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Holding on to Jesus

February 3, 2024

Epiphany 5 – 2024

Mark 1:29-39

Marian Free

In the name of God who will not be held or confined. Amen.

The gospel reading set for today raises far more questions than it answers. What looks like a relatively simple healing story, followed by a story of Jesus’ sense of mission is much, much more. You will remember that Jesus has spent time in the synagogue. There he was confronted by a man with an evil spirit.  When he cast out the demon he raised the ire of the leaders of the synagogue because they interpreted the exorcism as ‘work’, something that was forbidden on the Sabbath. 

In today’s reading Jesus leaves synagogue and goes to the home of Simon and Andrew.  On hearing that Peter’s mother-in-law has a fever, Jesus goes to her, lifts her up and the fever is gone. The mother-in-law immediately gets up and serves them. At sunset – when the Sabbath has ended – people (the whole city!) bring the sick and the possessed to be healed by Jesus. We are not told, but we presume that Jesus has some time to sleep, because he gets up before dawn to find somewhere quiet to pray.

The account seems straight forward, but if we look closer we are left wondering about a number of things.

  1. Why, in a patriarchal society, is Peter’s mother-in-law living in the home of Peter and Andrew? If she is a widow, her sons not her daughter would be responsible for her and yet she is here with Peter.  
  2. If Peter has a mother-in-law, then he has a wife who is never mentioned and is presumably left to run a household and care for children while her husband and sole source of support abandons his job and his family to go with Jesus. 

We learn nothing else about Peter’s family life.

  • Another puzzle is this – why does the author say that the woman (Peter’s mother-in-law) got up and served them? Is it to prove that she is completely made well or is something else happening here. Peter’s wife is the host, it would be her role to serve the guests. The woman’s actions make sense if we understand that in the ancient world healing was seen not just as a cure for the physical ill, but as a restoration of the person to the community.  Serving guests would have been a sign of the woman’s full re-integration into the family and the community. That is well and good but why, one might ask, does the author use the word ‘diakonos’ for serve? Diakonos – the word we use for deacon – is used by Mark only for Peter’s mother-in-law, angels, and Jesus. Is this a hint that women had formal liturgical roles in the Marcan community or played a significant role among the disciples?
  • Another Greek word is equally puzzling. Mark uses the word “katadiöxen” when speaking of the disciples looking for Jesus.  This word can be translated in a number of ways – “hunted” (as in our translation), “pursued”, “looked for”, or “searched for”. ‘Hunted’ gives us a sense of the disciples’ urgency. They have woken to find Jesus missing and are anxious to bring him back. By now, they have seen what Jesus can do, and they know that they want to be part of it. As his disciples, they would also have felt a sense of responsibility for all the people of their city who still seek Jesus’ healing power.
  • Lastly, and this is the question I’d like to focus on, is why, when the crowds are searching for Jesus does he insist on abandoning them and moving to another place?

The author gives us the answer. Jesus responds to the disciples: “Let us go on to the neighbouring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.”

“So that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.”

Jesus’ primary focus was never on the miraculous, but on the message. It was never about having crowds of adoring fans, but on challenging people to change their lives around. His mission was not to heal, but to proclaim the good news, to teach God’s inclusive, unconditional love and to draw the whole community into a relationship with God that was based not on their observance of the law, but on God’s love for them.  Jesus heals because he can. Jesus heals because he has compassion not because that is what he was sent to do. Jesus casts out demons because they stand between him and his message of love and inclusion. He casts out demons because they hold people in their thrall and keep them separated from the love of God – not because he wants to draw attention to himself. 

Jesus’ mission was never about building his ego as is made clear in the accounts of the wilderness temptations in Matthew and Luke. There, the devil tempts him to turn stones into bread, to jump from the Temple so that the angels can catch him. Jesus resists the temptation to do the showy and obvious – even though that might have been a much quicker way to gain an audience and to build a following. But it is not about him. It is not about what he can do, but about the message he has come to bring.

Jesus knows that some will follow him because of what he has to offer them. He knows too that they will not last the journey.

If we turn Jesus into a miracle worker, we see only the surface. If we want a hero who works magic then we will lose interest when the magic is not in evidence. If we want someone to make everything right, we will fall away when life gets hard.  So when the disciples seek him out and urge him to return, he turns his face away from the easy option. He will not stay and be made a local hero. He will do what he came to do and preach God’s kingdom.

Who is Jesus to you?  Would you like to own and contain him as your personal helper or are you willing to stand on your own two feet, take Jesus’ teaching as your standard and your comfort and let Jesus go so that his message might ring throughout the world?

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“Better the devil you know” – man with unclean spirit.

January 27, 2024

Epiphany 4 – 2024

Mark 1:21-28

Marian Free

In the name of God who confronts, disturbs and challenges us. Amen.

Several years ago, I watched a documentary that followed the experiences of a group of people who had recently left an abusive and controlling cult. The cult consisted of only a few – mostly related – families and was led by a man who instructed them on every aspect of their lives which included the harsh discipline of their children. The group who  had left were given safe accommodation and counselling. They were traumatised and anxious about forging a future, but by and large were happy to have broken the spell that the cult leader had cast on them. One woman, however, was stuck. Even though she recognised that the teaching and practices of the cult were damaging to herself and her children, she could not accept the assurance of her fellow-cult leavers, or of the counsellor that she would not go to hell if she left. The teaching of the leader was so deeply ingrained in her that she could not trust that her salvation did not depend on her belonging to the cult. Nothing could convince her that the God of love, represented by the crucified Jesus, would not insist on the degree of subjugation and loss of self that the cult leader demanded. So she returned to something that was awful but familiar, demeaning but clear.

