Conflicting expectations
Commentary
Object:
The year was 1934. Times were difficult around the world, especially in the repressed economic and political climate of post-World War I Germany. But recovery was in sight. A group of theologians at Wurtemburg saw a rising star of hope and penned together a declaration of faith that would be signed by 600 pastors of churches and 14 theology professors at seminaries.
Their promising statement included these words: “We are full of thanks to God that He, as Lord of history, has given us Adolf Hitler, our leader and savior from our difficult lot. We acknowledge that we, with body and soul, are bound and dedicated to the German state and to its Fuhrer.”
Astounding, isn’t it? In retrospect we can only shudder at the demonic twists of history that could produce such unqualified devotion to a man who would later rip God’s world apart, and destroy, insofar as he was able, both the church and children of God.
That same year, 1934, Hitler summoned a group of church leaders to his office. Martin Niemoller was among them. He had been a great hero in the German navy during World War I, commanding a submarine that caused great destruction to the Allied fleet. Now he was a pastor, much loved in his new vocation.
The meeting with Hitler began cordially enough. Suddenly, however, Hermann Goering burst into the room with a charge of treason against Niemoller. Hitler raged in angry tirade. Finally he regained his composure and told Niemoller, “You confine yourself to the church. I’ll take care of the German people!”
But Niemoller stood quietly and replied, “Herr Reichskanzler, you said just now: ‘I will take care of the German people.’ But we too, as Christians and churchmen, have a responsibility toward the German people. That responsibility was entrusted to us by God, and neither you nor anyone in this world has the power to take it from us.”
Hitler knew a showdown when he saw it. Niemoller went to trial, and was convicted of misusing his pulpit for political purposes. Hitler refused to pardon him, declaring, “It is Niemoller or I.”
Not all political confrontations are that dramatic, but the gray area of compromise -- whether social, economic, emotional, physical, or political -- always takes place with the slow staccato of drumbeats in the background, and, as we read in today’s lectionary passages, conflicting rhythms tear at our souls until we find a way to isolate the heartbeat of the God we will follow. Israel wants a king who is more immediately available than Yahweh, but will find out that rulers of our own designs often oppress more deeply than we ever dreamed. Paul finds his body wrestling with the demands of a broken world, even as his spirit soars into Jesus’ promised future. And those who marvel at the powers and preaching of the man from Nazareth debate who might be commissioning him.
1 Samuel 8:4-11 (12-15) 16-20 (11:14-15)
There are a number of key issues which emerge through the first half of 1 Samuel, as the new figure of King Saul takes center stage. For one thing, the covenant theocracy with Yahweh as Israel’s unseen king begins to seem inadequate to the people. This is so for at least two reasons. On the one hand, Yahweh’s voice is hard to hear, unlike the days of Moses and Joshua, when it was quickly apparent what God desired or decreed. On the other hand, the urgent military threats from neighboring nations seem to demand a readily visible and immediate leadership that is not dependent on lengthy rituals of ceremony and sacrifice before Yahweh might or might not put in an appearance. Precisely because of these concerns, Samuel stands as the transition figure between the judges (who gave quick military leadership and then faded away without establishing ongoing royal courts or dynasties) and the monarchy, as it will emerge in part through Saul and to its full extent by way of David and his family. Samuel, as his name indicates, was a new communication link between the people and their God, and also a mighty general in battle. But his appearance on the scene was too brief to nurture public confidence in long-range national stability without a clearly identified temporal rule and an expectation of solid succession plans.
At the time Samuel is born, the official representative for Yahweh, a priest named Eli (“My God”), neither recognizes true need and absolute devotion in Hannah’s silent praying nor is able to intercede on her behalf with Yahweh. At first he rudely accosts Hannah, Samuel’s mother, calling her a drunkard. Then when she pours out her deep frustrations, all he can do is wish her well. He does not have Yahweh’s ear, and Yahweh’s voice does not speak through him, even though he is a priest.
