Mark 1:9-45

Read It

John has prepared the way, and now Jesus comes on the scene, surprising everyone. If I had to pick a word to describe what's going on in the beginning of Mark's story, that's the word I'd choose - surprise. I find it interesting that Mark doesn't dwell on Jesus calling the apostles. It's almost an afterthought, it seems; Jesus does a lot of amazing things and, by the way, picks up a few fishermen to tag along. This is interesting to me because, first, it's clear who the center of attention is. This story is about Christ. In some sense, though, I can develop a sympathy for them at this point. It's quite clear that they have no idea what they're getting themselves into. For Mark, the disciples are as clueless as everyone else. This is important because of how the narrative develops, but we'll get to that in a bit. For now, it's enough to note that, for Mark, first they followed, then stuff started happening. Plant yourselves in the position of clueless disciples watching the story unfold and you'll have a good sense of what Mark is saying.

And Jesus does surprise. He casts out evil spirits, teaches with great authority, and heals sick people. At this point, he's a complete unknown, although Mark is already dropping clues if you're paying attention. (When God says something, it's probably important...) But it's clear that everyone who encounters him is trying to figure him out - who he is, where he's from, what his agenda is. He's getting good press - but here's the surprise within the surprise. He shuns the spotlight. He avoids the crowds and tries to go to places where he isn't known. He even tells people not to tell anyone about what he's done for them.

Here's what I don't want to do with this part of the story. I don't believe that Jesus was playing mind games here. I've heard this passage explained by saying, "Well, Jesus knew that people want to tell secrets more than they want to tell news. He wanted the man to talk about him, so he told him to keep quiet, knowing that the man would talk all the more." That's not at all the sense I get from reading this. What we have here is a Jesus who is actively avoiding crowds and trying to stay out of the spotlight. The command to keep quiet fits perfectly as-is; explaining it away doesn't do justice to the story. Jesus didn't want the attention. This is the suprise within the surprise - Jesus isn't out for fame or recognition or even "spreading the good news" as we usually think of it. He's up to something else entirely.

Surprised?

Browser

Mozilla released the preview version of their Firefox browser this past week. Normally I try to hide my inner geek, but in this case I'll make an exception. There is no excuse for continued use of Internet Explorer when such a fine product is available for free.

Comments

Make sure you check out Jeff's comment on my post about Faith. He posted a really great piece about Jesus on a Harley. Very meaningful and well written.

Mark 1:1-8

First, a few words on logistics. My plan is to blog my way through the book of Mark, probably at the rate of one chapter a week or so. Why Mark? For me, Mark is the gospel that I come back to when I need a sense of perspective. In many ways, it seems the most "human" of the gospels to me. Mark writes as though there's a big secret that everyone in the story should be getting but isn't. Reading Mark is like watching an M. Night Shyamalan flick, except that the reader knows the twist - the characters have no idea what's coming. Mark also writes like a man with ADD - lots of action verbs, and the setting keeps switching. I picture Mark telling the story and almost interrupting himself. I read every transition as though he's saying, "Oh! And then there was this time..."

Now, on to the story.

Mark opens with a crazy guy in the desert. Now that's a way to get your attention - camel hair and bugs. To be honest, I'm not sure what I find more amazing - the fact that people listened, or that John knew his place and stuck to it. I think that we would do well to remember this. John attracts crowds who follow him and listen to his teaching, but he relentlessly focuses on one thing. John is not the point. The point is the one who will come after him, one who will forever redefine the terms on which God and humanity relate. This is something we would do well to take to heart. We can identify with the ministry of Jesus, try to follow his ethic and practice his teachings. But on some level, our lives should also strongly identify with John's. We are not the point either. Just as John's life pointed forward to the one who would come, ours must point back to the one who has already come, one whose shoes we are not worthy to fill.

Stuff

I doubt I'll have time to post reflections on ETREK until early next week. It was great fun, though - I'm really looking forward to the rest of the course. On another note, I was thinking of trying something a bit different. I'm interested in doing something a bit more simple for a while, both out of curiosity and out of a desire to return to the center, so to speak. I'm thinking to blog my way through the book of Mark, sort of in terms of a combination running commentary/journal/group reflection for anyone who might be interested in coming along. My thoughts would be to plan to read and meditate on a specific passage every week, post my reflections, and dialogue with anyone who's interested in doing the same. Thoughts? Would anyone care to join?

More to come - if I get some time this weekend, I may post my first reflections early next week, along with my thoughts on ETREK.

Faith

Geoff posted something recently that, tonight, has my wheels turning. Geoff says, in short, "It is not what we believe, but how we believe."