Change can be unsettling and even frightening. There is no guarantee that the change will lead to something better. As they say: “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.” It is better to stay in the situation in which you find yourself than to move to another setting which – while looking more attractive – may turn out to be even worse. For example, a person working for a difficult and demanding boss may resist changing jobs on the off chance that a new boss is as bad or worse. Having got used to working in the current job and having made accommodations to that person’s ill-temper, they don’t want to start all over again and possibly have to make allowances for the foibles of another boss. They are unwilling to trust that a position might give them more opportunity, might enable them to work to their full potential, or at the very least free them to work without always having to look over their shoulder. 

But: “Better the devil you know.”

So many people endure unsatisfactory relationships, suffer injustice or put up with poor health because they are afraid that change will make their lives worse rather than better. They choose not to take risks and so never truly know freedom, joy and fulfillment. 

After all: “Better the devil you know.”

I am sure that this saying did not originate in New Testament times, but It seems to me to be particularly apposite with regard to today’s gospel. A man with an unclean spirit recognises Jesus and demands: “What have you to do with us?” The man, it seems, has become used to his present (demon-possessed) state is anxious that his life might be worse if Jesus exorcises the spirit that possesses him. He would rather stay with the devil he knows than risk the wholeness, peace, and freedom that Jesus could offer. His present status may come with all kinds of negatives, but he is so used to living with whatever the demon is  that he cannot possibly imagine an alternative way of being.

Over and over again in the gospels we see those who are possessed by demons wishing Jesus to be anywhere but in their presence. However uncomfortable or distressed they are, they have adjusted to their current position.   Their illness or state of being possessed, may elicit sympathy from the community or it may be a reason to beg for their living. If Jesus casts out the demon they may lose the support that they currently receive or worse, lose their only source of income. 

What seems good to us – health, release from suffering – may for them be a cause of great anxiety and in some ways may not leave them better off. 

This last goes in some way to explain the reaction of the demon-possessed man. Jesus may promise a better future, but who knows? If they take up his offer of healing and wholeness, what is the guarantee that their life will improve? “Better the devil you know!”

Change is difficult and threatening. It can require mental energy and discipline to let go of the way in which we have understood the world and our faith. 

We do not belong to a cult, but that does not mean that we have not been formed by our Sunday School teachers, our preachers and by the literature we read. We do not belong to a cult, but we have probably become used to the norms of the community in which we find ourselves. We do not belong to a cult, but it is not always easy to trust that change is better.

We resist change because it makes us feel uncomfortable, because it takes energy and courage to adjust our ways of thinking and because we cannot see into the future and believe that change will be good not just for us but for our whole community. We resist change because we cannot be 100% certain that we are doing the right thing, and we don’t trust God enough to believe that God will still love us if by any chance we have it wrong.

The man with an unclean spirit does not want to have anything to do with Jesus because accepting Jesus’ love for him will mean that his life will be irrevocably changed, and he does not have the courage to face a different future.

So, when the idea of change makes us feel uncomfortable (whether in our personal lives, in the church or in the world around us), it is important not to dismiss it out of hand. Instead of asking: “What does this have to do with me?” perhaps we should be asking whether the change will liberate us from the devil we know who has bound us into old, out-dated, ungodly ways of thinking and being.  

In other words, is the devil we know really better?

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Hearing the call of Jesus

January 20, 2024

Mark 1:14-20

Third Sunday after Epiphany – 2024

Mark 1:14-20

Marian Free

In the name of Gods who insistently calls us. Amen

In his autobiography Surprised by Joy, C.S. Lewis tells of his long and convoluted journey to discipleship. Lewis’s mother died when he was quite young, and his childhood appears to have been emotionally deprived. Like many fathers of that era, his did not know how to relate to children, and again, like many children of that generation, Lewis was sent away – first to a tutor and then to boarding school. At a young age Lewis abandoned Christianity but, while he felt that that was unsatisfactory, he did not stop searching for meaning (joy), particularly in the works of various philosophers[1]. Over time however, his resistance to the faith was worn down and one evening he finally gave in. He describes the moment as follows:

“You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.”

Earlier in the book, Lewis describes the slow drip that wore away his resolve not to believe, concluding:

“The odd thing was that before God closed in on me, I was in fact offered what now appears a moment of wholly free choice. Without words and (I think) almost without images, a fact about myself was somehow presented to me. I became aware that I was holding something at bay, or shutting something out. I felt myself being there and then, given a free choice. I could open the door or keep it shut; I could unbuckle the armour or keep it on. Neither choice was presented as a duty; no threat or promise was attached to either, though I knew that to open the door or to take off the corslet meant the incalculable.”[2]

People come to faith by different routes – by straight lines or circuitous, by gradual revelation or sudden conversion, by a slow burn or a bright light. What Lewis makes clear is that we have a choice – to open our hearts and let God in, or to close the door to God’s insistent knocking and to retain our separation and independence. There is always a choice, though as Lewis reports, it is often more like a compulsion – the lure is so strong that it becomes almost impossible to say ‘no’. Closing the door on God is possible, but it can take more effort to keep the door closed that to open it. Locking God out can feel like committing oneself to a life, if not of regret, then at least of constant curiosity as to what lay beyond the door (and to what we had said ‘No’.)

In today’s gospel, we hear the account of Jesus’ call of the four fishermen. As the story is told, Jesus walks beside the sea and calls first Simon and Andrew and then James and John. All four respond without hesitation. Their reaction to Jesus is often held up as a model response to the call to discipleship– leaving everything without question and without regret.