Similarly, Eli’s sons, who are priests in their own right, are wicked men. They fail to mediate between Israel and Yahweh. They rob the people to feed their own gluttony. They mishandle the sacrifices, although the rituals are clearly spelled out. They have sexual relations with women at the Tabernacle, just like the priest and prostitutes at the fertility shrines of other nations and gods. They fail to heed their father’s admonitions. And then, to top it off, they presume leadership of the armies of Israel, and brazenly take the Ark of the Covenant into battle as a weapon of war!
This is why the writer uses one telling event during Samuel’s childhood as the defining image of both the times and the man. “In those days the word of the Lord was rare,” he tells us (1 Samuel 3:1). Then, simply, the story of Samuel hearing his name called in the night is told. Samuel does not know who is calling him, and at first Eli does not either. But soon it becomes apparent to the older man that while he does not have either the ear or voice of Yahweh, this young child certainly does. The nation quickly learns the same, as the writer notes in his closing comments on this episode: “The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan to Beersheba recognized that Samuel was attested as a prophet of the Lord. The Lord continued to appear at Shiloh, and there he revealed himself to Samuel through his word. And Samuel’s word came to all Israel” (1 Samuel 3:19--4:1).
So it is that in battles against the neighboring Philistines the Israelites are impotent. Not only do they lose the war, but the throne of their God, the Ark of the Covenant, is captured by the enemy through the foolishness of Eli’s sons. Still, Yahweh personally battles the Philistines and their god Dagon, until the Philistines recognize defeat and send the Ark home. In the end, it is Samuel alone (1 Samuel 7) who can reconcile Israel back to Yahweh, and turn the page on this horrible chapter with a clear divine deliverance from the Philistines.
When the Israelites finally grow bold enough to demand a human king, Samuel is the one who must mediate between Yahweh and the people until each party understands the consequences. Then Samuel anoints both of the first kings of Israel, the obvious leader who turns out bad, and the overlooked runt who turns out great.
Like Samuel, Saul is a transitional figure. He expresses both what the monarchy can be and what it should not be. In this sense he is flawed and expendable. David, on the other hand, becomes the paradigmatic king against whom all other rulers will be assessed. This is why an everlasting covenant (royal grant) places his family on the throne forever (2 Samuel 7). Throughout the Old Testament this covenant is a source of hope for Israel (and later Judah), particularly during times of foreign oppression and alien occupation of the land. With the dawning of the New Testament era, the promised Davidic kingship feeds apocalyptic fervor and shapes messianic prophecy. When Yahweh fulfills the promises made to Israel, according to all religious and national expectations, it will take place through a descendant of this royal family.
2 Corinthians 4:13--5:1
The letter we call 1 Corinthians was not well received by its original readers. Their relations with Paul apparently deteriorated rapidly after it arrived, and many more among them began to call into question Paul’s presumed ongoing authority. In response Paul decided that he needed to make a personal visit, both to address the immoral behavior and renew his pastoral ties with the church as a whole. Paul’s return to Corinth was anything but triumphant, however, and actually turned out to be a bust. Later he would call it a “painful visit” (2 Corinthians 2:1).
After this debacle Paul limped back to Ephesus confused and hurt, and wrote a severe letter of reproof that later caused him regret because of its caustic tone and content (2 Corinthians 7:8). Although we might wish to know more specifically what Paul said in that correspondence, no copies have survived. Still, Paul’s strongly worded pastoral medicine apparently worked, at least to a degree, for when Titus made his report after delivering the letter he told of great and pervasive repentance and sorrow among the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 7:6-16). Humility was breeding healing and hope.
About the same time that Titus was back in Corinth, Paul apparently had a near-death experience during a preaching trip to Troas (2 Corinthians 1?2). This scare seems to have been the trigger which initiated Paul’s fourth letter, a letter of comfort and tenderness to the Corinthian congregation. Evidently Paul needed to confirm the renewal of his relationship with the church, lest, if he should die soon, the lingering memories of their interaction would only be pain and conflict. Paul’s last letter to Corinth survives as our 2 Corinthians.
