Month: January 2024

A collection of scenes (Mark 1; Epiphany 5B)

After the scene in the synagogue, which we heard last Sunday, the lectionary offers us a collection of scenes (Mark 1:29–39) for the fifth Sunday after the Epiphany. These scenes are part of the rapid sequence of events that Mark tells, to introduce Jesus, the main character of his narrative over the ensuing chapters.

We have already had the announcement from John about “one more powerful than I” (1:2–8) and the striking moment when Jesus of Nazareth was declared to be the beloved Son, anointed by the Spirit, equipped for his role of proclaiming the kingdom of God (1:9–11).

See https://johntsquires.com/2020/12/01/advent-two-the-more-powerful-one-who-is-coming-mark-1/

Then follows a period of testing in the wilderness (1:12–13) and a succinct summation of the message of Jesus; just four short, snappy phrases: “the time is fulfilled, the kingdom of God has come near, repent, believe in the good news” (1:14-15). See https://johntsquires.com/2020/11/24/the-kingdom-is-at-hand-so-follow-me-the-gospel-according-to-mark/

This summary is followed by two compressed accounts, told in formulaic exactitude, in which Jesus calls four of his key followers, brothers Simon and Andrew (“follow me; they left their nets, and followed him”), and then brothers James and John (“he called them; they left their father, and followed him” (1:16-20). See https://johntsquires.com/2024/01/16/fishing-for-people-not-quite-what-you-think-mark-1-epiphany-3b/

These two call narratives establish the nature of the movement that Jesus was initiating. He sets out a call to all four brothers; an exclamation, to which they must respond: “follow me!” The call invites a specific, tangible, and radical response: “leave everything”. And both encounters result in a new, binding commitment to Jesus: they “followed him”. The same pattern repeats with Levi in 2:14, and then with others (2:15; 8:34-36; 15:41). A rich young man comes to the brink, but then pulls away at the last moment (10:21).

Ched Myers offers a good exploration of how this scene establishes the dynamic of radical discipleship which permeates Mark’s Gospel, at https://inquiries2015.files.wordpress.com/2002/08/02-1-pc-mark-invitation-to-discipleship-in-ringehoward-brook-discipleship-anthology.pdf

Myers parallels this call scene with a later scene (8:22-9:13) in the following way: “Each prologue introduces the essential symbols, characters, and plot complications of the respective ‘books’. Each takes place in the context of ‘the Way’ (1:2f; 8:27), and discusses the relationship between Jesus and John-as-Elijah (1:6; 8:28). In both prologues, Jesus is confirmed as the anointed one by the divine voice (1:11; 9:7) in conjunction with symbolism drawn from the Exodus tradition (wilderness, 1:2,13; mountain, 9:2).

“Each articulates a call to discipleship (1:16-20; 8:34-36) specifically in regard to Peter, James, and John (1: 16,19; 9:2). In Book I Jesus calls disciples to follow him in overturning the structures of the present social order. But because these disciples’ understanding is suspect, Jesus must in the prologue of Book Il extend a ‘second’ call to follow, in which he introduces the central symbol for the rest of the narrative: the cross.”

After these stories of announcement and call to follow, there comes a scene in a synagogue, revealing the authority that Jesus had, in calling people, to command “the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, [to] come out of him” (1:21–28). See

https://johntsquires.com/2024/01/23/the-man-was-convulsing-and-crying-the-people-were-astounded-and-amazed-mark-1-epiphany-4b/

*****

The section of this chapter offered for this coming Sunday (1:29–39) begins with a pair of complementary scenes—the first set in the hustle and bustle of the village, where Jesus heals the sick and casts out more demons (1:29–34); the second an early morning start, where Jesus prays “in a deserted place” (1:35–37). This contrast is deliberate, and instructive. Both settings are vital for his project of radical discipleship.

This latter scene evokes the earlier scene, immediately after the public dunking of Jesus in the Jordan river (1:9–11), when Jesus spends a highly symbolic forty days “in the wilderness” (1:12–13). Although it was the Spirit which drove him into wilderness (1:12), it was Satan who tested Jesus during this period (1:13). And that seminal encounter sits alongside the first public declaration of Jesus as “beloved Son”, made over the waters of the Jordan (1:11). See Forty days, led by the Spirit: Jesus in the wilderness (Mark 1; Lent 1B)

The author then provides a characteristic summation of the activity that Jesus was called to do: “he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons” (1:38–39). Subsequent summaries in this vein appear a number of times in the ensuing narrative (3:7–8, 4:33–34, 6:12–13, 6:56, 10:1). The opening chapter thus sets the pattern of behaviour by Jesus.

A final, intensely emotional scene brings this substantial opening sequence to a close. In this final scene of chapter 1, Jesus is approached by a leper, seeking to be “made clean” (1:40–42). The way Jesus responds to this need is striking: what the NRSV translates as “moved with pity” is actually better rendered as “being totally consumed by deep-seated compassion” (1:41). An alternative textual variation renders the emotions of Jesus more sparsely: “and being indignant”.

The command to adhere to the law by bringing a sacrificial offering to the priests for his cleaning (as any teacher of Jewish Torah would advocate—Lev 14) is, strikingly, expressed in the typical manner of a wild magic healer; the NRSV translation, “sternly warning him”, is better expressed as “snorting like a horse”—the use of striking, dramatic language being a characteristic feature of ancient healers (1:43–44).

The final scene collects all the activity of the opening chapter into the bustling energy of the swarming public square. Jesus can no longer remain isolated or removed; “people came to him from every quarter” (1:45). However, this passage, along with other sections of chapter 2, appears in the lectionary only in a year when Easter is later and thus the season of Epiphany is extended by further weeks. Because of the early date of Easter this year (2024), we will not be reading and reflecting on it this year.