One wonders though. Did Jesus’ call really come out of the blue? Or had word of his mission reached Galilee? Or were the fishermen in touch with the Zeitgeist of the time – dissatisfaction with the current religious leaders; a degree of scepticism about the value of Temple worship; a desire for religious reform and were they waiting for a leader? Alternately, did they see in Jesus an integrity, an openness and a Spirit-filled life that was absolutely compelling? Or – was Jesus’ presence so authoritative that they knew that they could have complete confidence in him? 

Of course, it could have been a combination of things that led to the fishermen abandoning their nets (and their livelihood) to follow Jesus. One thing is sure that though they followed without question, it took the rest of their lives to truly become disciples. The choice that they made beside the sea was a choice that they had to make over and over again. Mark’s gospel tells us of their faltering beginnings, their questioning, their foolishness and, in Jesus’ moment of need, their terror and their abandonment. 

There are many ways to come to faith. For the fishermen, it seems that it was immediate and without question. For C.S. Lewis, it was the result of years of following false trails and dead-ends. 

In the same way, the journey of discipleship is not uniform. The fishermen, for all their enthusiasm took time to learn the ways of the gospel and to change their lives accordingly. Lewis, for all his scepticism was well-informed when he came to faith. Lewis’ reluctance sprang from his prior knowledge, the fishermen’s eagerness, reveals how little they knew of the cost of discipleship.

However enthusiastically or however reluctantly the fishermen and Lewis made a choice. A choice to live as they always had, or a choice to leap into a future in which God, not they, is in control. 

Our choice may have been made for us by our parents, or it may have come on us so gradually that we cannot put a finger on the time and place. We may have felt the insistent call of God or experienced a sudden transformation. It matters not how the choice came about, but that a choice was made and that a choice continues to be made to give our lives to Christ, to place our selves at the disposal of the living God. 

Do you hear the voice of Jesus? or the nagging tug of God? Is your answer ‘yes’ – this time, next time and every time?  

[1] This is my memory of his story. The book is readily available.

[2]https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/questionofgod/ownwords/joy.html#:~:text=by%20Sigmund%20Freud-,From%20Surprised%20by%20Joy%3A%20The,of%20My%20Early%20Life%20(1955)&text=%22I%20gave%20in%2C%20and%20admitted,reluctant%20convert%20in%20all%20England.%22

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Jesus’ baptism

January 6, 2024

Baptism of Jesus

Mark 1:4-11 (12-13)

Marian Free

In the name of God who calls us to give of ourselves. Amen.

Mark’s account of Jesus’ baptism is typically bald and lacking in detail. In fact, it raises more questions than it answers. 

For example: Why does Jesus seemingly appear out of nowhere? Why does he seek out John’s baptism? Is Jesus seeking to become a disciple of John? Does he, like John want to be a part of reforming the practice of Judaism? Has Jesus, at this point, any real understanding of who he is, and what his role is to be? 

Given the starkness and brevity of Mark’s introduction, it is no wonder that when Matthew and Luke penned their versions of events they felt a need to fill out the story with accounts of the lead up to Jesus’ birth, the birth itself and subsequent events. Their stories are filled out with genealogies, angels, shepherds, wise ones and so on. In different ways, both build up to the beginning of Jesus’ ministry and in so doing provide the readers with some background as to who this man Jesus might be. By the time we come to Jesus’ baptism in Luke and Matthew we have heard that he is – Emmanuel, Son of David, Son of God, the anointed one, King of the Jews. We know that he is to be called Jesus and that he will save his people from their sins. In other words, by the time Matthew and Luke come to reporting Jesus’ baptism, we already know a great deal about him. 

Mark however has no time for what came before. He is not interested in Jesus’ birth or childhood. He feels no need to establish Jesus’ lineage or miraculous origin. For him the beginning of the good news is not Jesus’ mysterious birth or the missing thirty years of his life, but his bursting on to the scene at the time of his baptism. 

Who Jesus is, and what his purpose in the world is, is announced not by an angel, but by John the Baptist, that wild, strange figure whom we met during Advent. John, so Mark briefly tells us, is the messenger predicted by Isaiah to “prepare the way in the wilderness”. We know little of John apart from what is recorded by gospels[1]. It is possible that he is representative of all those who thought that the present state of religion in Israel was in a dire state. The Pharisees, who sought a solution in the law. The writers of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Essenes) who took themselves into the wilderness on the shores of the Dead Sea and created a society based around ritual cleansing. John the Baptist seems to fit somewhere in the middle – through baptism he encouraged ritual cleansing and he demanded repentance as a means to restore the relationship between Israel and God.

In seeking out John and submitting to John’s baptism Jesus, is at the very least, indicating that he supports John’s preaching and ministry. Indeed, like John, Jesus begins his ministry by calling people to “repent”. The difference is that John demands repentance and points to Jesus and Jesus announces the good news and points to the coming of the kingdom.

None of this however explains why Jesus needs to be baptised for ‘the forgiveness of sins’.  

Was his baptism an affirmation of John, an indication of Jesus’ desire to fully identify with humanity in all its sinfulness, or was it “to fulfill all righteousness” (Mt 3:15)? Whatever the. reason, it is clear that Jesus’ baptism is a watershed moment. Until this point in his life Jesus had lived in obscurity and had done nothing remarkable. From now on he will preach the kingdom, confront the Pharisees, Sadducees, the elders and the scribes, he will challenge practices and teaching that binds rather than liberates and he will bring good news and healing to all those who are marginalised. 

