Mark 6:14-29

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By the time I realized I hadn't posted a reflection on Mark last week, it was Thursday. Oops - so much for Mondays. At any rate, I'm actually glad it worked out this way - I was struggling with this passage anyway, and now that I think I have a sense of what's going on here, it seems to be a perfect reflection for the week in which we will celebrate the death and resurrection of Christ.

Mark is not what I would consider a frivolous writer. His gospel is the most concise, and he is often a bit skimpy with the details. He likes action and does not appear to have any real sense that he cares about time - everything is sequential and immediate, giving the reader the feeling of being on a roller coaster if he or she reads large enough. Having said that, this particular narrative relating the death of John the Baptist is odd, quite odd indeed. Mark breaks the flow of his narrative for the first time here, shifting from Jesus to John and jumping out of sequence. It's almost jarring if you're paying attention to what he's doing - it's as if he wants to bring you up short, to startle you and make you ask what he's thinking, writing like this.

The subject, of course, is John, and specifically his awful death at the hands of Herod by the manipulations of Herod's wife/sister-in-law. No doubt this incident was on Jesus' mind as he ministered in Herod's territory - John was his cousin, and the details of his demise were apparently at least public enough for his disciples to have claimed his body for burial. More significant, perhaps, was the fact that some of the people began to say that Jesus was actually John raised from the dead. Herod, it seems, believed at least enough in the possibility to get a bit worried; after all, John probably wasn't too pleased with the hospitality he had received during his last stay.

Make no mistake, however. This interlude serves one purpose in Mark. It hints at an answer to the implied question of the narrative; namely, who is this man Jesus? Is he John, returned from the dead? Is he Elijah, or another prophet? The answer, of course, to all of these is no. But Mark causes us to stop short and recognize that, although he is not John, he will share John's fate - execution at the hands of corrupt political and religious leaders. We already know from chapter 3 that the Herodians planned to kill Jesus. Now we see that Herod himself has already killed John, and the comparisons to Jesus couldn't be more obvious.

So why here, why now? Why would Mark make such an unusual break in the narrative simply to remind his readers of what is coming? I think that there is no coincidence that this passage comes immediately after the sending of the disciples and immediately before the feeding of the five thousand. Jesus' public ministry couldn't be going any better. He is enjoying a wave of popularity, performing amazing signs and wonders, and his followers appear to be starting to understand. But Mark reminds us here, forcefully, that nobody really understands. The path of Jesus will follow John's footsteps, and he will suffer death at the hands of the government. The dogs are barking up the wrong tree. The Messianic secret is still safe.

Mark 6:1-13 Redux

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I try to pay attention when Jesus is surprised. Things that amaze the Son of God seem to me to be things of substance. This passage relates something of a tragic amazement - Jesus is surprised by the inability of those in his hometown to recognize him as Messiah. His childhood friends and neighbors were so conditioned by their casual familiarity with the boy next door that they were unable to summon any wonder, any amazement of their own.

Contrast this with the truly amazing things that happen when Jesus' disciples are sent to carry the message of the Kingdom. The faithlessness of Jesus' hometown is replaced by the wonder of the Kingdom breaking into the present. Still, there is the warning that not every town will be hospitable to the disciples - if they are not welcomed, they are to go on their way, just as Jesus was forced to do.

I wonder what it would have looked like the next day in Nazareth. Perhaps there would have been a few more interesting conversations around the well, or some extra glances thrown at Mary and her family. Otherwise, it would have been business as usual. No change, no disruption, no wonder or amazement except for the amazement of a prophet whose words went unheeded and whose deeds were unwelcomed. However, in those towns where his followers were welcomed - rejoicing.

In which town do you live?

Mark 6:1-13

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I'm not intentionally slacking off this week - I'm truly pondering this passage, wondering what it means and if, as I currently think, the two scenes are related. I'm resisting the impulse to post for the sake of posting - if the stew isn't ready, I'd rather let it cook than serve it raw, so to speak. There is a lot here for us to ponder, so I want to ask for input on how you read these two accounts and implications for us. Any thoughts are most welcome; I'll post conclusions later this week if we generate some helpful dialogue.

Mark 5:21-43

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There are a lot of things that I could discuss in this particular narrative. However, one thing in particular leaps out at me. The theme of touch runs through this narrative like an electric current. The touch of the crowds - unyielding, jostling, forceful. The touch of the woman - tentative, ashamed, yet full of faith. And the touch of Jesus - the touch that sets this story on its edge, rearranging our categories and challenging our assumptions.