Perhaps the key takeaway for us, today, from this collection of scenes, is in verse 38: “let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” The Jesus of Mark is an energetic, passionately committed person, travelling relentlessly, proclaiming his message of the coming kingdom with an intensity, engaging with people with compassion, focussed on achieving his goal. That’s the invitation that stands before us this Sunday: how do we respond?

With wings like eagles (Isa 40; Epiphany 5B)

The passage proposed for this coming Sunday, the Fifth Sunday after Epiohany (Isa 40:21–31) is from a section of the book of Isaiah which is very well known. It reaches it climax with the well-known acclamation that “those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint” (Isa 40:31).

Words earlier in this oracle tell of the voice which cries out “in the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord” (Isa 40:3). We know these words as they are applied directly to John the baptiser early in the Gospels (Mark 1:2–4 and parallels; John 1:19–23). In that context, these words of the prophet invite us to look forward, in anticipation to the story of Jesus, which will follow.

These words, however, have a different reference in their original context. The words of the exilic prophet whose work forms the second section of Isaiah (chs. 40—55) are oriented towards the appearance of God to the people of Israel as they wait and hope for the end of their exile in Babylon. The prophet says that God will comfort the people (v.1), speaking tenderly to Jerusalem, declaring that “her penalty is paid” (v.2)—and then, that “the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together” (v.5).

The promise of God is clear; the prophet states that God declares, “I will send to Babylon and break down all the bars, and the shouting of the Chaldeans will be turned to lamentation” (43:14; 48:14; and see the extended oracle of 47:1–15). He specifically nominates Cyrus of Persia as the one chosen (or anointed) by God to bring the exiles home (Isa 44:28—45:1; 45:13). We know from 2 Chron 36:22–23, and the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, that this did indeed take place.

The prophet describes the way out of exile and back to the land once promised, ages before, to the ancestors of Israel, in terms which evoke the miraculous liberation from slavery in Egypt—at least in terms of the story that is told in Exodus. Whilst evidence to support the Exodus narrative as “historical” is strikingly missing, the story developed in the Exodus narrative is powerful.

So as the prophet describes the journey leaving Babylon and returning to Jerusalem he evokes that narrative escape from Egypt, indicating that the Lord God “will open rivers on the bare heights, and fountains in the midst of the valleys … [he] will make the wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water” (41:17–20; see also 43:16–17; 49:9–10; 50:2).

Because it was the Lord who “dried up the sea, the waters of the great deep [and] made the depths of the sea a way for the redeemed to cross over” (cf. Exod 14:19–22, 30–31), the prophet declares exultantly, “the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing” (Isa 51:10–11). In order to facilitate this return, in the opening oracle of this section, the prophet declares that “every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain” (40:4).

The particular part of this opening oracle that the lectionary offers for this Sunday (Isa 40:21–31) is a song of praise to God, for the power that “the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth” exercises in the world. In the foundational saga of Israel, “Everlasting God” is the name given to the Lord by Abraham at Beersheba (Gen 21:33).

In contrast to the eternally-enduring deity, whose word will “stand forever” (40:8), the prophet observes that humans are like grass; “the grass withers, the flower fades”, he twice states (40:7, 8). In this, the prophet echoes other passages where the same observation is made. One psalmist laments that “my days are like an evening shadow; I wither away like grass” (Ps 102:11), in contrast to the Lord, who is “enthroned forever; your name endures to all generations” (Ps 102:12).

Job, similarly, bemoans the reality that “a mortal, born of woman, few of days and full of trouble, comes up like a flower and withers, flees like a shadow and does not last” (Job 14:1–2). This fleeting character is linked with evildoers in another psalm; they “will soon fade like the grass, and wither like the green herb” (Ps 37:2).

Yet another psalm includes a prayer that the wicked will “vanish like water that runs away; like grass let them be trodden down and wither; let them be like the snail that dissolves into slime; like the untimely birth that never sees the sun” (Ps 58:7–8). The prophet Jeremiah links the withering of grass to the wickedness of those in the land (Jer 12:1–4), while the prophet Isaiah had noted that the withering of the whole world was a curse that signalled the impending judgement on the world (Isa 24; see v.4).

In the context of this understanding of God, the eternal one, and human beings, whose lives are fleeting, the prophet has announced good tidings (40:9), that the Lord God “comes with might, and his arm rules for him; his reward is with him, and his recompense before him” (40:10). God will not leave people bereft. God comes to “feed his flock like a shepherd … gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep” (40:11). The eternal God is a caring, compassionate being.

Alongside this comforting image of the deity, the prophet shares a vision of the God who “sits above the circle of the earth … stretches out the heavens like a curtain, and spreads them like a tent to live in” (40:22). God is described as residing “above” in narrative texts (Josh 2:11; 1 Ki 8:23; 2 Ki 19:15) and prophets (Isa 37:16; Ezek 10:19; 11:22). Job recognises “God above” (Job 3:4; 31:2, 28); psalmists praise “God above the heavens” (Ps 57:5, 11; 108:5).

God above is not remote; God above descends to intervene—as the prophet says, the Lord God “brings princes to naught, and makes the rulers of the earth as nothing” (Isa 40:23). This resonates with the words that Hannah sings, that the Lord “kills and brings to life; he brings down to Sheol and raises up … [he] makes poor and makes rich; he brings low, he also exalts; he raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honour” (1 Sam 2:6–8).

This also correlates with words of the psalmist, singing that when the hungry “are diminished and brought low through oppression, trouble, and sorrow, he pours contempt on princes and makes them wander in trackless wastes; but he raises up the needy out of distress, and makes their families like flocks” (Ps 107:39–41), and that “the Lord upholds all who are falling, and raises up all who are bowed down” (Ps 145:14). Similar thoughts, of course, are also,expressed in the pregnant Mary’s song of praise (Luke 1:51–53).

Extolling this God as above all and eternal means that the existence of other entities with a claim to divinity need to be explained. “To whom then will you compare me, or who is my equal?”, the prophet enquires (40:25). Only the Lord God is creator (40:26, 28). Surely, in the mind of the prophet, this places this God in a distinct and unique place.