Jesus may have sought baptism because he knew his trajectory and the task set before him. Or it may be that Jesus’ baptism confirmed and consolidated what, until that point, he had only suspected – that he was God’s anointed, sent into the world to bring the people back to God, and that he was integrally related, indeed a member of the Trinity.

This knowledge – unveiled by the tearing apart of the heavens, the descent of the Spirit and the voice from heaven (“you are my Son, the Beloved”) – is not a cause for triumphalism. We must read on to understand the impact of these events on Jesus whose response to the divine revelation is revealed as much in Jesus does not do, as it is through what he does do. What Jesus does not do, is to claim his Godly power and authority. What Jesus does not do is to go to the Temple and lord it over the priests and Sadducees. What Jesus does not do is to perform miracles that serve his own purposes. What Jesus does not do is to demand obeisance and subservience.

Instead, Jesus allows the Spirit to drive him into the wilderness where, presumably he confronts the temptation that comes from knowing who he really is. Then, he disappears into the relative anonymity that is Galilee. He chooses, not to go it alone, but to share his gifts and his ministry with others and he uses his authority, not for himself but to ease the burdens of others.

At his baptism, Jesus discovers that he has the world at his feet and  yet, knowing this, Jesus chooses not to lord it over the world, but to put himself at the disposal of the world. 

[1] Mandeans consider themselves disciples of John the Baptist, but so far as I can tell, that is where the connection ends.

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Jesus’ coming – joyful anticipation or fearful expectation?

December 2, 2023

Advent 1 – 2023

Mark 13:24-37

(Is 64:1-9, Ps 80:1-7, 17-19, 1 Cor 1:1-9)

In the name of God, whose coming we celebrate with joy and whose return we anticipate with trepidation. Amen.

Though it is hard to avoid the fact that the rest of the world is already celebrating Christmas, I continue to love the season of Advent. For me it represents a time of quiet anticipation – a time to focus on the real meaning of Christmas – the gentle in-breaking into our world of God’s chosen one, the vulnerability of God in the infant Jesus, and the courage of Mary and Joseph. It is, for me, a time of wonder and joy, as I ponder the gradual unfolding of the story.

So it is that I am often taken aback by the violence and threat that lie in the gospel set for today, the first Sunday of Advent. We find no quiet waiting in Mark 13. There is no sense of hopeful expectancy. Instead, we are presented with a picture of God’s sudden and terrible explosion into the world.  An eruption that is accompanied by the destruction not only of the earth, but of the cosmos. The sun will be darkened, and the stars will fall from heaven. Without any warning all of the powers of heaven will be shaken. Keep awake, we are warned – for you do not know when the time will come: “in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow or at dawn.” There is no room here for peaceful contemplation on the birth of Christ. Instead, we are placed on edge, forced in a state of constant alertness in which we worry about what it means to keep awake. We are left wondering if we have to live in a state of constant vigilance (never truly living in the present) – always looking over our shoulder for God to surprise us, always straining ahead, always worrying about our every action just in case God should burst in and find us wanting?  

Of course, it would be utterly exhausting live in a state of constant anxiety, to be always on the lookout for something negative to happen, always terrified that we would be caught out. So – what to do? What are we to make of the warnings in Mark’s gospel and how do they inform our observation of the season of Advent?

The answer lies, I believe exactly in the tension – the tension between the unobtrusiveness of Jesus’ first coming and the unmistakable disruption of his coming again; the tension between Christ’s coming as an infant and Christ’s coming again as judge of all; the tension between the powerlessness of the baby and the ultimate power of the Creator of the Universe. Advent –  with its focus on beginnings and endings – highlights the tension between the God who loved us enough to become one of us and the God who will one day ask us to give an account for our lives, the tension between trusting in God’s mercy and not taking it for granted, the tension between knowing God’s love and not taking advantage of that love and the tension between knowing that though our salvation has been won, we still have a responsibility for our salvation..

Advent provides us with a time to look back and to look forward, a time to remember all that God has done for us and a time to ask ourselves what our response to God’s love has been and whether or not we would be pleased to see God now. 

The warning to ‘keep awake’ is not so much to keep us in a state of hypervigilance, but rather a timely reminder that we should not get too comfortable, not to fall into complacency. It is a warning against the assumption that a happy ending awaits us all, just because God has entered into history. 

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Learning to live in this in between time, coping with the tension between God’s breaking into the world, and God’s breaking the world apart, teaches us to live with uncertainty, with the “not-knowing” – not knowing the mind of God, not knowing when Christ will return, not knowing exactly how we measure up. Living with the tension between the times keeps us open to what God has to say to us in the present and what God might be doing in our lives right now. In this in-between time, expecting God to appear at any moment, keeps us alert and expectant, enabling us to see the ways in which God is always breaking into the present. Keeping awake ensures that we do not miss any opportunity and ensures that we are prepared for anything that God might reveal or that God might do.

In two thousand years, the sky hasn’t fallen in, the cosmos hasn’t been dramatically. It is difficult to believe in the second coming, to maintain the sense of urgency that pervades this morning’s gospel and yet, we need the message of Mark 13 even more than the church for whom it was written. 

At this time of year, it is easy to get caught up in the sentimentality of Christmas – the stars and angels, the shepherds and wise ones, the hope, joy, comfort and promise of the visible signs of God’s love. The evangelist knew only too well how easy it is to get comfortable, to see the return of Christ as a distant, even unlikely possibility. He knew too, that his own generation had been caught by surprise, had failed to see in the infant in a manger and in itinerant preacher, the one sent by God to save the world. So, with words of dire warning, Mark urges his readers not to get too comfortable, not to assume that because Jesus had not returned that they could start to relax, but to so order their lives that Christ could come at any time and we would be ready.

