Changed my email address. New address is williamroen@gmail.com

Because of problems with my yahoo.com email address, I've changed to

 

williamroen@gmail.com

 

Bill Roen

Day 293. NT Day 16. Mark 14-16.

The two minutes or so following the death of Jesus, according to Mark's Gospel, are filled with wild confusion. Yet they are also the most significant minutes in the history of the world, the beginning of a new relationship between God and humankind. 

From noon that Friday until three in the afternoon the world is cloaked in ominous darkness (15:33), as if light, the first of God's creatures, has been negated. The old creation has ended as it began, in darkness and meaningless chaos.

There is a terrible pause. Then Jesus utters a formless cry and breathes his last, and all at once "the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom" (15:38). In the older translations the curtain is called a "veil," but that gives the modern reader a false impression.  This curtain is by no means diaphanous; it is thick and heavy, less of a veil and more of a carpet, thick and richly embroidered with images of angels. It closed the opening between the Holy Place from the Holy of Holies, the innermost sanctum of the Jerusalem Temple, which only the High Priest could enter and then only once a year, on the Day of Atonement, to sprinkle sacrificial blood for the sins of the people. There was the strictest taboo against anyone else penetrating this room. Death was the forfeit.

Indeed, so holy was the place that the High Priest's robes were sewn with tiny golden bells so that when he did enter, he could be heard moving about.  And a rope was tied to his leg before he entered, so that if the noise of the bells ceased those waiting outside would know that he had died during the performance of his duties, and his body could be hauled out without further desecration of the place behind the curtain.  

By Jesus time the Holy of Holies was an empty room. The Ark of the Covenant, which it had once housed, had long since been destroyed or lost. But the room and the curtain that covered its entrance still had great symbolic power, a barrier representing the absolute transcendence of the God who is infinitely above and beyond the created universe, whose very name is so holy that it cannot be uttered.

So the cutting of the curtain from top to bottom at the moment of Jesus' death would be an act of wanton destruction and sacrilege, if God himself not already done it. He cut through the barrier from within to let himself out of the stuffy precincts of human religion. Now he is indeed Emmanuel—God with us. He not only is born among and lives with us, he also dies with us. With the death of Jesus the distance we had created between ourselves and God is finally and completely erased. Transcendence is swallowed up in immanence. Jesus dies so the men and women may live, and his Spirit is now completely present in the world. He is with us, the Good News. Now we can never be left alone.

In Mark's Gospel, the moment of Jesus' death represents the quantum leap forward into the Kingdom. Hidden until now, the true identity of the Man of Power and Mystery is suddenly revealed. The great irony for Mark is that the only person present who understands what has happened is the nameless Roman officer in charge of Jesus' execution. The last one who should recognize who Jesus is is the only one who does.

It is difficult to know what to make of the centurion's confession.  Does he really understand what he is saying? "Surely this man was God's Son" (verse 39) can be as easily translated, "Surely this was the son of a god"—and that is a pretty ambivalent confession. But faith is always ambivalent. No one fully understands who Jesus is or what happens on the cross. But that doesn't matter. For Mark the centurion's confession is still the climax of his gospel story. In his telling of it, Jesus' family does not know who he is. His disciples do not know who he is. The religious leaders of his own nation do not know who he is. His true identity remains hidden until the very moment of his death. And even then it is revealed only partially and incompletely to the eyes of faith.

Our faith is like the faith of the centurion; he reminds us of ourselves. He is uncertain, confused, knowing what he sees on the cross has changed everything, and yet unable to grasp its full meaning. Seeing the light, he is still in the dark—and so are we.

Day 292. New Testament Day 15. Mark 10-13

 The relationship between Christian obedience and material prosperity is broadly discussed in modern American Christianity. Certain prominent "evangelical" preachers have made a considerable windfall for themselves by telling people what they want to hear—that if they follow some sort of financial formula based upon "spiritual principles"--they will prosper financially. But the story of the rich man found in our reading for today directly challenges this "prosperity gospel." And at the same time it calls those who hear the call to follow Jesus to renounce earthly dependencies—including wealth—and live a life of "evangelical poverty."  