So it is within these oracles of promise and hope that the theological understanding of monotheism is clearly articulated for the first time in the history of Israel. “Is there any god besides me? There is no other rock; I know not one” (44:8). The phrase, “there is no other (god)”, recurs a number of times in this section (42:8; 45:5, 14, 21, 22; 46:9). This echoes the refrain in Deuteronomy, that “the Lord is God; there is no other besides him” (Deut 4:35, 39; 5:7; 6:14; 7:4; 8:19; 11:16, 28; 13:6–7, 13; 17:3; 18:20; 28:14, 36, 64; 29:26; 30:17–20). Deuteronomy in the form that we know it is to be dated to the exile or return—the same time as the unnamed prophet in Second Isaiah is active.

This claim that the Lord God is the only god is in contrast to the way that the God of Israel had previously been portrayed, as “among the gods” (Exod 15:11; Judg 2:12; Ps 86:8), with the commandment to have “no other gods before me” (Exod 20:3; Deut 5:7) distinguishing this God from those other gods whom Israel was clearly forbidden to worship (Deut 6:14; 7:4; 8:19; 11:16; 13:1–18; 17:2–5; 18:20).

Before the Exile, the possibility of other gods had been entertained. After the experience of exile, the singularity of the Lord God becomes a central claim. And this, in turn, leads into the monotheistic strand that shapes the movement that Jesus initiated.

The prophet concludes this particular oracle with words of inspiration (40:28–31). Two rhetorical questions set the scene: “Have you not known? Have you not heard?” (40:28a). A foundational theological affirmation in the prophet’s worldview follows: “The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth” (40:28b).

Elsewhere in Hebrew Scripture, we find statements that God “looks to the ends of the earth and sees everything under the heavens” (Job 28:24), that God’s name “reaches to the ends of the earth” (Ps 48:10), that God is “the hope of all the ends of the earth and of the farthest seas” (Ps 65:5), and that “all the ends of the earth have seen the victory of our God” (Ps 98:3).

Prophets also affirm that “from the ends of the earth we hear songs of praise, of glory to the Righteous One” (Isa 24:16), that “all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God” (Isa 52:10), and that to the Lord “shall the nations come from the ends of the earth and say: Can mortals make for themselves gods? Such are no gods!” (Jer 16:19).

And so the rhetoric of the prophet rises up into a grand poetic affirmation about this world-encompassing God, who “does not faint or grow weary” (40:28c), as the prophet repeats the earlier affirmation (40:23) that God “gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless” (40:29). This picks up the earlier affirmation that God “brings princes to naught and makes the rulers of the earth as nothing” (40:23), folded into the declaration that this same God “gives power to the faint and strengthens the powerless” (40:29).

Springboarding off the imagery of fainting/strengthening, the prophet then contrasts “youths [who] will faint and be weary and young [who] will fall exhausted” (40:30) with “those who wait for the Lord [who] shall renew their strength” (40:31a). This imagery, which closes the oracle, is used to portray this renewal of strength—that of an eagle rising up into the sky. It has caught the imagination of people of faith over many centuries. The rising eagle depicts the way that believers “shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint” (40:31b).

The eagle is known in Christian symbolism as the symbol of the evangelist John, because of the “high Christology” his Gospel contains, reflecting the divinity of Jesus in traditional interpretation. The four symbols (man, lion, ox, and eagle) are in turn derived from the striking vision that opens the book of Ezekiel, who saw “fire flashing forth continually, and in the middle of the fire, something like gleaming amber; in the middle of it was something like four living creatures … the four had the face of a human being, the face of a lion on the right side, the face of an ox on the left side, and the face of an eagle” (Ezek 1:4–10).

“The way of an eagle in the sky” is included amongst the “three things too wonderful for me” that the sage ponders (Prov 30:18–19), while the prophet Obadiah warns Moab, “though you soar aloft like the eagle, though your nest is set among the stars, from there I will bring you down, says the Lord” (Obad 1:4).

The power of the eagle, soaring high into the sky and spreading wide its wings, features in oracles by Jeremiah (Jer 48:40; 49:22) and Ezekiel (Ezek 17:3), and is used to describe how the Lord God guided “his people Jacob”: “as an eagle stirs up its nest and hovers over its young; as it spreads its wings, takes them up, and bears them aloft on its pinions, the Lord alone guided him” (Deut 32:11–12). It’s a powerful and inspiring image to conclude this opening oracle of the prophet as he looks for the exile of his people to end.

See also https://johntsquires.com/2022/08/31/comfort-and-hope-return-from-exile-isaiah-40-55/

Stereotyping Jesus: coming home in Mark 6 (Narrative Lectionary for Epiphany 5)

The offering from the narrative lectionary this coming Sunday (Mark 6:1–29) begins with the scene where Jesus goes to the synagogue in his hometown, Nazareth (6:1–6) and is rejected by those who “took offence at him” (6:3). Although he spoke with wisdom and performed acts of power (6:2), he is scorned as merely “the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon … and his sisters, here with us” (6:3).

You can imagine the murmurs amongst the people of the town. “He was not the eloquent preacher. Not the erudite teacher. Not the compassionate healer. Not the dazzling miracle-worker. Just plain old Jesus, the carpenter, from a local family. Nothing to look at here. Nothing of importance. A nobody, really. But he has pretensions. And we can’t stand for that, can we?”

Perhaps I’m being a little harsh on the townsfolk? Perhaps there is more to Jesus than they recognised, and perhaps Mark’s narrative might indicate that it is not wise to stereotype Jesus, as they were doing?

Earlier in his narrative, Mark has told of an encounter that Jesus had with his family when he came out of a house in Capernaum (3:20). Some onlookers in Capernaum describe him as being “out of his mind” (ἐξέστη, 3:21). This is a term that literally means that he was “standing outside of himself”, as if in a kind of dissociative state. It may be that this was the reason that Jesus was returning to his family?