In this season as we prepare for both our Christian and our secular Christmas, let us be filled with joyful anticipation as we await the birth of Christ and some trepidation, as we expect his coming again.

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What are we expecting? The Transfiguration

August 6, 2023

Transfiguration (2) – 2023
Mark 9:2-10
Marian Free

In the name of God who reveals godself through Jesus Christ. Amen.

The nature of Jesus was a matter of much debate in the first few centuries of the Christian church. Theologians of the day wondered: Was Jesus divine? Was he human? Was he human only to become divine at the resurrection? Did he only appear to be human, but was really divine? If Jesus was the Son of God did this make him subordinate to God? and so on. This issue was a serious cause of contention and division until Constantine called the Council of Nicea to put an end to the debate once and for all. At that Council Bishops and theologians concluded (based on their studies of scripture) that Jesus was/is both fully human and fully divine. The Nicaean Creed, which we will say shortly, resulted from the Council and remains the standard of orthodoxy to this day.

“We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,
the only Son of God,
eternally begotten of the Father,
God from God, Light from Light,
true God from true God,
begotten not made,
of one being through the Father,
through him all things were made.”

Despite this, there are some 1700 years later I still meet people who struggle to grasp that Jesus can be both fully God and fully human. I have some sympathy for their point of view. The gospels tell the story of Jesus’ very human existence. Jesus gets tired, sad, and angry. He needs to eat and sleep. He grieves and rejoices. In the end Jesus allows himself to be arrested and tortured and he even dies. It is true that Jesus performs miracles, but in many ways does not behave as one might expect God to behave. He mixes with the wrong kinds of people; he does not rain down fire on the cities that reject him, and he does not call angels to his aid. Again – he dies. (Surely God does not die!)

It is only in John’s gospel that we begin to see a clear understanding of Jesus’ divinity. The gospel begins with the claim that Jesus and God were co-creators of the universe and throughout that gospel Jesus claims that if “you have seen me, you have seen the Father” and “the Father and I are one”. The Gospel of John was written quite late and after some reflection, but our earliest records, the letters of Paul, make it clear that from the beginning Jesus’ divinity was taken for granted – even if it wasn’t explicit or clearly spelled out in a credal statement. In the letters, Paul uses the expressions “God, Lord and Spirit” interchangeably, indicating that he (and therefore the early church) took for granted that there was one God (Father, Son and Spirit) – even though it was to take a couple of centuries for theologians to formalize this faith into the doctrine of the Trinity and to make a definitive statement about the nature of Jesus.

We might wonder why it took the disciples and then the church so long to make up their minds, and why there was so much debate concerning the nature of Jesus. After all, readers of scripture know that the true nature of Jesus is announced at the very beginning of his public ministry. At Jesus’ baptism the spirit descends on Jesus and a voice declares: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” If that were not clear enough at Jesus’ transfiguration not only is Jesus transformed before Peter, James, and John, but the words pronounced at Jesus’ baptism are repeated: “This is my beloved Son, listen to him.”

It is important to note that unlike the first disciples, we have the benefit of hindsight and of two thousand years of church history and theology. The disciples might have had the advantage of knowing Jesus personally, but we have the gospels and the experience of the early believers to fall back on. We, for example can read about Jesus’ baptism, but so far as we know, none of the disciples were present and at least until the Transfiguration (and perhaps even then), the nature of Jesus was confusing. He did not conform to their expectations. He was not a king or a warrior. The priests and religious elite did not follow him and perhaps most puzzling of all was his prediction that he was going to suffer. Nothing had prepared Jesus’ followers for a suffering Christ. Jesus was not going to exert power over the authorities of this world (be they Jewish or Roman) – just the opposite. Jesus was going to allow the world to destroy him. No wonder the disciples were at a loss to understand who and what he was.

The scenario that leads into the account of the Transfiguration illustrates this tension perfectly. Jesus has asked the disciples: “Who do you say that I am?” And, after some false starts the disciples respond: Elijah, one of the prophets. Finally, Peter declares: “You are the Christ.” When however, Jesus continues by telling the disciples that: “Son of Man must undergo great suffering.” Peter cannot take this in and he pulls Jesus aside and rebukes him. Peter’s insight into the nature of Jesus is only partial. He simply cannot comprehend a suffering Christ. He wants Jesus to fit the model of the Christ that he holds in his head. His preconception about an anointed one colours his perception of the Jesus who is in front of him and blinds him to the possibility that Jesus could be anything other than a triumphant Messiah.

Seen from this angle, the Transfiguration is more than a vision or a revelation. It is more than an affirmation of Jesus’ divine yet human nature. Rather it is an exposè of the ways in which we, like Peter react to Jesus, our expectation that Jesus will fit our idea of what he should be, and of our desire to hold on to moments of transcendence so that we can ignore the harsh reality of a suffering Messiah. The Transfiguration is a reminder to us that we should not allow ourselves be blinded by our preconceived ideas of Jesus, that we should see Jesus as he was and that if we hope to know Jesus when he comes again, we must be open to all the ways in which God might reveal Godself to the world – however surprising and unexpected.

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Change and disruption

November 13, 2021

 

Pentecost 25 – 2021

Mark 13:1-11

Marian Free

 

In the name of the God of our past, present and future. Amen.