It is a passionate, tender, personal, and encouraging communication. Paul can hardly repeat the word “comfort” often enough in his opening paragraph (2 Corinthians 1:3-7). Then he reminisces nostalgically, telling of his travel plans, his apostolic authority and how it came to him, the difficulties he has faced over the years of dedicated service to God and the church, and the ministry of reconciliation that motivates him (2 Corinthians 1:12--7:16).
The warm reflections and hopes of today’s reading are the great comfort and expectation of the Christian faith. We remain in a compromised world of pain, torture, irrelevance, broken relationships, and international chaos. But we believe that Jesus, who has begun a good work in us and in the world, will finish what he has begun.
Mark 3:20-35
Papias knew that the church of his day recognized this shortest of the gospels as consisting essentially of the preaching of Peter about Jesus, even though the words themselves were recorded by Mark. There are several internal hints to support this hypothesis: Peter’s call to be a follower of Jesus is the first to be recorded (Mark 1:16), even though each of the gospels reports the various callings in different sequences; Peter is identified as “Simon” early in the gospel (Mark 1:16, 29, 36), which fits with the probable way Peter was addressed by his family and friends before Jesus renamed him (Mark 3:16) “Rocky” (the essential meaning of the Greek name “Peter”); the story of Jesus healing Peter’s mother-in-law is told with more personal detail (Mark 1:29-37) than is found in its other gospel recordings (Matthew 8:14-15; Luke 4:38-39). Together these clues cement a close connection between Mark’s gospel and the preaching of Peter. Like as not, the old apostle declared these remembrances to his congregation in Rome and his younger assistant took down notes that eventually morphed into this earliest gospel.
The first glimpse of Jesus in the Gospel according to Mark is found immediately in the introductory heading or title of 1:1 -- “The beginning of the good news (gospel) about Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Several things are important in this short statement. First, the author presumes there is much more to declare about Jesus than that which will be contained in these proclamations; this is only “the beginning.” Second, whatever one might think about Jesus, even with the gruesome crucifixion story still ahead, the impact of his life and ministry is “good news.” This colors how one should receive the message that follows. Third, Jesus is already understood at the beginning of this story to be the Messiah foretold by the prophets of the Old Testament. The term “Christ,” appended to “Jesus,” is a title, not a name (although it would come to be used as such). Jesus was “the Christ,” meaning the one anointed to be the great deliverer of the Jews. This is why the baptism and divine commissioning of Jesus are told first (Mark 1:9-11), and are clearly expressed as a divine anointing (v. 10). Fourth, an additional designation is given to Jesus; he is called “the Son of God.” While Christianity has made this a common theological phrase, it was originally a very specific political term used to honor the Roman emperor. When Caesar Augustus died, the Roman Senate declared him to be divine. All of the rulers who came after him were in turn identified as the “Son of God” when they mounted the throne. For Mark to call Jesus the “Son of God” was a deliberate move to identify him as a rival to the Roman emperor of the day.
Our initial impressions about Jesus, as the narrative unfolds, are those showing him to be a man of action, healing, and power. In the first two chapters alone, Jesus is breathlessly busy, flitting all over Galilee, healing and teaching with such abandon that he is constantly followed (Mark 1:45) and always under urgent demand (Mark 3:7-8). By the time we sit with Jesus at the table for a brief repast in today’s gospel reading, the political lines are drawn. Who is this man, this blazing agent of heaven, this “son of God”? The debate swirls around the table, posing even the darkest of possibilities: is he in league with the demonic forces of evil? After all, he takes the polarization of powers into the realm of “magic” and manipulation of spiritual forces.