The encounter doesn’t go well, however. Scribes have come from Jerusalem. They have already been antagonistic towards Jesus, questioning whether Jesus was blaspheming (2:6–7), and casting doubts on his choice of dinner guests (“why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners.”, 2:16). There will be further disputation with scribes (7:1–5; 9:14; 12:28, 38–41) and they will be implicated in the plot to arrest Jesus (11:18, 27; 14:1, 43, 53; 15:1) and in his death (8:31; 10:33).

These scribes—hardly friends—articulate what others present may well have been thinking: “he has Beelzebul” (3:22). The charge of demon possession correlates with the accusation levelled at John 10:20. It appears to have been one way that Jesus was stereotyped by others.

Beelzebul (Βεελζεβοὺλ), “the ruler of the demons”, is known from earlier scriptural references to Baal-zebub in 1 Kings 1:2–6, 16, where he is described as “the god of Ekron”, a Philistine deity. There is scholarly speculation that Beelzebul may have meant “lord of the temple” or “lord of the dwelling”, from the Hebrew term for dwelling or temple (as found at Isa 63.15 and 1 Kings 8.13); or perhaps it was connected with the Ugaritic word zbl, meaning prince, ruler.

Jesus refutes the charge in typical form, by telling a parable (3:23–27) that ends with the punchline about “binding the strong man” (τὸν ἰσχυρὸν δήσῃ). This potent phrase encapsulates something that sits right at the heart of the activities of Jesus in Galilee—when he encounters people who are possessed by demons, and when he casts out those demons, he is, in effect “binding the strong man”.

The notion that a demon would bind the person that they inhabited is found at Luke 13:16, and in the book of Jubilees (5:6; 10:7-11). The book of the same title by Ched Myers provides a fine guide to reading the whole of Mark’s Gospel through this lens (see https://chedmyers.org/2013/12/05/blog-2013-12-05-binding-strong-man-25-years-old-month/)

The accusation that refers to “blasphemy against the Holy Spirit” (3:29) may well reflect the stereotype that Jesus was demon-possessed (3:30). That stereotyped view of Jesus cannot be allowed to stand, for it cannot be justified in any way—at least, in Mark’s view.

So we see that there was dispute about Jesus, even beyond his hometown of Nazareth. There were those who sought to stereotype him in a negative way.

So Jesus goes to his hometown, with his disciples, and participates in the local synagogue on the sabbath. What do we know of his status in his hometown?

“In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan” (Mark 1:9) is how Jesus is introduced in this Gospel. Mark takes us straight to the adult Jesus, bypassing the newborn infant who appears in other narratives. There is no explanation of his background; no stories from his childhood, to show the nature,of his character (such as were common in biographies written by educated folks in the Hellenistic world).

There is certainly no mention of Bethlehem, nor the rampage of Herod; nor any reference to magi travelling from the east, bearing gifts; nor to a census ordered under Quirinius, necessitating short-term accommodation. There is no story of the infant Jesus at all—and most strikingly, no mention of Mary and Joseph as the parents of Jesus in the opening scenes of this earliest Gospel.

Rather, in Mark’s narrative reporting the beginning of the good news about Jesus, the chosen one, Jesus explicitly distances himself from his family. “Who are my mother and my brothers?”, he asks, when confronted by scribes from Jerusalem and labelled as “out of his mind” by his own family (Mark 3:21, 33).

In this week’s passage, the people of his hometown (Nazareth) do not identify as “son of Joseph”—only in John’s book of signs do his fellow-Jews identify him as “son of Joseph” (John 6:42). So it is up to Luke and Matthew, each in their own way, to link Jesus, as a newborn, to these parents.

In Mark’s account of the scene when the adult Jesus returns to his hometown, he is “the carpenter, the son of Mary” (6:3). This is the only time that the name of his mother appears in this earliest account of Jesus; and there is simply no mention, by name, or by relationship, of his putative father. (Some scribes later modified this verse (Mark 6:3) to refer to him as “son of the carpenter and of Mary”, to align Mark’s account with how Matthew later reports it at Matt 13:55.)

Other than this one reference, Mark makes no reference to Jesus’s parents. He is simply, and consistently identified as “the son of God” (Mark 1:1; 3:11; 5:7; 9:7; 15:39). On one occasion, he is addressed as “son of David” (10:47–48; although this description is the subject of debate at 12:35–37).

More often, in this earliest of Gospels, using a term taken from Hebrew Scripture, Jesus refers to himself, or others refer to him, as “the son of humanity” (more traditionally translated as “the son of man”) (2:10, 28; 8:31, 38; 9:9, 12, 31; 10:33, 45; 13:26; 14:21, 41, 62; see Ezek 2:1, 8; 3:1, 4, 16; etc; and Dan 7:13). The origins and identity of Jesus, in Mark’s eyes, relate more to the larger picture—of his Jewish heritage, in his relationship to the divine, and with his role for all humanity—than to the immediacy of parental identification.

Mark ensures that we grasp this larger picture of Jesus in the way he presents Jesus. He also indicates that it is not proper to stereotype Jesus, describing him in demeaning terms, objectifying him as problematic or as “other”. It is a practice that we would do well to emulate in our relationships with others. And in considering Jesus, we should push beyond the stereotypes to discover the person who Jesus really is.

To mourn? To celebrate? To move ahead with maturity and thoughtfulness? For 26 January.

This year, on 26 January, no doubt many people around Australia will gather to cook at the BBQ and swim in the surf. Families and friends will enjoy a relaxing time on a public holiday. Somewhere in the background, perhaps, there will hover a sense of satisfaction that we are “the lucky country” full of “mates and cobbers”, where there is “a fair go” for everyone, a country in which we can wave our flags, have our BBQs, kick back and relax.