Given that that the Bible was written by men in a patriarchal world, a world in which men and women had clearly defined roles and in which pregnancy and childbirth would have been entirely the province of women, it is extraordinary that there are more than a few occasions on which images of pregnancy, childbirth and mothering are used for God and for the journey of faith. Sometimes they are used to describe God’s intimate love and care. They evoke God’s promises – the barren woman will bear seven-fold (Is 54), God’s love – I took them up in my arms (Hos 11), God’s comfort – as a mother comforts her child, God’s compassion – can a mother forget her nursing child and God’s protection – I will be as a bear robbed of her cubs (2 Sam 17).

 

At other times, as today, the pain and the violence of childbirth is used to bring to mind the trauma and disruption that can precede change. This is exemplified in the Song of Hannah (echoed in the Song of Mary) that speaks of upheaval – the bows of the mighty are broken, the powerful are brought down, the poor are raised from the dust and the lowly are lifted up.

 

In our scene from this morning’s gospel the disciples were no doubt expecting Jesus to join them in their admiration of the Temple – after all it was the centre of their faith, the place in which sacrifices were offered to God and to which faithful Jews came for the major festivals of their faith. They must have been completely taken aback by Jesus’ response that not one stone would remain upon another. It would have been completely impossible for them to imagine that within decades of Jesus’ death a new expression of their ancient faith would have been brought to birth and that many of the things that they now considered sacred would not only have been destroyed but would have lost their meaning. How could they conceive that the anointed one, the one for whom they had waited for so long would be the cause of a deep rupture between all that they had known and the future that he was initiating?

 

 

Many of us like the disciples resist change. When everything is going smoothly it is difficult to imagine that there can be any benefit in letting of of the comfortable and familiar. Worse, as our reading suggests, change can be violent and destructive and there are times when the old must be destroyed to allow room for the new to emerge. It can be difficult to see new possibilities while the old structures and the old ways of doing things remain in place and it is often only with hindsight that we can see the benefits that accrued from what had appeared to be a catastrophic event. (Who, for example, would have imagined that a rag-tag bunch of foolish and non-comprehending disciples would have transformed not only their faith, but the whole world along with it? Who could have predicted that anything good could have come out of a pandemic? Yet a bunch of uneducated men and women spread the gospel to the world. And the pandemic has shown us how we can connect without being face-to-face.)

Today’s gospel is a timely reminder that nothing lasts for ever and that even the greatest of edifices can fall. It is also a caution against holding too tightly to the past and of failing to be open to the opportunities offered by the future. 

We are, all of us, on the threshold of change, myself to a future that is not yet fleshed out and you to the adventure of a new period of ministry. It will not be the sort of catastrophic change that our gospel refers to and it will be experienced differently by all of us. At the same time, the future is full of potential and I am confident that any trepidation that we might feel will be more than balanced by a sense of anticipation and excitement as to what that future might hold.

You will have forgotten the disruption that occurred when I (the first woman to have the cure of this Parish) burst on the scene and I am certain that you now take for granted the many changes that have occurred over the last 14 years. There will be a great many things that you will remember as always having been here, or always having been done in a particular way. That will not be true. This is not the Parish I came to 14 years ago. Stalwarts have gone to God and many new faces have joined us. New groups have formed and some have fallen by the wayside. There have been subtle changes to the way we do liturgy and there have been numerous physical changes to both the church and grounds and now we take it for granted that this is how it should be.

That doesn’t mean that this is how it should stay. In the past few weeks, I have become increasingly convinced that the Holy Spirit is present in the timing of this handover, that this is absolutely the right time for another person to take the Parish on the next stage of your journey and that God has wonderful things in store for all of us.

We, like the disciples, are on a journey of discovery, always on the move, always trying to be open to the Spirit and the will of God. No one knows where the road will take us, but we continually leave the past and present behind us to step out in faith, following Jesus, confident that we will  be asked to do more than we are capable of and that we will never be abandoned to face the journey alone.

 

May God bless us all in whatever lies ahead.

 

 

 

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Sacrifice or example – the widow’s mite

November 6, 2021

Pentecost 24 – 2021
Mark 12:38-44
Marian Free

In the name of God who asks only that we love, with heart, soul, mind and strength. Amen.

Some time ago one of my friends read a book titled The Five Languages of Love. She found it utterly enlightening and somewhat liberating. She was frustrated that her husband, on his day off, would mow the lawn because she thought that if he loved her, he would want to spend the day doing things with her. What she hadn’t understood was that in his mind, mowing the lawn was his way of showing his love for her. Love is complex and sometimes complicated. Neediness or possessiveness are sometimes confused as love with devasting effects. On the other hand, selflessness may not be an expression of a healthy relationship. Love is best when it is freely given, out of a strong sense of self.

This morning’s gospel is one with which we are all very familiar. The widow and her two small coins make a good Sunday school lesson and provide excellent material for a sermon on stewardship. However, as we have been observing over the past few weeks, taking a superficial view of any one gospel story is to miss its real meaning. In this case the generosity of the widow is important, but the context of this account reveals that there is a lot more going on in today’s reading than a story of a widow giving two small coins to the Temple treasury.

A clue to deeper meaning of the story lies in the verses that immediately precede Jesus’ observation about the widow’s behaviour. Here, Jesus has launched an apparently unprovoked attack on the arrogance, social ambition, and avarice of scribes who abuse the poor – specifically the widows for whom they had a special duty of care and who were particularly vulnerable. “Beware of the (attention seeking) scribes,” Jesus says, “they are not who they appear to be.” It is specifically these scribes whom Jesus is condemning. A little earlier Jesus had cause to compliment another scribe with whom he had been engaged in debate as to which commandment was the greatest. Jesus’ asserted that the first commandment was: “‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’” To which the scribe responded: “You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that ‘he is one, and besides him there is no other’; and ‘to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength,’ is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” Jesus commends and affirms this scribe and tells him that he is not far from the kingdom of God.