Among the many things that can be said about Mark’s gospel, there are a number of interesting and critical features that are unique to it. First, no infancy story is recorded (in distinction from Matthew and Luke). This gospel about Jesus begins with his full-grown adult powers in place, and these are immediately confirmed and amplified by the commissioning endowment of the divine Spirit. In other words, according to Peter’s preaching and Mark’s penning, Jesus jumps out of the starting gate at full throttle, a man on a mission, with energy and purpose.
Second, the prophecy of Isaiah is recalled up front. That Old Testament spokesperson announced the coming of the great Day of the Lord, speaking of a time when Yahweh would break into human history to bring judgment against the nations of the world and the evil in Israel, save a remnant, and begin the new and transforming messianic age. In this way Mark links the coming of Jesus directly to the Old Testament identity of God, and the actions of salvation history contained in it. This connection is further affirmed when Jesus opens his mouth to preach. His very first words are written by Mark as “the good news of God” (1:14), and commence as a staccato summary of the prophetic “Day of the Lord” theology: “The time has come. The kingdom of God is near. Repent and believe the good news!” (1:15).
Third, within the body of Mark’s gospel Jesus’ first extended teaching is the parable of the Sower and Seeds (Mark 4:1-20). Its placing and expansive size, in comparison to the snippets of teaching that came earlier, highlight it as distinctive and important. As one reads these pages in continuous narrative, the pace suddenly slows, and Jesus demands that we reflect on what has happened so far. We have been watching the Jesus of power and action through the eyes of Peter and Mark. Now we must respond to the person of Jesus. How will the sower’s seed find perch in our own lives? What kind of soil are we?
Today’s reading is a setup for the demanding parable that follows. Both for Jesus’ initial audience and for those who encounter Jesus through this gospel, the multiple-layered metaphor serves as a call to self-assessment and belief. Reaching behind the literary origins of the gospel, it is clear to see that Peter was not preaching merely to communicate information, nor was Mark recording Peter’s sermons as a nice collection of spiritual writings. This was a document intended for volitional reaction. One must respond to Jesus, and the outcome of that engagement would be seen in direct changes of lifestyle and behavior.
Application
Leslie Weatherhead once called Christianity “the religion of the dawn.” He pointed to the first dawning of light at creation as the irreversible testimony of God to this world: “It is a religion of unquenchable faith and hope and patience; unquenchable because it believes that the permanent thing is light and the passable thing is darkness; that however long the night, whether it be in world affairs or the poignant private world of the human heart, the night will pass.” He pointed to the astounding power of Easter dawn: “After the great darkness, this amazing dawn! Within seven weeks they -- the hunted, frightened fugitives -- had become flaming missionaries and willing martyrs ready to lay down their lives rather than deny the truth of His risen glory and His transforming power.... From the East the dawn-light spread across the skies of the world. The religion of the dawn!”
We know the power of the first dawn and anticipate the courage of the second. We sing at dawn of the strength of new life, for God is resplendent, exalted above the changing lights of the heavens. And we herald the dawn because it is the promise of greater things that God will yet do, as Paul notes in his testimony to the Corinthians.
Alternative Application
2 Corinthians 4:13--5:1. We know that our religion is more than just a refuge. It should be a shaping influence on all that we do or say or think. After all, that is what our Lord himself said when telling us that we should love God with all our heart,our soul,our mind,and our strength.
Over the centuries we have tried to tell Freudians that their limited perception of religious faith is inaccurate. Religion is more than just some complex childhood fixation. We know that Marx was wrong, too, when he called religion the “opiate of the masses.” And a modern “God of the gaps” who takes over only when we can’t find the answers through science or technology isn’t anything like the personal Creator and Redeemer of the scriptures either.
Still, as Paul knows when writing this letter back to his troubled friends in Corinth, if our religion doesn’t bring comfort in times of struggle, if it doesn’t keep us sane through periods of sore distress, if our God isn’t at least a “God of the gaps” whose unfailing presence can be counted on when life falls apart, then our religion is worthless.