Indeed, around the world, people who call Australia home will most likely be gathering, perhaps with fellow-Aussies, to celebrate the day. I know that when I was living in a foreign country, 40 years ago, I did just that—finding some other Australians in the university’s Graduate Student Housing to share in a meal as we celebrated “being Australian” in a foreign land.

That was all almost half-a-lifetime ago, now; and my perspective on this has changed somewhat, I confess. I am still, as I was then, a fervent republican, believing that Australia needs to be a completely independent nation with no role at all for the inbred imperialist family whose forbears colonised this continent and who still have a formal, legal role in the affairs of this country, from many thousands of kilometres away.

And I am still resolutely opposed to the primitive tribal tendencies inherent in nationalism, and its ugly cousin jingoism, because of the emotional damage that this does to impressionable minds, and the consequent savagery that it has unleashed in warfare across the years.

The cost of war is immense and long-enduring; the “victory” won by a nation in prosecuting war is fleeting by comparison. War means injury and death, to our own troops, and to the troops of those we are fighting against. Every death means a family and a local community that is grieving. There is great emotional cost just in one death, let alone the thousands and thousands that wars incur. To say nothing of the damage done to civilians, particularly women and children, as “collateral damage” in these nationalistic enterprises. Jingoistic nationalism fuels the appetite for warfare.

So it is with some small degree of satisfaction that I note that the many congregations of the Uniting Church of have held a Day of Mourning to reflect on the dispossession of Australia’s First Peoples and the ongoing injustices faced by First Nations people in this land. This resets and reorients the focus of the time around the “national day” of Australia.

For those of us who are Second Peoples from many lands, this focus offers an opportunity to lament that we were and remain complicit in the ongoing consequences of this dispossession. It also invites us to consider what we might do to move away from that negative trajectory.

The observance of a Day of Mourning on the Sunday before 26 January arises from a request from the Uniting Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress (UAICC) which was endorsed by the 15th Assembly in 2018. Since then, many Congregations have held worship services that reflect on the effects of invasion, colonisation and racism on First Peoples. (This year it took place on Sunday 21 January.)

The first Day of Mourning took place in 1938, after years of work by the Australian Aborigines League (AAL) and the Aborigines Progressive Association (APA). In a pamphlet published for the occasion, it was stated that “the 26th of January, 1938, is not a day of rejoicing for Australia’s Aborigines; it is a day of mourning. This festival of 150 years’ so-called “progress” in Australia commemorates also 150 years of misery and degradation imposed upon the original native inhabitants by the white invaders of this country.”

The Uniting Church has acknowledged that our predecessors in the denominations which joined in 1977 to form the Uniting Church have been “complicit in the injustice that resulted in many of the First Peoples being dispossessed from their land, their language, their culture and spirituality, becoming strangers in their own land”. That itself is a cause for lament and mourning.

The Uniting Church has also recognised that people in these churches “were largely silent as the dominant culture of Australia constructed and propagated a distorted version of history that denied this land was occupied, utilised, cultivated and harvested by these First Peoples who also had complex systems of trade and inter-relationships”.

[The quotations above come from the Revised Preamble to the Constitution of the Uniting Church in Australia, adopted in 2009]

See https://ucaassembly.recollect.net.au/nodes/view/442

In worship resources prepared in relation to this Revised Preamble, people are invited to affirm the general belief that “the Spirit has been alive and active in every race and culture, getting hearts and minds ready for the good news: the good news of God’s love and grace that Jesus Christ revealed”, as well as the specific statement four our context, that “from the beginning the Spirit was alive and active, revealing God through the law, custom and ceremony of the First Peoples of this ancient land”.

People are also invited to confess “with sorrow the way in which their land was taken from them and their language, culture and spirituality despised and suppressed”, as well as the reality that “in our own time the injustice and abuse has continued; we have been indifferent when we should have been outraged, we have been apathetic when we should have been active, we have been silent when we should have spoken out.”

See https://unitingchurchwa.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/Liturgical_Resources_revised_preamble04062016.pdf

So on 26 January this year, as a nation of multicultural complexity, with diverse narratives of origins and developments over the years, we would do well to follow this lead, and ensure that what happens on this day might include realistic mourning for what has been done in past years, and for what this means in our own time for First Peoples of this country; and perhaps some indications as to how we are planning and working to rectify injustice and overturn oppression.

Alongside the celebration of the ways that Australia has become a vibrant, strengthened “modern nation”, we would do well to include this note of reality and expression of hope for those who have, unfairly and in a disproportionate way, shouldered the burden of inequity over the decades.

It would be good for the trite, simplistic, jingoistic approach to our national day to incorporate some maturity in how we think about, reflect upon, and commit to act in relation to First Peoples. The sorry saga of last year’s referendum should at least prod us in this direction, surely?

A prophet like Moses (Deut 18; Epiphany 4B)

“I will raise up for them a prophet like you from among their own people; I will put my words in the mouth of the prophet, who shall speak to them everything that I command” (Deut 18:18). These words are the heart of the Hebrew Scripture passage which the Revised Common Lectionary proposes for this coming Sunday, the Fourth Sunday after Epiphany.

Here, Moses informs the people that, just as he spoke words placed into his mouth by God, so there will be later individuals who also will speak words given to them by God. And so, Israel is assured of the presence of a prophet in their midst throughout the centuries.

Indeed, a number of the prophets of Israel remind us that they speak forth “the voice of the Lord” (Isa 66:6; Jer 42:5–6; Dan 9:9–10; Mic 6:9; Hag 1:12; Zech 6:15). Jesus stands in this tradition, offering words of guidance, challenge, and judgement. In traditional Christian understanding, he is the way by which, “in these last days, God … has spoken to us” (Heb 1:1–2).

What will the prophet speak? In so many reports of prophetic activity, it is justice which is the heart of their message—God’s justice; the justice which God desires for the people of God; the justice which God speaks through the voice of the prophets; the justice that God calls for in Israel; the justice that provides the measure against which Israel will be judged, and saved, or condemned.