So, tonight, I find myself wondering how it is that I believe. And, in honesty, this is the source of my decline in blogging as of late. I have become suspicious that I am advertising a product that I don't use, that for all of my theological speculation and talk of "metaphors" and "community" there should exist a corresponding change in my own behavior, attitudes, actions, thoughts, something. Let's be honest - if we really believed this stuff, Christianity wouldn't be the dirty word that it's become. Or maybe it would be more so, but for vastly different reasons.

But the problem is precisely that I don't believe - not in the true sense, the Jesus sense, the transformational old-is-gone-new-has-come sense. Oh, sure, I have the "right" intellectual framework. I've worked on my exegesis, brushed up on my apologetic, refined my hermeneutic, become slightly neurotic. But theology that fails to drive us to a different way of doing and being is just so much intellectual posturing - more than that, it becomes dangerous, because it provides a false sense of security that comes of being "right".

The biblical authors approach this fairly simply. "If anyone says, 'I love God,' yet hates his brother, he is a liar." "Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn't do it, sins." "Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by what I do. You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that--and shudder."

Faith, I think, is something that happens to us as we join in God's doing. It isn't an intellectual construction or a doctrinal formulation or a creedal recitation. Faith is what causes us to transform those things into praxis. And, as James reminds us, it is a dead thing if it does not move.

I think there is more to this than one night's musings. Perhaps I'll return to this in the near future. Tomorrow, I'm off to the ETREK course at Biblical, then off to San Francisco for a week for the upcoming PeopleSoft conference. If I have the opportunity, I'll post something about ETREK before I leave.

Dance

Writing is, I believe, equal parts courtship and wrestling - writing, at least, that seeks to move beyond simply conveying information and attempts something of the creative. Words are timid things that sometimes respond to a delicate touch and must often be coaxed from hiding, yet once within reach, must be grasped and held so that they may not escape. It is a frustrating endeavor, an exciting romance, a thrilling adventure. It is how I worship.

Writing, for me, is letting my soul stand naked in the rain. At times it is exhilarating, cleansing and childlike, an opportunity to dance in the puddles of words and ideas, feeling a brief taste of the pleasure of the Creator in the delight of the thing created. At times it is awkward, uncomfortable and self-conscious, feeling the eyes of others on me, weighing, judging, critiquing. My fear is that my inadequate words will be seen for the clumsy dance steps that they are, that as I play in the falling rain my steps will be stilled by the corrective glance of a disapproving adult or scornful playmate. And yet, to remain inside is no true alternative; my soul must play or become a sad, shriveled shell of a thing, emaciated and weak from lack of exercise.

Oh, to dance and play unencumbered, to offer to heaven the meager gift of a child's joy and delight, wonder and trust - that is my heart's desire.

Wonder

This week, instead of going to church, I slept late and had a bagel and coffee at Panera's. I sat and read Blue Like Jazz for the fifth time or so. (These are the sort of things you can do when your family is away and you have no responsiblities other than not setting the house on fire.) It was fabulous. I felt that strange mix of guilt and adrenaline that you get from cutting class or driving too fast. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing, but that's the way I felt.

My wife commented to me recently that she hates Sundays. Not because she hates church or anything like that - she said instead that I get very tense on Sundays, very stressed and anxious and just generally not fun to be around. I hadn't even realized. Earlier this year I started to develop migraines. I realized that I always got them on Sundays, something I attributed to the foul air in the basement where our youth group was meeting. (There had to have been enough mold spores in the air to open a penicillin factory. I don't do well with airborne allergens.)

That evening, after lunch and conversation with friends, I made my way to Valley Forge park to sit in the shade of a huge oak tree and be still. Valley Forge National Historical Park is an interesting place. Acre upon acre of woods, meadows, and monuments sit in the middle of one of the fastest growing areas of the Philadelphia suburbs. I sat under my tree and listened to the competing sounds of the stillness of the evening and the traffic from the mall and wondered at the oddness of life, the juxtaposition of things that seem contradictory, and the whereabouts of God in the midst of the oddness.

I think it was Gregory of Nyssa who said, "Concepts create idols. Only wonder understands." The worst thing about being cynical is that it makes wonder impossible. A cynic will never understand God, because he or she will be unable to find wonder in the midst of uncertainty, pain, and confusion. (I don't think I understand God very well.)

Later, I sat at home on my deck and read more of Blue Like Jazz. The evening was fantastic, perfect for a book outside. As the blue smoke from my pipe drifted lazily on the breeze, I realized that my head wasn't throbbing and that I wasn't stressed at all. I felt at peace for the first time in perhaps months.

Perhaps I have a bit of wonder left in me after all.