St. Mark tells us that "as [Jesus] was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked, 'Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?'" (10:17). As is so often the case in the gospels, we are not supplied with much background about this man. When Matthew tells the story, he informs us that Jesus' questioner is "young" as well as rich (Matt. 19:16-22). He is a nice Jewish lad who comes to Jesus the Great Rabbi, the New Moses, to seek advice as to how to live a life of perfect obedience to the Law. His youthfulness is central to the meaning of Matthew's story.

In Mark's gospel, however, we are not told anything about his age, except that it is implied by the words "from my youth" (v. 20) that he is no longer young. We have the sense that he is a mature man who is disillusioned by the search for certainty, and this gives his inquiry greater urgency. He chases Jesus down—in Mark's gospel Jesus is always in a hurry—and when he catches him, he presses upon him a life or death question: "Good Teacher, what must I do . . . ?"

Typically Jesus rejects any hint of flattery; "Why do you call me good?" he asks. This rebuff does not imply that Jesus has any particular awareness of his own sinfulness; at the end of Mark's Gospel Jesus is acknowledged as the sinless Son of God (15:39). Certainly from the Jewish point of view absolute goodness adheres to God alone (see Psalm 100:5), and it is an impiety to ascribe it elsewhere.  But the real point of Jesus' negative response is to establish that the whole human pursuit of goodness is futile. St. Mark shares with St. Paul a firm conviction that human beings are helpless in the power of sin (see Romans 7:18), and the evangelist uses the story of the rich man to insist that what he seeks—eternal life—is not available through obedience, no matter how rigorous. Moral perfection is not even an option for human beings. Even if we were obedient to the Law of Moses in all its detail, we would still lack that which is most crucial for our salvation—renunciation of all that is worldly and acceptance of God's gift of grace on God's terms—by naked faith and blind trust.

This is not Matthew's way of telling the story, but there is a basic difference between the theologies of Matthew and Mark. Matthew's is a gospel of obedience—for him discipleship means obedience to the Spirit of Jesus, the Living Teacher of the Church. On the other hand, Mark's is a gospel of faith. His focus is trust, and he is largely indifferent to the Law of Moses and its commands, which Matthew affirms and upholds (Matthew 5:17-20).

So in Matthew when the "rich young man" asks what he still lacks in his search for perfection, Jesus gives him prescription for a more rigorous obedience that goes beyond the Law of Moses (Matthew 19:21). In Mark we are told that Jesus "looking at him, loved him" (10:21), and so he gives him an honest answer--there is nothing you can do that will save you.  Righteousness is humanly impossible. Only faith, expressed in the rejection of all earthly dependencies, opens the door to eternal life—the life that alone deserves the name of life. And faith is exactly what the rich man in the story lacks, and cannot gain; he is "shocked" and goes "away grieving," still trusting ultimately in his "many possessions."  The disciples are likewise "perplexed" by Jesus' answer.

Jews of Jesus' time—and many contemporary Christians—regard wealth as sign of God's approval—seal of divine approval. The Old Testament stories of Abraham and Job are often mustered in support this belief, which went unchallenged in Jesus' time. But this is yet another way in which the Christian Gospel turned the world up-side-down. Jesus taught that wealth makes those who possess it self-sufficient, and is therefore a danger to our relationship to God and a barrier to grace, rather than a by-product of righteousness. And inequality, far from being an expression of God's will, is a sign of sin and yet another symptom of creation gone tragically haywire.  

Pastor Bill Roen in Haiti. Blog posts will resume when he returns next week.

