in​ ​humility​ ​so​ ​that​ ​we​ ​can​ ​be​ ​reminded​ ​to​ ​work​ ​our​ ​ego​ ​and​ ​pride​ ​and​ ​trust​ ​that we​ ​in​ ​fact​ ​are​ ​not​ ​the​ ​ultimate​ ​authority.​ ​But​ ​letting​ ​go​ ​of​ ​that​ ​ego​ ​opens​ ​up​ ​a​ ​new​ ​possibility:​ ​a worth​ ​based​ ​not​ ​in​ ​how​ ​right​ ​you​ ​can​ ​be​ ​or​ ​how​ ​perfect​ ​you​ ​can​ ​make​ ​things​ ​but​ ​how​ ​much​ ​you are​ ​loved​ ​because​ ​of​ ​who​ ​you​ ​are,​ ​not​ ​what​ ​you​ ​do:​ ​and​ ​in​ ​that​ ​be​ ​opened​ ​to​ ​the​ ​messiness​ ​of​ ​this human​ ​life,​ ​that​ ​we​ ​might​ ​see​ ​the​ ​wondrous​ ​graces​ ​of​ ​a​ ​God​ ​that​ ​loves​ ​and​ ​interconnects​ ​all​ ​of us,​ ​even​ ​when​ ​we​ ​stumble,​ ​fall,​ ​and​ ​lose​ ​our​ ​way;​ ​a​ ​God​ ​who​ ​loves​ ​you​ ​when​ ​all​ ​the​ ​externals are​ ​stripped​ ​away​ ​and​ ​you​ ​stand​ ​naked​ ​and​ ​vulnerable.

It’s​ ​so​ ​easy​ ​to​ ​blast​ ​other​ ​traditions​ ​for​ ​prosperity​ ​gospel-​ ​especially​ ​this​ ​past​ ​week.​ ​Sometimes​ ​I wonder​ ​if​ ​we​ ​have​ ​set​ ​up​ ​our​ ​own​ ​version​ ​of​ ​the​ ​prosperity​ ​gospel​ ​that​ ​doesn’t​ ​require​ ​bearing​ ​a cross,​ ​where​ ​we​ ​focus​ ​on​ ​blessing​ ​without​ ​risk.​ ​I​ ​have​ ​to​ ​say,​ ​I​ ​was​ ​a​ ​little​ ​disappointed​ ​when​ ​I realized​ ​my​ ​preaching​ ​opportunity​ ​today​ ​was​ ​on​ ​“pick​ ​up​ ​your​ ​cross​ ​and​ ​carry​ ​me.”​ ​​ ​I’d​ ​much rather​ ​preach​ ​on​ ​God​ ​loves​ ​you,​ ​or​ ​we​ ​welcome​ ​all,​ ​or​ ​turning​ ​water​ ​into​ ​wine.​ ​There​ ​is​ ​blessing in​ ​our​ ​tradition,​ ​but​ ​what​ ​I​ ​realized​ ​in​ ​preparing​ ​for​ ​today​ ​is​ ​that​ ​if​ ​we​ ​are​ ​not​ ​careful,​ ​we​ ​end​ ​up with​ ​cheap​ ​grace-​ ​with​ ​blessing​ ​like​ ​Lois​ ​Lane​ ​waiting​ ​for​ ​Superman​ ​to​ ​save​ ​the​ ​world​ ​while​ ​we wait​ ​doing​ ​nothing.​ ​We​ ​are​ ​certainly​ ​not​ ​doing​ ​nothing​ ​at​ ​St​ ​Paul’s!​ ​But​ ​if​ ​the​ ​fundamentalist traditions​ ​risk​ ​overemphasizing​ ​legalistic​ ​behavior​ ​changes,​ ​I​ ​wonder​ ​if​ ​the​ ​mainline​ ​traditions can​ ​fall​ ​into​ ​a​ ​pattern​ ​of​ ​inviting​ ​into​ ​blessing​ ​and​ ​hospitality​ ​without​ ​talking​ ​about transformation;​ ​bearing​ ​our​ ​crosses​ ​in​ ​shared​ ​discipleship​ ​both​ ​in​ ​our​ ​inner​ ​landscapes​ ​and​ ​our outward​ ​journey​ ​of​ ​reconciliation.

