Security
Commentary
Some years ago, Newsweek magazine carried a little article about a fortune-tellers’ convention in Dublin, Ireland. Palm readers, crystal ball gazers, and astrologers from all around the world got together for a week to compare notes and to make some new predictions.
In the presence of all these people who were supposed to know what tomorrow would bring, a thief got into the building. He stole their crystal balls and tarot cards. When the police came to investigate, they laughed. “Didn’t you know this was going to happen?” they asked. “Couldn’t you have predicted it?”
Who can tell what tomorrow will bring? We hope. We dream. We plan. Or we just stumble into it. But our uncertainty about tomorrow some- times causes more than a little fear.
British wit G. K. Chesterton was once asked by a reporter, “If you were a minister and you had only one sermon to preach, what would it be about?”
Chesterton didn’t hesitate for a minute. He shot back, “I’d preach about worry!” He knew his world. He knew the people around him. And, most of all, he knew his own heart.
Uncertainty and our quest for security lie at the heart of all our lectionary readings today. David rises to power in a time of unsettled politics—his predecessor died ingloriously in battle, David himself is under cloud of suspicion in most of Israel, and the Philistines continue to threaten and challenge. Paul has been in a troublesome relationship with his church-plant congregation in Corinth, and now urges these who have been at odds with him to be generous with money—one of the most ire-inducing conversations any leader can have! And Jesus meanders into two emotionally-charged scenarios, each filled with compromised psyches and unstable social situations. From where will strength and direction and resolution and hope and healing come? In each case, it is divine promises and actions which bring renewed confidence, and the ability to move on in life.
This is a lesson we all need to relearn again and again and again. Times are always chaotic. But “this God is our God for ever and ever; he will be our guide even to the end” (Psalm 48:14).
2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27 and Psalm 130
David ties his reign to the restoration of the centrality of Yahweh and the visible indications provided by the Tabernacle and the Ark of the Covenant (2 Samuel 5–6). David is playing the political game with rules not appreciated by everyone, even in his own society. Within remembered history the nation had emerged from its own “Dark Ages.” Grandparents (and even some parents) could remember well the times during the Judges. Israel was at best a loose confederation of bickering tribes, each handicapped by inconsequential leadership. Now and again internal threats or neighboring nations would stir the political blood long enough for a savior to be identified (and sometimes martyred). These “judges” brought a bit of regional stability, but national unity and direction were more distant than the patchwork of a gaudy quilt.
More recently, David’s predecessor, a Benjamite named Saul had risen to prominence and had welded the squabbling communities into a bit of an imperial hegemony. “Israel” now began to take precedence over the clannish tribal names, especially in the face of Amalek and Philistine aggressions. But Saul’s star had fallen by the time his body collapsed in battle. The confederation was compromised, and not everybody wanted young David to be on the throne; many even regretted the establishment of a royal chair in the first place.
As David consolidates his rule, he makes a singular move on the national chessboard, which defines the character of his administration. In a stroke of genius which arose from the unswerving commitments of his heart, David brought the Ark of the Covenant up to Jerusalem from its forgotten and tattered site at Shiloh. Prophets and press would quickly point out to the people the remarkable history of this portable throne of the Creator who had become Israel’s chief resident at Mount Sinai. David’s design was to restore national unity, but clearly mark it as solidarity under Yaweh rather than under himself.
Who could deny that Israel’s glory days were those of Moses and Joshua, when Yaweh was openly proclaimed as national king, and the Ark of the Covenant paraded through the deserts of the Sinai and the battlegrounds of Canaan as the visible symbol of the unconquerable power of the great God who had claimed Israel as a divine possession? This is the theological and historical background which David claims as he brings the Ark up to Jerusalem. Rather than quibble about whether he is a suitable replacement on a weak and challenged throne, David portrays himself as the servant of the One who rules beyond question among the tribes. Even if the religion of Yahweh has fallen onto hard times, it carries the great myth by which every Israelite stands tall and proud.
2 Corinthians 8:7-15
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 behaviors to 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).