What is so significant about Jesus' touch? To understand why this story is so amazing, we must first understand something of Old Testament law. Touch was a sacred thing, something to be guarded and used with caution. More specifically, touch was one way of becoming ritually unclean; coming in contact with unclean people or things would, in turn, make a person also unclean. In this story, two people in particular are notable for being unclean: the sick woman and the dead girl.

The reality of the narrative is that Jesus demolishes the barriers that separate Him from those who have been identified as "unclean". Speaking from the perspective of the Law, the sick woman should not have been where she was. In the middle of a crowd, she most likely would make dozens of people also ritually unclean as a result of contact with her. Her fear of discovery is grounded in the shame of one who has no right to be where she is. In the same way, a respectable Jewish rabbi would certainly not touch a dead body!

The irony of the story is that, not once, but twice Jesus steps over the bounds of propriety in compassion for others. In doing so, however, Jesus does not become "unclean" - in fact, the opposite occurs! Jesus' touch brings healing, wholeness, and life to those who are beyond the bounds of propriety. Jesus does not become "unclean" - the woman and the girl become clean again.

Mark 5:1-20

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This is another odd passage that grates against our sensibilities. I'm not going to list all of the things I find odd about it; no doubt you have your own. It stands in contrast to so much of what we experience in a modernized, mechanized, medicated culture. However, looking past the oddities, two things about this passage capture my attention.

First, I notice that the people from the surrounding area that came to witness the amazing restoration of a man who was once quite insane quickly got over their amazement. In fact, they asked Jesus to leave town. Part of this may be the awe and fear of a power that they could not grasp, that turned their sensibilities upside-down and confronted them with an act of kindness and mercy that they simply had no way of grasping. However, I can't help but notice the comment made by Mark - they heard, not just about the man, but also about the pigs. I have to wonder if, recognizing the cost of mercy, they decided it was rather too high. Were they more concerned about their financial losses than about seeing one who was in bondage brought to freedom and wholeness?

The second thing that I have to notice is that, when the man asks to follow, Jesus turns him down. Instead, he is sent back to tell of the amazing thing that has happened to him. And where is he sent back? No doubt to the very people who were more concerned about pigs than about his restoration, who chained him and bound him and turned their backs as he made his home in the tombs. And I have to wonder about the faith of this man who, as the story goes, followed Jesus relentlessly after a chance meeting that turned his life upside down. I wonder at the faith of this man, who the story does not even name, and at the callousness of those who had no compassion on him, and I ask myself - who in this story do I most resemble?

Mark 4:35-41

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This passage is one of the more familiar passages from the gospel accounts. It is also one of the places where sermons and books have been least kind to the disciples, in my opinion. It's easy to dismiss their fear as something shameful as we sit comfortably at home reading the story of which we already know the end. However, in many ways, I find that this particular narrative encapsulates the experiences of the disciples following Jesus perfectly. Remember that, particulary for Mark, Jesus' identity was something of a secret and was most certainly a surprise. Read this as though you do not know the end of the story, and I think you'll find the disciples quite a sympathetic bunch indeed.

However, even in second reading, this story should be somewhat disturbing. The ill-fated boating trip? Jesus' idea. Jesus leads his friends into the teeth of a life-threatening storm and then goes to take a nap. When the disciples needed him the most, he gave all indications of being unavailable. The words of the disciples, "Is it nothing to you if we drown?" - those words should stick in our hearts, because most likely we have all uttered the same prayer at some point in our journey. Is it nothing to you, you who convinced us to get on the boat, you who set our course, you who went to sleep when you were most needed, is it nothing to you if we drown? It makes me question the seriousness of Jesus' response: "Why did you doubt?" Jesus, did you see the gale force winds and waves larger than the boat?

This is not a child's tale. This story is not for the faint of heart. Here, we are confronted with the not-at-all-tame lion, the unsafe God who lives wildly and recklessly. We are confronted with the fact that we, too, are in the boat with him, that he has set our course and even now is glancing at the stern with sleepy eyes. But trust is called for as well, forcing us often to live in the tension between fear and faith, responding most appropriately with the same words that the disciples used - "Who is this that I am following?"

Mark 4:1-34

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Ok, I'm going to come clean. This passage bugs me. I've been thinking about it for a while now, and I can't resolve it. Here's the problem - the parable of the sower works just fine on its own. It seems rather straightforward and uncomplicated, a fine tale about seed and soil and who can receive God's message. But if we'll stop chopping up the story into tiny bits and connect it with the rest of the narrative, things start to come apart for me.