It​ ​may​ ​not​ ​be​ ​fun,​ ​it​ ​may​ ​not​ ​be​ ​popular,​ ​but​ ​the​ ​cost​ ​of​ ​discipleship​ ​is​ ​an​ ​important​ ​part​ ​of​ ​faith. And​ ​it’s​ ​tricky,​ ​because​ ​it​ ​is​ ​not​ ​the​ ​same​ ​as​ ​working​ ​to​ ​earn​ ​God’s​ ​love,​ ​or​ ​any​ ​other​ ​perversion of​ ​grace.​ ​And​ ​I’m​ ​afraid​ ​without​ ​that​ ​regular​ ​and​ ​ongoing​ ​transformation-​ ​which​ ​can​ ​be​ ​quite painful,​ ​the​ ​church​ ​is​ ​just​ ​a​ ​club.
I​ ​will​ ​never​ ​forget​ ​when​ ​I​ ​went​ ​to​ ​seminary,​ ​I​ ​was​ ​in​ ​a​ ​small​ ​group​ ​where​ ​we​ ​were​ ​beginning​ ​the process​ ​of​ ​our​ ​formation​ ​as​ ​priests.​ ​​ ​A​ ​colleague​ ​who​ ​became​ ​one​ ​of​ ​my​ ​best​ ​friends​ ​said​ ​this:​ ​“I know​ ​that​ ​being​ ​here​ ​at​ ​seminary,​ ​a​ ​part​ ​of​ ​me​ ​is​ ​going​ ​to​ ​have​ ​to​ ​die.​ ​​ ​But​ ​that​ ​is​ ​so​ ​that​ ​another part​ ​of​ ​me​ ​is​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​be​ ​born.”​ ​​ ​I​ ​have​ ​always​ ​appreciated​ ​her​ ​courage​ ​in​ ​being prepared​ ​to​ ​sacrifice​ ​a​ ​part​ ​of​ ​herself​ ​for​ ​her​ ​faith.​ ​And​ ​I​ ​have​ ​never​ ​forgotten​ ​it,​ ​because​ ​she​ ​was right,​ ​and​ ​that’s​ ​not​ ​just​ ​for​ ​priests.​ ​It’s​ ​the​ ​very​ ​nature​ ​of​ ​baptism:​ ​we​ ​plunge​ ​into​ ​the​ ​water,​ ​a part​ ​of​ ​us​ ​drowning,​ ​and​ ​a​ ​new​ ​part​ ​of​ ​us​ ​rising.​ ​​ ​That​ ​new​ ​life​ ​is​ ​beautiful.​ ​​ ​And​ ​that​ ​doesn’t mean​ ​that​ ​the​ ​old​ ​part​ ​is​ ​ugly;​ ​it​ ​is​ ​just​ ​as​ ​beautifully​ ​human​ ​as​ ​Peter’s​ ​love​ ​for​ ​Jesus​ ​in​ ​today’s story,​ ​his​ ​reluctance​ ​to​ ​let​ ​Jesus​ ​die​ ​because​ ​he​ ​can’t​ ​touch​ ​or​ ​see​ ​the​ ​new​ ​risen​ ​life.​ ​​ ​That​ ​death and​ ​rebirth,​ ​along​ ​with​ ​the​ ​continual​ ​courage​ ​to​ ​face​ ​the​ ​new​ ​life​ ​ahead,​ ​that​ ​transformation,​ ​is not​ ​a​ ​one-time​ ​thing–​ ​it​ ​is​ ​our​ ​joy,​ ​our​ ​opportunity,​ ​to​ ​be​ ​open​ ​to​ ​and​ ​receive​ ​as​ ​a​ ​gift​ ​over​ ​and

over​ ​and​ ​over​ ​again​ ​as​ ​we​ ​live​ ​our​ ​lives​ ​in​ ​faith.

Because​ ​losing​ ​our​ ​lives​ ​is​ ​not​ ​the​ ​end.​ ​​ ​It​ ​is​ ​only​ ​the​ ​beginning.​ ​​ ​And​ ​that,​ ​my​ ​dear​ ​brothers​ ​and
sisters,​ ​is​ ​grace.


The​ ​Rev.​ ​Jeff​ ​Martinhauk 
Proper​ ​17A,​ ​September​ ​3,​ ​2017 
St.​ ​Paul’s​ ​Cathedral,​ ​San​ ​Diego 


Sources​ ​Consulted:
Feasting​ ​on​ ​the​ ​Word,​ ​Year​ ​A,​ ​Vol.​ ​4.​​ ​Ed.​ ​David​ ​L.​ ​Bartlett​ ​and​ ​Barbara​ ​Brown​ ​Taylor. Louisville,​ ​Kentucky:​ ​John​ ​Knox​ ​Press,​ ​2010.

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