Next, Paul injects another note about his organization of the massive offering for the poor in Jerusalem (2 Corinthians 8–9, the heart of which is our lectionary reading for today) and uses the occasion to nurture expressions of authentic gratitude. Then, once again, he defends his apostolic authority and ministry (2 Corinthians 10–12), basing these in his divine calling, his servant lifestyle, his different motives than the “false apostles” who are circling about as if to create names and kingdoms for themselves, his profound vision of God’s glory coupled with the humbling weakness of his body, and his passionate concern for the Corinthians. Paul closes this otherwise engaging letter with somewhat fearful anticipations of the confrontations he might again face when he arrives in Corinth. He ends, though, with a clear sense of longing for the warmth he expects on the occasion of their reunion (2 Corinthians 13).
There is no other congregation of the first century Christian church about which we know more than the one in Corinth. Paul’s constant contact with this troublesome fellowship over half a decade produced the New Testament’s clearest teachings concerning the church’s ministry practices, and a host of intimate reflections on the development of life and leadership in a local outpost of the kingdom of God. For this reason alone, 1 and 2 Corinthians have been a priceless treasure, always being mined and refined by later generations of Christians who continue to wrestle with the same issues and problems, and who seek to claim similar joys and hopes.
Mark 5:21-43
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 (verse 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). While the gospel seems, at the start, to be merely a collection of stories about Jesus’ healings and brief teachings, it soon begins to take linear shape. In fact, its literary form will be copied by Matthew and Luke, who depend extensively on Mark’s record. This is why these three are together called the Synoptics (those who see similarly). In very broad outline the gospel of Mark looks like this:
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? 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.
Fourth, the healings (particularly the raising of the dead girl) in chapter 5, appear to trigger public animosity which will eventually lead to Jesus’ death. Chapter 6 opens with the first major negative reaction against Jesus; it is predicated on the idea that people like the “magic tricks” of Jesus’ miracles, but they don’t appreciate having a local boy regarded as messianically special. What is received as “good news” by the crowds becomes bad news for the social and religious leaders. Without credentials, this man is challenging their authority, since the presence and power of God seems to flow much more easily and immediately than it does through them.
Application
One writer describes what security means in a very personal way. He attended a business conference some time ago. Awards were being given for the outstanding achievements during the last year. One woman received her company’s top honor. She came to the podium, clutched the trophy in her hands, and beamed out at the crowd. There were over three thousand people in the auditorium, but this woman had eyes for only one. She looked down at her supervisor, Joan.
She told of the difficult times that she had gone through a couple years earlier. She told of the personal problems that she had experienced. She told of how her work had suffered and how people around her had turned away. They thought she was done for. They thought she couldn’t make it. They thought she was a loser.
And she thought so too! She had called Joan several times, a letter of resignation in hand. She had decided to quit. She was a failure.
But Joan said, “Let’s just wait a little bit longer.” And Joan said, “Give it one more try!” And Joan said, “I never would have hired you if I didn’t think you could handle it!”
The woman’s voice broke, and the tears streamed down her cheeks as she said softly, “Joan believed in me more than I believed in myself.”
Isn’t that the message of the gospel? Isn’t that the story of the Bible? In the middle of a tottering world, with shaky foundations, the Father of all wraps us in his strong arms. And life can begin again.
Alternative Application (Psalm 130)
The songwriter of Psalm 130 begins in a spot we don’t like: “Out of the depths I cry. . .” It’s the story of Job all over again. God was rather proud of Job; even bragged about Job to the devil himself: “Have you seen my servant Job? Now there’s a man whose heart you’ll never own.”
Satan wasn’t so sure. He had cracked a lot of tough nuts in his day and took on Job as a special challenge. “Sure Job loves you,” Satan said to God, “but that’s because you’ve bought his soul. You give him everything he wants. Why shouldn’t he serve you? Even I would do that.”
“Alright,” said God. “Take it all away from him and see what happens. Just don’t harm him personally.”
So Satan did his thing. Job lost everything: his children, his flocks, his buildings, his servants. He was as poor as a church mouse. But still he loved God. Still he served the Lord!
The wagering in heaven heated up. Satan got another shot at Job. He touched Job’s body so that it was wracked with pain. And he touched Job’s mind so that he could no longer clearly hear God’s whisper of love.