See, Jesus talks about how he speaks in parables to keep those on the outside from hearing the message. (His words, not mine, and if you think I'm taking them out of context, read the connecting passage in Isaiah 6.) So, if that's the case, why this talk about lights and dinnerware? Is he hiding or revealing? Make up your mind, Jesus - you can't have it both ways!

Here's what I'm thinking so far. In Mark, we find this recurring theme of the Big Secret of the Kingdom. For Mark, God's Kingdom is mysterious and surprising, never working in the ways that one would expect. Now we find this series of parables all about seeds and soil. I think Jesus is talking about the subversive, unexpected nature of the Kingdom, how it can't be controlled or managed or predicted, but how it comes on its own terms to those who are receptive. I think the point of all of this is that we are the soil - that the seed of the Kingdom is being sown in our lives, that it takes root and grows and overwhelms all else - if we are good soil. But the fruit doesn't show immediately. It comes later, sometimes unexpectedly in unexpected places. The seed is there, doing its work, fulfilling its purpose, waiting for the right season to explode with life and growth. Its very nature and purpose demands that it be hidden, only to be revealed in due time, in the proper season.

What do you think?

Mark 3:20-35

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This passage has generated more than its share of controversy because of Jesus' reference to sin that cannot be forgiven. In reality, though, it doesn't seem that the point of Mark's inclusion of this story was to give his readers a perspective on Jesus' thoughts on sin. Rather, this particular narrative focuses again on the opposition to Jesus' mission. The twist? The key players are Jesus' family.

Mark states the intentions of the family at the beginning of the narrative, in verse 21. They believed he was out of his mind. Think about that - even his family thought he was crazy. His mother, Mary, who was visited by an angel and knew the remarkable truth of his heritage, believed he needed to be contained. Now, read again Jesus' words: "A house divided against itself cannot stand."

What is the difference between Jesus' own family and the religious leaders in this tale? In truth, nothing. When Jesus warns against resisting the Holy Spirit, he is speaking not only to the religious power brokers, but also to his own mother and brothers. He goes so far as to place himself in opposition to them, should they continue to resist his mission. The point of this story? Nobody is exempt from judgment if they choose to oppose God's kingdom, not even Christ's own flesh and blood. However, nobody who embraces his mission will be left out. It's a powerful story of inclusion and opposition that highlights the cost of being a part of the kingdom of God.

Mark 3:7-19

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There are a number of ways that I could talk about this passage. But I like one verse here in particular from the Message: "He climbed a mountain and invited those he wanted with him. They climbed together."

I really just want to stop and hang out there. They climbed together. There's a sense of belonging there, of friendship and identification, of shared sights and shared dreams. And, in truth, that's what he was choosing - guys he could climb with, who he could walk with, live with, minister with, and be with. It makes me think of Jeff's writings (which, I must say, keep getting better and better) about Jesus and his wild invitations to come and ride with him.

They climbed together. But even here, there's a foreshadow of a darker climb. They climbed together, Jesus and Peter, who would later be known as Rock (and, a few verses later, Satan). They climbed together, Jesus and James and John, Sons of Thunder (who wanted to call down fire on his enemies). They climbed together, Jesus and Judas, who betrayed him.

They climbed together. But later, he would climb another hill alone.

Mark 2:1-3:6

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As usual, Mark doesn't mince words here. He tells of four specific instances that set up Jesus' ongoing conflict with the religious authorities of his day. By the beginning of the third chapter of Mark's gospel, Jesus has earned enemies who want him dead.

This is a difficult passage to hear, I think, because we've been conditioned to read it knowing the ending. Set aside your understanding, your knowledge of the story, for a moment. Read it again and think about what exactly Jesus did that put him on the Pharisees' hit list. He healed a couple of people, ate some grain, and had dinner at the home of an unreputable man. And for this he must die? What's really going on here?

Remember back to chapter 1 - the response of the people to Jesus was amazement at his teaching and his authority. Now, in this chapter, Jesus calls out the Pharisees. With his talk of new cloth and new wineskins, Jesus proclaims loudly that the winds of change are blowing. "These guys no longer have a claim to speak for God," he says. "Authority belongs to me, and I'm going to wield it in surprising ways. The insiders? They're out. You'll find me with the outcasts."

Make no mistake - the conflict here is about control, about who can speak for God and control access to God. Jesus doesn't play by the rules, doesn't cooperate with the religious mafia, and for that he must die.

The scary thing about this passage? Walk into a Christian bookstore and tell me whose words are plastered across the covers you see. Sobering, I think.

Mark 1:9-45

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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?

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.