Day 291. (New Testament Day 14) Mark 7-9

 

Having gotten all the conventional answers, Jesus asks the disciples, "But who do you say that I am?"  And Peter answers him, "You are the Messiah" (8:29).  In St. Mark's gospel, it is a moment of transformation for Peter. He is still only a partial disciple. He will go on to deny Jesus three times. But what happens to him at Caesarea Philippi is crucial, a giant step, even though it isn't until much later that he will have the courage to carry through on the confession he makes that day.

Jesus had already asked his disciples--Who do people say that I am?  In Greek people is "hoi anthropoi," which means humankind or human beings, as opposed to God and his angels and the demons, who already know who Jesus is.   Here "hoi anthropoi" means those outside the circle of the disciples, including Jesus' enemies—of which there were many. Who do others say that I am?

And how this question is answered, then as now, is conditioned by the cross. Jesus with the cross is our savior, our redeemer, our reconciler to God, to ourselves and to one another--the most important fact in creation. Jesus without the cross  can be anything under the sun--a prophet, a teacher, a healer, a charlatan, a fraud, a self-deluded trouble-maker. Jesus without the cross can be either the conservative or the liberal ideologue—take your pick.

The answer to the question—Who is Jesus?--depends upon the hopes and fears of the time in which it is asked. In Jesus' lifetime that was certainly so. Apparently during his lifetime there was a rumor abroad that Jesus was John the Baptist resurrected—see Mark 6:14-15. Jesus wasn't. It was a widespread belief--based upon the Old Testament book of Malachi (4:5)—that the prophet Elijah would return before the coming of the Day of the Lord. It was a time of intense eschatological speculation—like our own, and some thought they recognized in Jesus Elijah's long anticipated return—see Mark 9:10-13. Other candidates, notably Moses, were also mentioned, but Jesus was not a dead prophet, no matter how great. What is remarkable is that in the midst of such a babel of supposition and conjecture, no one recognizes Jesus as who he really is—not until Peter's inspired guess. But the question—"Who do you say that I am?" –is addressed to us as much as to the disciples.  The pronoun "you" makes that clear. What is important is not what others say, but what you and I say.  Who is he to us personally? To those outside Jesus will always remain a mystery, an unknown, but is he known to us?

According to Mark, Simon Peter is the first human being to correctly—if incompletely—answer the question—Who is Jesus? He confesses Jesus as the long-expected deliverer of Israel, but his identity as "Son of God" remains hidden. Only his cross will reveal Jesus as crucified Messiah and present Lord of all. And then it is not a disciple—they have all high-tailed it by then—but a pagan centurion—speaking for Mark's gentile church--who makes the final, definitive profession of faith—see 15:39.

But once Peter openly identifies him as the Messiah, Jesus does a strange thing—to our thinking anyway—he "sternly orders [his disciples] not to tell anyone about him" (8:30). Notice that he does not deny that he is the Messiah; he simply endeavors to keep his true identity a secret. This reticence is typical of the Gospel of Mark, where Jesus is always portrayed as Man of Mystery. Earlier in the gospel, demons are forbidden to say that Jesus is the Messiah—see 1:23ff—now the disciples are told to say nothing. Why? Well in part the reason lies in the problematic nature of the title Anointed One. By Jesus' time the coming Messiah was closely connected with the hopes of certain groups of radical Jewish patriots—notably the Zealots—who had made the restoration of the royal house of David the cornerstone of their agenda. There was at least one Zealot among Jesus' disciples. But Jesus certainly wanted to disassociate himself with their terrorist tactics in particular and from Jewish dreams of national glory in general.

Instead Jesus defines messiahship in terms of the suffering servant described the prophet Isaiah (chapters 49-50). To be the Messiah means willing acceptance of the cross with all that it implies. This is the mystery Jesus seeks to share with his disciples (8:31), and through them with the Church. And the Church must follow the example of the Suffering Messiah. Peter tries to hush him (8:32), but Jesus turns and hushes him instead, not because Peter's insight into his messiahship is false, but because it is limited. Simon Peter is still a partial disciple who clings to the false hope of glory without the suffering of the cross.