Job was all alone. His wife called him stupid, his friends called him a liar and a sinner, and the world called him nothing.
Here’s Job. But where is God?
Where is God? That’s the hardest challenge in life. Some time ago I sat with a mother in a hospital corridor. We prayed for the life of her daughter. She had no peace that God was there. And then, after we prayed for God’s healing, her daughter died anyway. Where was God?
The Armenians are one of the oldest civilizations in the world. They turned to Christ early in the history of the Church. Then the Turks slaughtered them and drove the remnants like orphans off the map. Where was God?
The question of Job is the question of every generation: “Where are you, God?” Sometimes the only answer is silence. The promises of Scripture become dead fantasies. The Holy Spirit leaves and the heart grows chilly. The newspapers report events that make no sense. Where is God?
Then Satan looks down from heaven with glee. He knows he’s got Job now. He knows we’ll never get out of this one. He knows the cards in his hand are the winning draw. Can faith remain when God is silent? Can trust carry on when there seems to be no one at the other end of the line?
“No!” shouts Satan.
But Satan doesn’t have the last word.
“Yes!” whispers Job. “Even though I can’t see him, even though I don’t understand what’s happened to him, even though every human wisdom tells me he’s not there, I know that my Redeemer lives. And with these eyes I shall see him.”
That’s the deepest level of patience in the human spirit. That’s the waiting of Psalm 130. In the New Testament, the apostle James would call it “perseverance.” We love God, not because of what we get out of it, but because it’s the only way life makes sense. We trust in God, not because we always feel the wonder of God’s presence, but because, even in God’s absence, there is nowhere else to turn.
That’s the waiting of Psalm 130. You can’t explain it. Those of us who have been there can never really share the experience with others. We may talk about it later, when God seems closer again, but it’s the awful agony of faith when we stand undressed and alone.
Psalm 130 doesn’t explain the silence of God. But take it from one who’s been there: no night is endless. And those who know the meaning of life wait for the morning.
In the presence of all these people who were supposed to know what tomorrow would bring, a thief got into the building. He stole their crystal balls and tarot cards. When the police came to investigate, they laughed. “Didn’t you know this was going to happen?” they asked. “Couldn’t you have predicted it?”
Who can tell what tomorrow will bring? We hope. We dream. We plan. Or we just stumble into it. But our uncertainty about tomorrow some- times causes more than a little fear.
British wit G. K. Chesterton was once asked by a reporter, “If you were a minister and you had only one sermon to preach, what would it be about?”
Chesterton didn’t hesitate for a minute. He shot back, “I’d preach about worry!” He knew his world. He knew the people around him. And, most of all, he knew his own heart.
Uncertainty and our quest for security lie at the heart of all our lectionary readings today. David rises to power in a time of unsettled politics—his predecessor died ingloriously in battle, David himself is under cloud of suspicion in most of Israel, and the Philistines continue to threaten and challenge. Paul has been in a troublesome relationship with his church-plant congregation in Corinth, and now urges these who have been at odds with him to be generous with money—one of the most ire-inducing conversations any leader can have! And Jesus meanders into two emotionally-charged scenarios, each filled with compromised psyches and unstable social situations. From where will strength and direction and resolution and hope and healing come? In each case, it is divine promises and actions which bring renewed confidence, and the ability to move on in life.
This is a lesson we all need to relearn again and again and again. Times are always chaotic. But “this God is our God for ever and ever; he will be our guide even to the end” (Psalm 48:14).
2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27 and Psalm 130
David ties his reign to the restoration of the centrality of Yahweh and the visible indications provided by the Tabernacle and the Ark of the Covenant (2 Samuel 5–6). David is playing the political game with rules not appreciated by everyone, even in his own society. Within remembered history the nation had emerged from its own “Dark Ages.” Grandparents (and even some parents) could remember well the times during the Judges. Israel was at best a loose confederation of bickering tribes, each handicapped by inconsequential leadership. Now and again internal threats or neighboring nations would stir the political blood long enough for a savior to be identified (and sometimes martyred). These “judges” brought a bit of regional stability, but national unity and direction were more distant than the patchwork of a gaudy quilt.