Moses himself was charged with ensuring that justice was in place in Israelite society. One story told of the time after the Israelites had escaped from Egypt places Moses as a judge. Whilst in the wilderness of Sin, being visited by his father-in-law Jethro, we learn that “Moses sat as judge for the people, while the people stood around him from morning until evening” (Exod 18:13).

Noticing that Moses was overwhelmed by the volume of matters requiring adjudgment, Jethro suggested—and Moses adopted—a system whereby appointed men who “judged the people at all times; hard cases they brought to Moses, but any minor case they decided themselves” (Exod 18:14–16). The charge given to these men is clear: they are to give a fair hearing to every member of the community, and they “must not be partial in judging: hear out the small and the great alike; [do] not be intimidated by anyone, for the judgment is God’s” (Deut 1:16–17).

Prophets coming after Moses thus inherited this responsibility to ensure that justice was upheld within society. Amos calls for “justice and righteousness” (Amos 5:22). Micah asks the question, “what does the Lord require of you but to do justice?” (Mic 6:8), while through the prophet Hosea, the Lord God promises to Israel, “I will take you for my wife in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love, and in mercy” (Hos 2:19).

Isaiah ends his famous love-song of of the vineyard by declaring that God “expected justice” (Isa 5:7); Jeremiah notes the need to “not oppress the sojourner, the fatherless, or the widow” (Jer 7:5–7). Second Isaiah foresees that the coming Servant “will bring forth justice to the nations” (Isa 42:1) while Third Isaiah begins his words with a direct declaration, “maintain justice, and do what is right” (Isa 56:1), for “I the Lord love justice” (Isa 62:8).

This commitment resonates with the psalmist, who praises “the God of Jacob … who executes justice for the oppressed; who gives food to the hungry … [who] sets the prisoners free, [who] opens the eyes of the blind, [who] lifts up those who are bowed down [and] loves the righteous, [who] watches over the strangers [and] upholds the orphan and the widow” (Ps 146:5, 7–9). See

Father of orphans and protector of widows (Psalm 68; Easter 7A)

It may be significant that, in this year when Mark’s Gospel is featured in the lectionary, the Hebrew Scripture passages offered during the short season of Epiphany are drawn from the books of the prophets: 1 Samuel, Jonah, this passage from Deuteronomy, Isaiah, and then the story of Elijah and Elisha in 2 Kings. These passages help us to see in clear focus the way that Jesus operates like a prophet in Mark’s narrative. See

Textual interplay: stories of Jesus in Mark 1 and the prophets of Israel (Year B)

So the offering of the Deuteronomy passage this week particularly pushes us to consider how Jesus might be seen as a prophet, one whom God raised up to be like Moses (Deut 18:15-18). There are three key features of Mark’s portrayal of Jesus which depict him in a prophetic vein: words and deeds, a kingdom focus, and the importance of repentance.

I Words and deeds

Words, of course, are important, both for the prophets, and for Jesus. “Thus says the Lord”, a commonplace of prophetic rhetoric, is reflected in the comments of the Markan narrator that Jesus “went about all the villages teaching” (Mark 6:6), proclaiming his message (1:14–15, 38) and speaking of the kingdom of God in parables (4:11, 26–32; 12:1–12), in sayings (9:1, 47; 10:14–15, 23–25; 12:34), and in an extended apocalyptic discourse (13:3-37). Words were central to his public and private activity.

Jesus is remembered, however, as “a prophet mighty in deed and word” (Luke 24:19), so the deeds he performed are equally as important as the words he spoke. Indeed, this was always the case for prophets; God gave Moses words to speak and signs to perform (Exod 4:28–30), and the prophets that followed him accompany their message with acts that manifest the truth of what is proclaimed: Ahijah tearing his garment into twelve pieces (1 Ki 11), Isaiah walking naked for three years (Isa 20), Jeremiah buying and then breaking an earthenware jug (Jer 19), Ezekiel eating a scroll (Ezek 3), Ezekiel shaving his head and slashing the hair with a sword (Ezek 5), and many more.

In like manner, Jesus sent out his followers to proclaim his message, but also to “cast out many demons and anoint with oil many who were sick and cure them” (Mark 6:12–13). Word and deed belong together. So Mark reports, alongside the parables and sayings of Jesus, numerous instances when Jesus healed people (2:1–12; 3:1–6; 3:22; 5:21–43; 6:5, 53–56; 7:31–37: 8:22–26; 10:46–52), cast out demons and unclean spirits (1:21–28, 32–34, 39; 3:11; 5:1–20; 7:24–30; 9:14–29), as well as miraculously fed multitudes (6:30–44; 8:1–10), cleansed a leper (1:40–45), stilled a storm (4:35–41), and walked on water (6:45–52).

II The coming kingdom

Another way in which Jesus reflects his prophetic calling was through the kingdom focus in his teaching. That the imminence of the kingdom is a key note for Jesus is reflected both in his opening words in Mark (“the time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near”, 1:15a) and in some of his final words to his closest followers (“I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God”, 14:25).

Jesus has so shaped the expectations of his followers that they anticipate this coming with intensity. “There are some standing here who will not taste death until they see that the kingdom of God has come with power”, he told them (9:1); to one enquirer, he affirmed, “you are not far from the kingdom of God” (12:34), and after his death, another follower who was “waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God ensured that the body of Jesus was cared for (15:43).

When some of his disciples hindered children wanting to come to him, Jesus chided them, saying, “whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it” (10:15); a little later, to his disciples, he warned, “how hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” (10:23).

The final extended discourse of Jesus that Mark reports (13:4–37) provides reassurance of the sovereignty of God in the midst of crises and calamities. These events are but “the beginning of the birth pangs” (13:8). Jesus affirms that those enduring will be saved by divine action (13:13, 20), culminating in the appearance of “‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory” (13:26) and the gathering of the elect by the angels of God (13:27).