As Charles Wesley put it:
Their promising statement included these words: “We are full of thanks to God that He, as Lord of history, has given us Adolf Hitler, our leader and savior from our difficult lot. We acknowledge that we, with body and soul, are bound and dedicated to the German state and to its Fuhrer.”
Astounding, isn’t it? In retrospect we can only shudder at the demonic twists of history that could produce such unqualified devotion to a man who would later rip God’s world apart, and destroy, insofar as he was able, both the church and children of God.
That same year, 1934, Hitler summoned a group of church leaders to his office. Martin Niemoller was among them. He had been a great hero in the German navy during World War I, commanding a submarine that caused great destruction to the Allied fleet. Now he was a pastor, much loved in his new vocation.
The meeting with Hitler began cordially enough. Suddenly, however, Hermann Goering burst into the room with a charge of treason against Niemoller. Hitler raged in angry tirade. Finally he regained his composure and told Niemoller, “You confine yourself to the church. I’ll take care of the German people!”
But Niemoller stood quietly and replied, “Herr Reichskanzler, you said just now: ‘I will take care of the German people.’ But we too, as Christians and churchmen, have a responsibility toward the German people. That responsibility was entrusted to us by God, and neither you nor anyone in this world has the power to take it from us.”
Hitler knew a showdown when he saw it. Niemoller went to trial, and was convicted of misusing his pulpit for political purposes. Hitler refused to pardon him, declaring, “It is Niemoller or I.”
Not all political confrontations are that dramatic, but the gray area of compromise -- whether social, economic, emotional, physical, or political -- always takes place with the slow staccato of drumbeats in the background, and, as we read in today’s lectionary passages, conflicting rhythms tear at our souls until we find a way to isolate the heartbeat of the God we will follow. Israel wants a king who is more immediately available than Yahweh, but will find out that rulers of our own designs often oppress more deeply than we ever dreamed. Paul finds his body wrestling with the demands of a broken world, even as his spirit soars into Jesus’ promised future. And those who marvel at the powers and preaching of the man from Nazareth debate who might be commissioning him.
1 Samuel 8:4-11 (12-15) 16-20 (11:14-15)
There are a number of key issues which emerge through the first half of 1 Samuel, as the new figure of King Saul takes center stage. For one thing, the covenant theocracy with Yahweh as Israel’s unseen king begins to seem inadequate to the people. This is so for at least two reasons. On the one hand, Yahweh’s voice is hard to hear, unlike the days of Moses and Joshua, when it was quickly apparent what God desired or decreed. On the other hand, the urgent military threats from neighboring nations seem to demand a readily visible and immediate leadership that is not dependent on lengthy rituals of ceremony and sacrifice before Yahweh might or might not put in an appearance. Precisely because of these concerns, Samuel stands as the transition figure between the judges (who gave quick military leadership and then faded away without establishing ongoing royal courts or dynasties) and the monarchy, as it will emerge in part through Saul and to its full extent by way of David and his family. Samuel, as his name indicates, was a new communication link between the people and their God, and also a mighty general in battle. But his appearance on the scene was too brief to nurture public confidence in long-range national stability without a clearly identified temporal rule and an expectation of solid succession plans.
At the time Samuel is born, the official representative for Yahweh, a priest named Eli (“My God”), neither recognizes true need and absolute devotion in Hannah’s silent praying nor is able to intercede on her behalf with Yahweh. At first he rudely accosts Hannah, Samuel’s mother, calling her a drunkard. Then when she pours out her deep frustrations, all he can do is wish her well. He does not have Yahweh’s ear, and Yahweh’s voice does not speak through him, even though he is a priest.