There are scribes and there are scribes and apparently not all scribes are deserving of censure. The shallowness and worldliness of the status-seeking scribes is vastly different from the sincerity and wisdom of the questioning scribe who understood that love of God is the heart of the law and that that love is all-consuming; a love that demands all of one’s being, not just a part of it; a love that cannot be represented by the superficial offering of sacrifices in the Temple or by making a show with long prayers. Jesus’ scathing attack on the posturing of the scribes who devour the houses of widows (instead of providing for them as is demanded in the law) is brought into sharp relief by the widow who contributes her two small coins to the treasury.

Given the context, and the juxtaposition between the scribe who recognises love of God as the most important and those who seek status and recognition, it is possible to argue that the account of the widow is less about her self-sacrifice and more about her loving God with heart, soul, mind and strength. That this might be the case is supported by the Greek text. In the NRSV, the version of the Bible that we are use, we read that the woman gave “all that she had to live on”. This phrase translates the Greek word “βιος” or life (think biology). In other words, it is probably more accurate to say that, “she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, her whole life.”

When we make this pericope only about the widow’s sacrifice, we risk adding insult to injury by further disempowering her. Jesus makes it clear that she is in very straightened circumstances – a situation that may well have been caused by self-seeking scribes who had taken payment for legal services (though that was forbidden), or who had mismanaged her estate or who had taken advantage of her situation in other ways. Despite this it seems, the widow is still her own person, a person of faith and integrity, a person in control of her own destiny who can choose to give her whole life and who understands (as did the scribe who engaged Jesus in debate), that love of God – with heart, soul, mind and strength – the giving of one’s whole self, is of much greater value than any amount of “burnt offerings and sacrifices.”

The widow’s self-giving came from the heart and stood in stark contrast with the scribes whose focus was on appearances and with the wealthy who gave to the Temple what they could easily afford. Jesus’ compares the widow’s behaviour with that of the wealthy and of the scribes not to diminish or pity her nor to draw attention to her poverty, but to lift her up as an example of faith and faithfulness, as a model of one who knows exactly what it is to keep the first commandment and who does so willingly and whole-heartedly.

We are all called to love God with heart, soul, mind, and strength. Nothing less will do.

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Turning the tables

October 30, 2021

Pentecost 23 – 2021

Mark 12:28-34

Marian Free

In the name of God who alone sees the contents of our hearts. Amen.

I have mixed feelings towards journalists – when they are simply sensationalist I cringe, but when they reveal important truths I applaud. Ever since the Watergate scandal was uncovered I have had the feeling that there is some unspoken competition to uncover deep secrets or to bring down someone of status. There are times when an interviewer relentlessly pursues an apparently preset line of questioning – even when the answer to a particular question has already been given. At other times a journalist seems to keep pressing an issue in the hope that the respondent will eventually say what they want them to say. On the other hand, I value the freedom of the press and the ability of investigative journalists to reveal uncomfortable truths and to expose corruption and vice. I am in awe of those who put their own lives in danger to ensure that the rest of us are informed and made aware of injustice, cruelty and despair. We all, but especially our elected representatives, those whom we have entrusted with our finances and those whose wealth gives them power, must be held accountable and we are all responsible for knowing what is going on in the world around us.

Of course, there is a skill to interviewing or to debate. It is something like a cat and mouse game – how long can one side hold out, will a weak point be exposed or will and admission be made that will expose the real story? When both sides are equally skilled the moment when one side comes out ahead can be magic. (For example when Richard Nixon admitted to ‘doing illegal things’ in a interview with David Frost).

Debate, as I said last week, is an important part of the Jewish tradition and it was one of the ways in which difficult matters of faith were worked out and through which the Jewish leaders tried to come to grips with who Jesus was. Beginning at 11:27 of Mark’s gospel, various members of the Jewish establishment engaged Jesus in debate. The chief priests, elders and scribes asked Jesus by what authority he was doing what he was doing. When Jesus turned the question back on them they sent the Pharisees and Herodians to trap him: “is it lawful to pay taxes to the Emperor or not?” they asked. Jesus showed them the image of the Emperor on a coin and responded that: “they should give to the Emperor what is the Emperor’s. Next the Sadducees asked Jesus a question about the resurrection – a convoluted story about a woman who married seven brothers in succession as each one died. The Sadducees, who do not believe in the resurrection, were wanting to demonstrate that a belief in the resurrection was absurd.

These challenges are live issues in the first century. Jesus has no formal power – from where does he get his authority. Everyone resents paying taxes to Rome – where does Jesus stand? There are a number of parties in first century Judaism – with which one does Jesus identify? All the questions have a different purpose on the surface – to discredit, to trap or to expose Jesus as belonging to one party or another – but all play the same role of trying to work out where Jesus fit in the Judaism of his day – was he a follower of John the Baptist? Where did he stand with regard to the Roman colonists? Was he a Pharisee or Sadducee?

Finally, a scribe who has observed the debates and has seen that Jesus answered well, approached. He does not appear to have a particular agenda but his question too strikes at the heart of what it means to be Jewish: “which commandment is first of all?” Jesus response is not entirely original. Others before him had linked love of God and love of neighbour (combining the first and second tablets of the law). None-the-less the scribe approves Jesus’ answer.

However as Jesus makes clear – the scribe is in no position to approve. In the same way that Jesus has turned the tables on the first three sets of protagonists so now he does so to the scribe. Jesus has no position or place in the existing structure – his authority, his legitimacy comes from God. He is the anointed one. He is God’s representative. He is the one who really determines who does and does not belong to the kingdom, so he rejects the scribes’ approval and instead legitimizes the scribe saying: “You are not far from the kingdom of God.”