The kingdom is the realm in which God will act decisively. In the words of the prophets, the kingdom of David and his successors was the realm in which God was seen to be active; after that kingdom was conquered and its people taken captive, the prophetic voices of Israel began to develop a notion that, at some time in the future, there would indeed be a kingdom which would be the realm in which God would be active. The prophetic hope in The Day when God would act came to full, dramatic expression in the apocalyptic portrayals of The End that was anticipated.

See

The Day, The End: themes in The Prophets

III Metanoia: a complete transformation

Proclaiming that repentance, metanoia, is the essential prerequisite for entry into that kingdom in order to fulfil God’s justice is a third feature of Mark’s portrayal of Jesus in the manner of a prophet. The first word of Jesus in Mark’s early account is clear: “the time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent (metanoeite) and believe (pisteuete) in the good news” (1:15).

In this programmatic Markan announcement, the two statements (in the indicative mood) about “the time” and “the kingdom” are followed by two commands (in the imperative mood) to “repent” and “believe”. The imminence of the kingdom is the motivation for the call to repent and believe.

This call to repent is evident in the activity of the followers of Jesus who are sent out in pairs with “authority over the unclean spirits”; as they cast out demons and cured the sick, so they also “they proclaimed that all should repent” (6:7–13). Beyond that, the explicit call to repent is not repeated by Jesus, but its presence is evident throughout the narrative.

Jesus calls people to follow him; fishermen Peter and Andrew “left their nets and followed him” (1:18), fishermen James and John “left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him” (1:20), and tax collector Levi son of Alphaeus, “got up and followed him” (2:14). Leaving behind signals the complete transformation undertaken by following Jesus.

Following Jesus is akin to taking up the cross, a sign of social rejection and alienation as well as personal denial (8:34). Jesus delivers a sequence of three sayings that reflect the complete turnaround that is required to effect metanoia. First, “those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it” (8:35). Next, “whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all” (9:35).

And then, “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all” (10:43–44). Jesus himself provides the foundational model for this way of living; as the Son of Man, he came “to give his life a ransom for many” (10:45).

This persistent demand for complete life transformation—metanoia—resonates with Isaiah’s signal declaration that “Zion shall be redeemed by justice, and those in her who repent, by righteousness” (Isa 1:27), and regular prophetic calls to “return to me, says the Lord of hosts … return from your evil ways and from your evil deeds” (Zech 1:3–4); “repent and turn away from your idols; and turn away your faces from all your abominations” (Ezek 14:6; also 18:30), “return to me … remove your abominations from my presence and do not waver” (Jer 4:1); “return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning” (Joel 2:12).

The recurring refrain of Amos, lamenting, “yet you did not return to me, says the Lord” (Amos 4:6,8,9,10,11), leads the prophet to assure Israel that “I will do this to you; prepare to meet your God, O Israel!” (Amos 4:12)—words akin to what the psalmist says, “if one does not repent, God will whet his sword; he has bent and strung his bow; he has prepared his deadly weapons, making his arrows fiery shafts” (Ps 7:12–13).

“I will raise up for them a prophet like you from among their own people; I will put my words in the mouth of the prophet, who shall speak to them everything that I command” (Deut 18:18). In the way that Mark presents Jesus in his narrative, we can see how Jesus speaks and acts in the manner of a prophet like Moses, the archetype of prophetic leadership.

*****

Please Note: in the above comments, I am not seeking to “ prove” that Jesus “fulfils prophecy”. Rather, I am interested to explore the ways that an understanding of Hebrew Scripture can inform the way we read and understand the Gospel narratives about Jesus. For further thoughts on how we read prophetic texts in a Christian context, see

Reading the prophetic texts during Advent (Isaiah 11; Advent 2A)

and

Appropriating prophetic passages in the season of Epiphany (Isa 49; Epiphany 2A)

The man was convulsing and crying; the people were astounded and amazed (Mark 1; Epiphany 4B)

In earlier posts on the Gospel of Mark, on passages that are proposed by the lectionary during the season of Epiphany, we have seen that Mark tells of the beginning of the good news of Jesus, chosen one, with stories in which Jesus is commissioned for his role (1:12–13), announces his message (1:14–15), and calls people to follow him (1:16–20). It is a strikingly energetic start to his narrative.

After these scenes Mark takes us to a scene in a synagogue, where he reveals the authority that Jesus had, in calling people, to command “the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, [to] come out of him” (Mark 1:21–28). This is offered by the lectionary as the Gospel for the fourth Sunday after Epiphany.

The initial impression of the people in the synagogue regarding Jesus is positive; they were “astounded at his teaching” (1:22). Teaching is one of the key characteristics of the activity of Jesus (4:2; 6:6, 34; 8:31; 9:31; 11:17; 12:14, 35). In Galilee, “he went about among the villages teaching” (6:6); in Jerusalem, “day after day I was with you in the temple teaching”, Jesus tells the crowd in the Garden of Gethsemane (14:49).

However, we have not heard anything of the teaching of Jesus at this early point in Mark’s narrative; detailed teaching will come later, in parables beside the sea (4:1–34), in Genessaret (6:53—7:23), on the road to Jerusalem (8:31–38), in Judea (10:1–16), in the temple forecourt (11:27—12:24), and on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple (13:3–37). This synagogue scene in Capernaum is thus the first glimpse of the power of Jesus’ words.

The polemic that will dog Jesus all the way through his public activities is signalled in this synagogue scene. The people in the synagogue were astounded at his teaching “for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes” (1:22). Those scribes will be seen in conflict with Jesus in subsequent scenes; in Capernaum (2:1–12), in the house of Levi son of Alphaeus (2:13–17), in Nazareth (3:19–35), in Genessaret (6:53–7:23), in Galilee (9:14), and in Jerusalem (11:18, 27). Eventually they join with the priests (1:1) and then with the earlier conspirators, Pharisees and Herodians (3:6) to implement the plot “to arrest Jesus by stealth and kill him” (14:1).