Day 290 (New Testament Day 13) Mark 4-6

 For the church to which the evangelist Mark is writing his gospel the world is a combat zone. Everywhere around them they could see evidence that God and Satan are locked in a struggle to the death. It is easy for us, in the midst of the confusion of our time, to identify with that feeling. Then as now, the Church—the people in the boat—is surrounded by chaos. The social order is disrupted and disorderly, even violent. Viciousness and criminality triumph over gentleness and virtue. The forces of nature are destructive and dangerous—droughts, famines, and earthquakes. The chaos outside is mirrored in the life of the Christian community. False leaders appear to lead the weak astray, and conflict arises within families because of the preaching of the Gospel. There are legal entanglements and persecutions to contend with. Demonic forces are hard at work everywhere, and there is uncertainty and fear in the community.

That is what the church of St. Mark was contending with. It is no wonder that the story of the stilling of the sea (4:35-41) resonated with them. They wanted and needed a man of power to save them, a hero, and they found him in Jesus, who "woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, 'Peace! Be still!' Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm" (4:39). The story proclaims the good news that Jesus has authority over the natural world of wind and waves, just as he demonstrates his power over the supernatural realm, the world of demons and evil spirits, in the story that follows--5:1-20.

It all happens in the evening and that is important for the meaning of the story. Evening is the time when the resurrected Lord appears to his disciples, and this is an Easter evening story. One evening on the Sea of Galilee the disciples are with Jesus in the boat. The boat is the most ancient symbol of the Church. The Church is the ark of salvation; like the ark of Noah, it is mankind's only source of life and salvation in a dangerous and potentially deadly world. Suddenly a storm breaks upon the tiny boat, and Jesus' disciples are terrified by the apocalyptic chaos that surrounds them.

But where is Jesus? The gospel writer tells us he is right there in the stern of boat, asleep on the cushion. He is apparently serene and untroubled by the violence of the storm; he is certain of his power to command—but the disciples aren't so sure.  And in to those chaotic moments when our lives seem most out of control we are also tempted to wonder where the Lord is and whether he cares about our predicament. We mistake detachment for indifference.

So do the disciples.  They wake Jesus with a rebuke about his lack of concern—"Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing."  You see, they could be as passive-aggressive as we sometimes are.  Mark is always at pains to place the first followers of Jesus in the most unflattering light possible.  They are cowards.  They are "perishers."  They are not even sure what they expect him to do for them.

But the response Jesus makes is immediate and decisive—as it always is in Mark's gospel.  He is never a perisher, like us.  He commands the howling wind—"Peace! Be still!"  Literally he says—"Be muzzled!" Or in even more vulgar language—"Shut up!"  It is in exactly these words and with this tone that Jesus addresses demons—Mark 1:25.  No nonsense.  And sure enough the wind ceases, and there is a dead calm.  A natural explanation is possible, of course; the storm may have just blown itself out.  But that is not the point for Mark , for whom Jesus is the Man of Power, who has the authority to rebuke both demons and the demonic energies of the natural world.

He rebukes the cowardly disciples too. "Why are you afraid?" he wants to know. "Have you still no faith?" And we need to notice that fear is made the opposite of faith, not doubt, which is just its absence. When it comes to following Jesus, faith and courage are one and the same. The miracle of the stilling of the sea impresses the disciples, but it does not create faith in them. They are still "perishers." They are filled with "great awe," but they are not illuminated.  At the end of the story they are left asking—"Who then is this, that even the winds obey him?" Miracles may produce the awestruck question—Who then is this?--but the disciples do not have the "Easter evening faith" necessary to frame the right answer—Jesus is the powerful Lord of the Church. But we do. The Holy Spirit, the presence of Jesus, provides that faith. We know that in the midst of the chaos of our lives the Lord is always in the boat with us, and not only "the wind and the sea," but all the powers that worry and harass us "obey him.