More recently, David’s predecessor, a Benjamite named Saul had risen to prominence and had welded the squabbling communities into a bit of an imperial hegemony. “Israel” now began to take precedence over the clannish tribal names, especially in the face of Amalek and Philistine aggressions. But Saul’s star had fallen by the time his body collapsed in battle. The confederation was compromised, and not everybody wanted young David to be on the throne; many even regretted the establishment of a royal chair in the first place.
As David consolidates his rule, he makes a singular move on the national chessboard, which defines the character of his administration. In a stroke of genius which arose from the unswerving commitments of his heart, David brought the Ark of the Covenant up to Jerusalem from its forgotten and tattered site at Shiloh. Prophets and press would quickly point out to the people the remarkable history of this portable throne of the Creator who had become Israel’s chief resident at Mount Sinai. David’s design was to restore national unity, but clearly mark it as solidarity under Yaweh rather than under himself.
Who could deny that Israel’s glory days were those of Moses and Joshua, when Yaweh was openly proclaimed as national king, and the Ark of the Covenant paraded through the deserts of the Sinai and the battlegrounds of Canaan as the visible symbol of the unconquerable power of the great God who had claimed Israel as a divine possession? This is the theological and historical background which David claims as he brings the Ark up to Jerusalem. Rather than quibble about whether he is a suitable replacement on a weak and challenged throne, David portrays himself as the servant of the One who rules beyond question among the tribes. Even if the religion of Yahweh has fallen onto hard times, it carries the great myth by which every Israelite stands tall and proud.
2 Corinthians 8:7-15
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 behaviors to 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).
Next, Paul injects another note about his organization of the massive offering for the poor in Jerusalem (2 Corinthians 8–9, the heart of which is our lectionary reading for today) and uses the occasion to nurture expressions of authentic gratitude. Then, once again, he defends his apostolic authority and ministry (2 Corinthians 10–12), basing these in his divine calling, his servant lifestyle, his different motives than the “false apostles” who are circling about as if to create names and kingdoms for themselves, his profound vision of God’s glory coupled with the humbling weakness of his body, and his passionate concern for the Corinthians. Paul closes this otherwise engaging letter with somewhat fearful anticipations of the confrontations he might again face when he arrives in Corinth. He ends, though, with a clear sense of longing for the warmth he expects on the occasion of their reunion (2 Corinthians 13).
There is no other congregation of the first century Christian church about which we know more than the one in Corinth. Paul’s constant contact with this troublesome fellowship over half a decade produced the New Testament’s clearest teachings concerning the church’s ministry practices, and a host of intimate reflections on the development of life and leadership in a local outpost of the kingdom of God. For this reason alone, 1 and 2 Corinthians have been a priceless treasure, always being mined and refined by later generations of Christians who continue to wrestle with the same issues and problems, and who seek to claim similar joys and hopes.
Mark 5:21-43
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 (verse 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). While the gospel seems, at the start, to be merely a collection of stories about Jesus’ healings and brief teachings, it soon begins to take linear shape. In fact, its literary form will be copied by Matthew and Luke, who depend extensively on Mark’s record. This is why these three are together called the Synoptics (those who see similarly). In very broad outline the gospel of Mark looks like this:
- 1–8 Jesus blasts the powers that harm human life by means of the greater power of the Kingdom of God
- Transitional Event: Transfiguration in chapter 9
- 9–10 Jesus teaches his close companions about the cost and character of discipleship
- Transitional Event: Entry into Jerusalem in chapter 11
- 11–16 Jesus moves to the cross and beyond in a fulfillment of the cost of discipleship upon himself, and a paradoxical expression of the power of the Kingdom of God
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? 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.
Fourth, the healings (particularly the raising of the dead girl) in chapter 5, appear to trigger public animosity which will eventually lead to Jesus’ death. Chapter 6 opens with the first major negative reaction against Jesus; it is predicated on the idea that people like the “magic tricks” of Jesus’ miracles, but they don’t appreciate having a local boy regarded as messianically special. What is received as “good news” by the crowds becomes bad news for the social and religious leaders. Without credentials, this man is challenging their authority, since the presence and power of God seems to flow much more easily and immediately than it does through them.