Similarly, Eli’s sons, who are priests in their own right, are wicked men. They fail to mediate between Israel and Yahweh. They rob the people to feed their own gluttony. They mishandle the sacrifices, although the rituals are clearly spelled out. They have sexual relations with women at the Tabernacle, just like the priest and prostitutes at the fertility shrines of other nations and gods. They fail to heed their father’s admonitions. And then, to top it off, they presume leadership of the armies of Israel, and brazenly take the Ark of the Covenant into battle as a weapon of war!
This is why the writer uses one telling event during Samuel’s childhood as the defining image of both the times and the man. “In those days the word of the Lord was rare,” he tells us (1 Samuel 3:1). Then, simply, the story of Samuel hearing his name called in the night is told. Samuel does not know who is calling him, and at first Eli does not either. But soon it becomes apparent to the older man that while he does not have either the ear or voice of Yahweh, this young child certainly does. The nation quickly learns the same, as the writer notes in his closing comments on this episode: “The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan to Beersheba recognized that Samuel was attested as a prophet of the Lord. The Lord continued to appear at Shiloh, and there he revealed himself to Samuel through his word. And Samuel’s word came to all Israel” (1 Samuel 3:19--4:1).
So it is that in battles against the neighboring Philistines the Israelites are impotent. Not only do they lose the war, but the throne of their God, the Ark of the Covenant, is captured by the enemy through the foolishness of Eli’s sons. Still, Yahweh personally battles the Philistines and their god Dagon, until the Philistines recognize defeat and send the Ark home. In the end, it is Samuel alone (1 Samuel 7) who can reconcile Israel back to Yahweh, and turn the page on this horrible chapter with a clear divine deliverance from the Philistines.
When the Israelites finally grow bold enough to demand a human king, Samuel is the one who must mediate between Yahweh and the people until each party understands the consequences. Then Samuel anoints both of the first kings of Israel, the obvious leader who turns out bad, and the overlooked runt who turns out great.
Like Samuel, Saul is a transitional figure. He expresses both what the monarchy can be and what it should not be. In this sense he is flawed and expendable. David, on the other hand, becomes the paradigmatic king against whom all other rulers will be assessed. This is why an everlasting covenant (royal grant) places his family on the throne forever (2 Samuel 7). Throughout the Old Testament this covenant is a source of hope for Israel (and later Judah), particularly during times of foreign oppression and alien occupation of the land. With the dawning of the New Testament era, the promised Davidic kingship feeds apocalyptic fervor and shapes messianic prophecy. When Yahweh fulfills the promises made to Israel, according to all religious and national expectations, it will take place through a descendant of this royal family.
2 Corinthians 4:13--5:1
The letter we call 1 Corinthians was not well received by its original readers. Their relations with Paul apparently deteriorated rapidly after it arrived, and many more among them began to call into question Paul’s presumed ongoing authority. In response Paul decided that he needed to make a personal visit, both to address the immoral behavior and renew his pastoral ties with the church as a whole. Paul’s return to Corinth was anything but triumphant, however, and actually turned out to be a bust. Later he would call it a “painful visit” (2 Corinthians 2:1).
After this debacle Paul limped back to Ephesus confused and hurt, and wrote a severe letter of reproof that later caused him regret because of its caustic tone and content (2 Corinthians 7:8). Although we might wish to know more specifically what Paul said in that correspondence, no copies have survived. Still, Paul’s strongly worded pastoral medicine apparently worked, at least to a degree, for when Titus made his report after delivering the letter he told of great and pervasive repentance and sorrow among the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 7:6-16). Humility was breeding healing and hope.
About the same time that Titus was back in Corinth, Paul apparently had a near-death experience during a preaching trip to Troas (2 Corinthians 1?2). This scare seems to have been the trigger which initiated Paul’s fourth letter, a letter of comfort and tenderness to the Corinthian congregation. Evidently Paul needed to confirm the renewal of his relationship with the church, lest, if he should die soon, the lingering memories of their interaction would only be pain and conflict. Paul’s last letter to Corinth survives as our 2 Corinthians.
