Pentecost 6 – 2021
Mark 6:1-13
Marian Free
In the name of God who, in Jesus, confronts and shatters our certainties and our prejudices. Amen.
During the week, a memory came back to me that was as vivid as if it occurred yesterday. I was 12 years old and was in the school grounds with a friend. I’m not sure what led to the revelation, but I can clearly remember June leaning into me and whispering: “We’re not supposed to tell anyone, but mum and dad are divorced.” Young as I was, I was shocked – not that her parents were divorced – but that my friend and her family obviously felt that divorce was so socially unacceptable and shameful that it had to be kept a secret. They obviously expected censure at the least and exclusion at the worst if their situation became widely known. I was shocked because I was being raised by parents who were tolerant and worldly and who understood that not everyone was perfect, and that people made mistakes.
The world was a different place in my childhood. I grew up in a culture in which single mothers – whether the victims of rape or not – were considered by society to be morally bankrupt. (That another person was required for a pregnancy to take place seems to have been overlooked.) No fault divorce was a thing of the future, and the shame of divorce was often borne by the wife, who lost social standing, income and even her friends. I belonged to a world that was and is very good at creating unrealistic expectations and condemning those who are unable to meet them.
Sadly, very often the church finds itself embedded in the zeitgeist of the age. In the 1960’s and 70’s women who were divorced were excluded from Mother’s Union (as were single mothers) and divorcees were prevented from re-marrying in the church. It is difficult in these more enlightened times to believe that we, as a society and as church, imagined that a person’s character could be judged by their success (or not) in marriage.
The reality is that we have sometimes been a church that has placed undue attention on outward appearances. Collectively, we have worried what others might think of us, if we welcome those who are clearly less than perfect into our midst.
Outward appearances seem to be at the heart of today’s account of Jesus in his home village. That this is the case is made clearer in the Greek in which the word that is translated “astounded” is better understood as “perplexed” or “perturbed”. Jesus’ neighbours knew his background. He was a worker in stone or wood which not a respectable vocation. To us an artisan is a skilled worker, but in the first century a tradesperson would have to travel to find work. This would mean leaving wife and family at home with no one to defend them or to protect the family’s honour. What his listeners initially took to be wisdom and power were, in their minds simply incompatible with what they knew to be his profession.
If that wasn’t bad enough, there was also the issue of his parentage. Jesus is referred to as the ‘son of Mary’ not as the ‘son of Joseph’ which would have been the norm – think Simon bar Jonah, or the sons of Zebedee. The implication is that Jesus’ father is unknown. His unusual birth, questionable parentage and his dubious profession create doubts around his teaching and his actions . Rather than being impressed by him, Jesus’ fellow villagers are scandalised. Such a disreputable person cannot be trusted, let alone be a prophet or a miracle worker. What would it say about Jesus’ listeners if they allowed themselves to be taken in by someone who did not fit the mould of respectability? How would it look to outsiders if they took pride in him as one of their own?
No wonder Jesus finds it difficult to perform any miracles for them – they have judged him and found him wanting. They have closed their hearts and minds to him and to what he can do for them. Even if it is true that he can heal – who would dare to allow such a disreputable person to heal them? How would they hold their heads up among their friends if they gave any indication that they thought that Jesus had transcended his position or his birth? How could Jesus heal those who reacted with scepticism and who had rejected him?
I wonder how often we close ourselves off from people who have something to teach or to share with us? How often do we judge a person on outward appearances rather than on what they say and do? Do we close our hearts and minds to those who do not fit our image of teacher, healer, or prophet? Are we more likely to reject the life lessons of those whose experiences and/or backgrounds are vastly different from our own? Do we base our reaction to people or ideas based on what those around us might think?
The thing is, as Jesus’ experience in Nazareth reminds us, our rejection of a person’s talents and ideas may say more about ourselves than it does about them. It may reveal our pettiness, our conformity, our small mindedness, or the narrowness of our thinking. We should exercise caution before making judgements, lest, in rejecting someone simply because they don’t conform to our idea of respectability or because we consider their background to be somewhat dubious, we may, to our regret, discover that we have rejected Jesus himself.
Swallowsrest 