Day 289. (NT Day 12). Mark 1-3

 "After John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, 'The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news'" (1:14-15). 

In the Gospel of Mark everything happens suddenly. The gospel begins abruptly with the sudden appearance of John the Baptist. He comes out of nowhere, and then he is abruptly swept aside to make room for the one "more powerful" (1:7) than he. Then just as suddenly Jesus breaks upon Galilee like a storm, "proclaiming the Gospel"—for Mark the Gospel Jesus proclaims is Jesus himself.

The evangelist has traditionally been placed among the companions of St. Paul. We don't know if Mark actually traveled with Paul, but his point of view is certainly like that of the gentile churches Paul founded. The evangelists Matthew and Luke are more closely related to a Jewish obedience-centered religion. In their gospels Jesus comes to teach a new way of living, and he does this through teachings and parables. But Mark's gospel is a story of mighty actions. Jesus is the man of Power who comes to defeat the powers of evil and to proclaim that God is about to establish his Kingdom on earth. In Mark we listen in vain for the kind of ethical teaching we find in Matthew's Sermon on the Mount. What we do hear—and see--is Jesus "proclaiming the good news" with power and authority.

And what is the content of this good news?  In Mark's gospel it is a message of destruction and renewal. The radical transformation of the present, corrupt era into a new and purified one is the theme of all the apocalyptic books of the Bible, books like Daniel and Revelation. Mark's gospel is apocalyptic; Jesus proclaims the good news that the old eon is about to end and another is about to begin.

In Mark's gospel the moment of Jesus' coming is the cusp of time; it is the moment when God lowers the curtain upon an epoch marked by strife and opposition, and clears the stage for a new age to begin. "The time is fulfilled; the kingdom of God has come near," Jesus says. God sends His Man into the world to effect this change; Jesus believes that his life and death are crucial for that change to take place. And when Jesus rises from the dead, the early church, of which Mark was a part, sees Jesus' proclamation validated, and interprets the resurrection as the beginning of the new eon, a time when old certainties are called into question and the established order is reversed, when the dead rise and anything can happen.

So in such a world what should our lives be like? "Repent, and believe the good news," Jesus replies. Repentance is not a very important theme in the rest of Mark's gospel. As in Paul's gentile churches his emphasis is not on what we do, but on what God has done. For Paul and Mark, Jesus Christ is God's rescue act, redeeming a helpless and lost humanity from its slavery to the power of death. Repentance implies a real freedom on the part of human beings, but the Gospel of Mark focuses not on human freedom but upon the powerful Son of God who conquers the enemy we could never overcome. As it is expressed in the words of a Sunday school hymn—"we are weak but he is strong." Repentance lies beyond our powers, but the second half of Jesus' command, "believe the Gospel," is closer to the heart of Mark's message. Jesus is the Gospel; to be a Christian is to believe the story of God's rescue, and to respond in faith by becoming his disciple.

And that is exactly what happens next in Mark; Jesus calls his first disciples. This is not just an account of the call of the Galilee fishermen. It is also an ideal picture of what our response should be to the preaching of the Gospel. When Jesus calls us we should drop everything else and follow. The imminent coming of God's kingdom demands an immediate response. So Mark tells the story of the calling of the disciples twice, as if for emphasis, and both times their response to the call is immediate. And this sets up a pattern in Mark of immediate responses. The word "immediately" is used by the evangelist again and again to stress that the only appropriate response to the Gospel is an instantaneous one.

And that wonderful summons Jesus gives them—"Follow me and I will make you fish for people"—is the key to everything. These words come to us directly from the mouth of Jesus, remembered by the disciples to whom they were spoken.  They are both a call to labor in the Kingdom and an assurance of the powerful Son of God that he will share his strength and courage with those who share his mission. It was a promise he kept to those Galilee fisherman, and keeps to us.