“After that no one dared to ask him any question.”

Jesus make clear that he does not need to be authenticated by or approved by anyone. It is he who decides who is authentic or not, who determines what the truth is and is nothing is clear what is essential to faith and what is not.

For us – (especially those who teach and preach) -today’s gospel is a stark reminder of where true authority. No matter how well read we are or how spiritual we are, none of us are the final arbiters it comes to the truth. Ultimately only God knows the mind of God. The best that we can do is to confess that ‘God is one, and besides him there is no other’; and ‘to love God with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength,’ and ‘to love one’s neighbour as oneself,’ Maybe then Jesus will affirm that we are not far from the kingdom of God.

 

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Just how blind are we?

October 23, 2021

Pentecost 22 – 2021
Mark 10:46-52
Marian Free

May I speak in the name of God, Earth-maker, Pain-bearer, Life-giver. Amen.

Over the past few weeks, I have found myself wondering what is going on in the Marcan community and why the author of this gospel has felt the need to be so repetitive in chapters 8 through 10 of his gospel. With any luck you haven’t noticed, but I feel as though I have been saying the same thing over and over for the past five weeks. In this time, Jesus has, according to our gospel readings, announced his death and resurrection on no less than three occasions and on each of these occasions the disciples have wilfully or foolishly chosen to misunderstand his teaching. Peter rebuked Jesus, the disciples competed among each other to determine who was the greatest and James and John asked to sit at Jesus’ right hand and his left.

It seems that it is impossible for the disciple to believe that the one whom they have chosen to follow will not be triumphant – whether against the power of Rome or the power of evil. Despite everything that Jesus says – that those who follow him must take up their cross, that those who want to save their life must lose it, that whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all, and that the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve – the disciples seem to be blind to the implications of Jesus’ announcements and of the consequences of following one who will suffer and die.

Today’s gospel addresses this question of blindness. What appears on the surface to be a simple account of healing has, on closer examination, hidden depths. To fully understand the healing of Bartimaeus we must place it into its historical/cultural context as well as into its literary context.

Current scholarship believes that the gospel of Mark was written in about 70CE for a community who lived in rural Syria-Palestine. This being the case, the Marcan community would have recently been victims (or at least witnesses) of Vespasian’s brutal put down of the Northern revolt in 68CE. In the year 70 Jerusalem was razed to the ground, and the Temple – the centre of Jewish faith – destroyed. The impact of these events must have been profound. It is plausible that the community of faith were both confused and frightened. What sort of God would allow Jerusalem to be destroyed? Why did God not intervene and defeat the Romans instead of allowing them to destroy all that was holy?

Mark’s threefold repetition of Jesus’ announcement of his death makes sense against this background, as does the emphasis on servanthood and the instruction to take up one’s cross. In effect, Mark is reminding a community that is uncertain about their place in the world and anxious about their safety in the present and future that faith in a crucified Saviour turns everything upside down. It is not about triumphalism or success, but about submission and service. Following Jesus means being prepared to lose their lives in order to save them.

By the time Mark put pen to paper, Jesus had been dead for forty years and it is almost certain that any eyewitnesses to the events of his life and death were also dead. No doubt the community of faith had settled into some sort of comfortable existence – a comfort that has been shattered by recent events. It should come as no surprise to us that they needed a reminder of the origins of their faith and of the gruesome death that lay at its heart.

In literary terms, today’s gospel concludes a section of the gospel that began in chapter 8 with the healing of another blind man. The disciples’ blindness (or unwillingness to see what it means to follow Jesus) is framed accounts of blind men receiving their sight. Of significance is the difference between the two healing stories. In the first (8:22) the blind man does not see clearly after Jesus’ first attempt at healing. Initially he can see people, “but they look like trees, walking.” Jesus has to lay his hands on the man’s eyes for a second time before he can see clearly. In this morning’s account Jesus only has to say: “Your faith has made you well” for the man’s sight to be completely restored.

It would appear that Mark has structured his account of Jesus is such a way that he is able to confront the blindness and the misunderstanding of the community for whom he is writing. Their blindness is represented by their competitiveness, their striving for recognition or for positions of power and above all, by their failure to understand that following Jesus means both service and suffering. Forty years after Jesus’ death it seems that they need to be reminded of what it means to follow a crucified Saviour.

At the beginning of this section of the gospel Mark portrays the understanding of the disciples is as cloudy and indistinct as that of the blind man. The immediate healing of Bartimaeus at the conclusion of the segment appears to signify that Jesus has told the disciples all that they need to know and that the disciples should now be clear both about Jesus’ mission and about the roles that they must assume as his followers. In other words, over the course of this period of teaching Jesus has opened the eyes of the disciples to the reality of discipleship.

In what are challenging and confronting circumstances, the author of Mark’s gospel seems to be reminding his community that suffering, not victory, lies at the heart of their faith and that discipleship means following in the footsteps of Jesus, even to the point of death.

If I am right and Mark is writing to a specific group of people at a specific time in history, what does his gospel have to say to those of us who are so far removed from that time and place?

Our challenge is not that we are experiencing persecution and destruction, but rather that we comfortable and complacent.

I find myself wondering – How would the author of Mark speak to our situation? What misconceptions do we hold that he would have to address? What are the blind spots that he would feel that he had to call out?

Are our lives a witness to the fact that we follow one who put others first – to the extent that he gave his life for the world?

What would the author of Mark have to say to us – to me, to you?

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