Application
One writer describes what security means in a very personal way. He attended a business conference some time ago. Awards were being given for the outstanding achievements during the last year. One woman received her company’s top honor. She came to the podium, clutched the trophy in her hands, and beamed out at the crowd. There were over three thousand people in the auditorium, but this woman had eyes for only one. She looked down at her supervisor, Joan.
She told of the difficult times that she had gone through a couple years earlier. She told of the personal problems that she had experienced. She told of how her work had suffered and how people around her had turned away. They thought she was done for. They thought she couldn’t make it. They thought she was a loser.
And she thought so too! She had called Joan several times, a letter of resignation in hand. She had decided to quit. She was a failure.
But Joan said, “Let’s just wait a little bit longer.” And Joan said, “Give it one more try!” And Joan said, “I never would have hired you if I didn’t think you could handle it!”
The woman’s voice broke, and the tears streamed down her cheeks as she said softly, “Joan believed in me more than I believed in myself.”
Isn’t that the message of the gospel? Isn’t that the story of the Bible? In the middle of a tottering world, with shaky foundations, the Father of all wraps us in his strong arms. And life can begin again.
Alternative Application (Psalm 130)
The songwriter of Psalm 130 begins in a spot we don’t like: “Out of the depths I cry. . .” It’s the story of Job all over again. God was rather proud of Job; even bragged about Job to the devil himself: “Have you seen my servant Job? Now there’s a man whose heart you’ll never own.”
Satan wasn’t so sure. He had cracked a lot of tough nuts in his day and took on Job as a special challenge. “Sure Job loves you,” Satan said to God, “but that’s because you’ve bought his soul. You give him everything he wants. Why shouldn’t he serve you? Even I would do that.”
“Alright,” said God. “Take it all away from him and see what happens. Just don’t harm him personally.”
So Satan did his thing. Job lost everything: his children, his flocks, his buildings, his servants. He was as poor as a church mouse. But still he loved God. Still he served the Lord!
The wagering in heaven heated up. Satan got another shot at Job. He touched Job’s body so that it was wracked with pain. And he touched Job’s mind so that he could no longer clearly hear God’s whisper of love.
Job was all alone. His wife called him stupid, his friends called him a liar and a sinner, and the world called him nothing.
Here’s Job. But where is God?
Where is God? That’s the hardest challenge in life. Some time ago I sat with a mother in a hospital corridor. We prayed for the life of her daughter. She had no peace that God was there. And then, after we prayed for God’s healing, her daughter died anyway. Where was God?
The Armenians are one of the oldest civilizations in the world. They turned to Christ early in the history of the Church. Then the Turks slaughtered them and drove the remnants like orphans off the map. Where was God?
The question of Job is the question of every generation: “Where are you, God?” Sometimes the only answer is silence. The promises of Scripture become dead fantasies. The Holy Spirit leaves and the heart grows chilly. The newspapers report events that make no sense. Where is God?
Then Satan looks down from heaven with glee. He knows he’s got Job now. He knows we’ll never get out of this one. He knows the cards in his hand are the winning draw. Can faith remain when God is silent? Can trust carry on when there seems to be no one at the other end of the line?
“No!” shouts Satan.
But Satan doesn’t have the last word.
“Yes!” whispers Job. “Even though I can’t see him, even though I don’t understand what’s happened to him, even though every human wisdom tells me he’s not there, I know that my Redeemer lives. And with these eyes I shall see him.”
That’s the deepest level of patience in the human spirit. That’s the waiting of Psalm 130. In the New Testament, the apostle James would call it “perseverance.” We love God, not because of what we get out of it, but because it’s the only way life makes sense. We trust in God, not because we always feel the wonder of God’s presence, but because, even in God’s absence, there is nowhere else to turn.
That’s the waiting of Psalm 130. You can’t explain it. Those of us who have been there can never really share the experience with others. We may talk about it later, when God seems closer again, but it’s the awful agony of faith when we stand undressed and alone.
Psalm 130 doesn’t explain the silence of God. But take it from one who’s been there: no night is endless. And those who know the meaning of life wait for the morning.