It is a passionate, tender, personal, and encouraging communication. Paul can hardly repeat the word “comfort” often enough in his opening paragraph (2 Corinthians 1:3-7). Then he reminisces nostalgically, telling of his travel plans, his apostolic authority and how it came to him, the difficulties he has faced over the years of dedicated service to God and the church, and the ministry of reconciliation that motivates him (2 Corinthians 1:12--7:16).
The warm reflections and hopes of today’s reading are the great comfort and expectation of the Christian faith. We remain in a compromised world of pain, torture, irrelevance, broken relationships, and international chaos. But we believe that Jesus, who has begun a good work in us and in the world, will finish what he has begun.
Mark 3:20-35
Papias knew that the church of his day recognized this shortest of the gospels as consisting essentially of the preaching of Peter about Jesus, even though the words themselves were recorded by Mark. There are several internal hints to support this hypothesis: Peter’s call to be a follower of Jesus is the first to be recorded (Mark 1:16), even though each of the gospels reports the various callings in different sequences; Peter is identified as “Simon” early in the gospel (Mark 1:16, 29, 36), which fits with the probable way Peter was addressed by his family and friends before Jesus renamed him (Mark 3:16) “Rocky” (the essential meaning of the Greek name “Peter”); the story of Jesus healing Peter’s mother-in-law is told with more personal detail (Mark 1:29-37) than is found in its other gospel recordings (Matthew 8:14-15; Luke 4:38-39). Together these clues cement a close connection between Mark’s gospel and the preaching of Peter. Like as not, the old apostle declared these remembrances to his congregation in Rome and his younger assistant took down notes that eventually morphed into this earliest gospel.
The first glimpse of Jesus in the Gospel according to Mark is found immediately in the introductory heading or title of 1:1 -- “The beginning of the good news (gospel) about Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Several things are important in this short statement. First, the author presumes there is much more to declare about Jesus than that which will be contained in these proclamations; this is only “the beginning.” Second, whatever one might think about Jesus, even with the gruesome crucifixion story still ahead, the impact of his life and ministry is “good news.” This colors how one should receive the message that follows. Third, Jesus is already understood at the beginning of this story to be the Messiah foretold by the prophets of the Old Testament. The term “Christ,” appended to “Jesus,” is a title, not a name (although it would come to be used as such). Jesus was “the Christ,” meaning the one anointed to be the great deliverer of the Jews. This is why the baptism and divine commissioning of Jesus are told first (Mark 1:9-11), and are clearly expressed as a divine anointing (v. 10). Fourth, an additional designation is given to Jesus; he is called “the Son of God.” While Christianity has made this a common theological phrase, it was originally a very specific political term used to honor the Roman emperor. When Caesar Augustus died, the Roman Senate declared him to be divine. All of the rulers who came after him were in turn identified as the “Son of God” when they mounted the throne. For Mark to call Jesus the “Son of God” was a deliberate move to identify him as a rival to the Roman emperor of the day.
Our initial impressions about Jesus, as the narrative unfolds, are those showing him to be a man of action, healing, and power. In the first two chapters alone, Jesus is breathlessly busy, flitting all over Galilee, healing and teaching with such abandon that he is constantly followed (Mark 1:45) and always under urgent demand (Mark 3:7-8). By the time we sit with Jesus at the table for a brief repast in today’s gospel reading, the political lines are drawn. Who is this man, this blazing agent of heaven, this “son of God”? The debate swirls around the table, posing even the darkest of possibilities: is he in league with the demonic forces of evil? After all, he takes the polarization of powers into the realm of “magic” and manipulation of spiritual forces.
Among the many things that can be said about Mark’s gospel, there are a number of interesting and critical features that are unique to it. First, no infancy story is recorded (in distinction from Matthew and Luke). This gospel about Jesus begins with his full-grown adult powers in place, and these are immediately confirmed and amplified by the commissioning endowment of the divine Spirit. In other words, according to Peter’s preaching and Mark’s penning, Jesus jumps out of the starting gate at full throttle, a man on a mission, with energy and purpose.
Second, the prophecy of Isaiah is recalled up front. That Old Testament spokesperson announced the coming of the great Day of the Lord, speaking of a time when Yahweh would break into human history to bring judgment against the nations of the world and the evil in Israel, save a remnant, and begin the new and transforming messianic age. In this way Mark links the coming of Jesus directly to the Old Testament identity of God, and the actions of salvation history contained in it. This connection is further affirmed when Jesus opens his mouth to preach. His very first words are written by Mark as “the good news of God” (1:14), and commence as a staccato summary of the prophetic “Day of the Lord” theology: “The time has come. The kingdom of God is near. Repent and believe the good news!” (1:15).
Third, within the body of Mark’s gospel Jesus’ first extended teaching is the parable of the Sower and Seeds (Mark 4:1-20). Its placing and expansive size, in comparison to the snippets of teaching that came earlier, highlight it as distinctive and important. As one reads these pages in continuous narrative, the pace suddenly slows, and Jesus demands that we reflect on what has happened so far. We have been watching the Jesus of power and action through the eyes of Peter and Mark. Now we must respond to the person of Jesus. How will the sower’s seed find perch in our own lives? What kind of soil are we?
Today’s reading is a setup for the demanding parable that follows. Both for Jesus’ initial audience and for those who encounter Jesus through this gospel, the multiple-layered metaphor serves as a call to self-assessment and belief. Reaching behind the literary origins of the gospel, it is clear to see that Peter was not preaching merely to communicate information, nor was Mark recording Peter’s sermons as a nice collection of spiritual writings. This was a document intended for volitional reaction. One must respond to Jesus, and the outcome of that engagement would be seen in direct changes of lifestyle and behavior.
Application
Leslie Weatherhead once called Christianity “the religion of the dawn.” He pointed to the first dawning of light at creation as the irreversible testimony of God to this world: “It is a religion of unquenchable faith and hope and patience; unquenchable because it believes that the permanent thing is light and the passable thing is darkness; that however long the night, whether it be in world affairs or the poignant private world of the human heart, the night will pass.” He pointed to the astounding power of Easter dawn: “After the great darkness, this amazing dawn! Within seven weeks they -- the hunted, frightened fugitives -- had become flaming missionaries and willing martyrs ready to lay down their lives rather than deny the truth of His risen glory and His transforming power.... From the East the dawn-light spread across the skies of the world. The religion of the dawn!”
We know the power of the first dawn and anticipate the courage of the second. We sing at dawn of the strength of new life, for God is resplendent, exalted above the changing lights of the heavens. And we herald the dawn because it is the promise of greater things that God will yet do, as Paul notes in his testimony to the Corinthians.
Alternative Application
2 Corinthians 4:13--5:1. We know that our religion is more than just a refuge. It should be a shaping influence on all that we do or say or think. After all, that is what our Lord himself said when telling us that we should love God with all our heart,our soul,our mind,and our strength.
Over the centuries we have tried to tell Freudians that their limited perception of religious faith is inaccurate. Religion is more than just some complex childhood fixation. We know that Marx was wrong, too, when he called religion the “opiate of the masses.” And a modern “God of the gaps” who takes over only when we can’t find the answers through science or technology isn’t anything like the personal Creator and Redeemer of the scriptures either.
Still, as Paul knows when writing this letter back to his troubled friends in Corinth, if our religion doesn’t bring comfort in times of struggle, if it doesn’t keep us sane through periods of sore distress, if our God isn’t at least a “God of the gaps” whose unfailing presence can be counted on when life falls apart, then our religion is worthless.
As Charles Wesley put it:
Other refuge have I none; hangs my helpless soul on thee;
leave, ah! leave me not alone, still support and comfort me.
All my trust on thee is stayed, all my help from thee I bring;
cover my defenseless head with the shadow of thy wing.