By the end of the scene, the people have become even more convinced; Mark says that they are amazed, and are asking, “what is this? a new teaching—with authority! he commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him” (1:27). The response of amazement occurs also when Jesus heals a paralyzed man (2:12), when the demoniac from the Gerasene tombs declares “how much Jesus had done for him” (5:20), and when he confounded the Pharisees and Herodians with his clever riposte (12:17).

The disciples, walking on the road to Jerusalem, are amazed with the response that Jesus gives to a comment by Peter (10:28–32); as was Pilate, when he presses Jesus to respond to the charges brought against him, but “Jesus made no further reply, so that Pilate was amazed” (15:5).

This synagogue scene not only places Jesus into conflict with the scribes; it also defines the cosmic dimension in which the story of Jesus is set, as he grapples with unclean spirits (1:23–26; 3:11; 5:1–13; 6:7; 7:14–29), also identified as demons (7:24–30; 1:32–34, 39; 3:14–15, 22; 5:14–18; 6:13; 9:38). Jesus is a human being, situated in first century occupied Palestine—but he is engaged in a contest in a cosmic dimension.

Ched Myers offers a compelling interpretation of the scene in the synagogue: “The synagogue on the Sabbath is scribal turf, where they exercise the authority to teach Torah. This “spirit” personifies scribal power, which holds sway over the hearts and minds of the people. Only after breaking the influence of this spirit is Jesus free to begin his compassionate ministry to the masses (1:29ff).”

See https://radicaldiscipleship.net/2015/01/29/lets-catch-some-big-fish-jesus-call-to-discipleship-in-a-world-of-injustice-2/, and the complete commentary on Mark by Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Story of Jesus (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1988).

We may be tempted, today, to look at the way that Jesus operated in these scenes of conflict with “unclean spirits” or “demons” who had possessed a person, and dismiss them as primitive attempts to explain what we now understand as mental illnesses. The many developments in psychology over the last century have certainly enabled us to have a better appreciation of the way the human mind works, and how it meets challenges and disruptions. People possessed by spirits or demons may simply have been people suffering trauma, epilepsy, or psychosis, for instance. And so, we may be tempted to dismiss these exorcisms as unbelievable miracles.

But the approach that Myers takes invites us to give more sober consideration to the structural and societal factors that were at work in these stories. The activity of Jesus was not simply relating to individuals; he was sending a signal to the leaders of his society, confronting them with some of the unpleasant dysfunctions that were the realities for common people living under foreign oppression.

What has generated this conflict from the authorities, and this amazement from the people? It is what Jesus does in the synagogue, when he meets “a man with an unclean spirit” (1:23), who cries out, “what have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?”, then accuses him, “have you come to destroy us?” (1:24).

Destroy is a very strong word. It is used to describe the conspiracy that is afoot against Jesus from early in the Gospel—after some Pharisees watch Jesus heal a man with a withered hand, and “the Pharisees went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him” (3:6).

And Jesus himself uses this term in a parable, to describe what the owner of the vineyard will do after the tenants kill the slaves, and even the son, sent to them by the owner (12:9). Since the audience of Jerusalem authorities recognise that Jesus “had told this parable against them” (12:12), it is clearly directed at the scribes and other authorities (cf. 11:27).

So, paradoxically, the man with an unclean spirit is aligned with those charged with the responsibility of overseeing the Holiness Code and ensuring that people are “clean”—the scribes and Pharisees, and especially the priests—in articulating this aggressive conflict with Jesus.

And yet, also paradoxically, this unclean man reveals a key matter about Jesus, when he continues, saying, “I know who you are, the Holy One of God” (1:24). It is the spirits and demons in Mark’s narrative who have this insight (see also 3:11; 5:7).

The man calls Jesus “Holy One”. This is a term applied to God in the writings of Hebrew Scripture (Ps 71:22; 78:41; 89:18; Prov 9:10; Job 6:10; Sir 4:14; 23:9; 53:10; 47:8; 48:20) and also by the Prophets (Isa 1:4; 5:19, 24; and a further 24 times; Jer 50:29; Ezek 8:13; Hos 11:9, 12; Hab 1:12; 3:3). It is a central element of who God is, and a key factor in understanding Jesus.

Of course, Holiness was a central element of piety in ancient Israel, exemplified by the Holiness Code of Leviticus (Lev 11:44–45; 19:2; 20:7–8; see also Deut 7:6; 14:2, 21; 28:9). But this man, possessed by an unclean spirit and therefore not in a state of holiness, is able to speak the truth about Jesus as “the Holy One of God”. He was on the edge of society, and yet he was able to perceive a central reality about Jesus and his society. Perhaps it might be our experience, that people on the edge of society are able to see things with a clearer perspective, and illuminate central,realities of society in our time?

Mark indicates that when Jesus instructs the spirit to “be silent, and come out of him!” (1:25), the man is “convulsing him and crying with a loud voice” (1:26). Convulsions caused by a spirit leaving a possessed person are evident also in the scene immediately after the Transfiguration of Jesus, when that spirit “convulsed the boy, and he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth” (9:20).

Such convulsions may perhaps have been associated, in the mind of first century Jews, with King Saul, after he has been defeated by the Philistines (1 Sam 31:1–3). Sensing what this meant for him, Saul took his own life (1 Sam 31:4). One of Saul’s troops escaped the battle; he recounted to David how Saul had implored that man, “come, stand over me and kill me; for convulsions have seized me, and yet my life still lingers” (2 Sam 1:9).

In the modern mind, these convulsions are known to be a part of the medical condition of epilepsy, so we assume that both Saul, the spirit-possessed people in Capernaum, and the spirit- possessed boy in Galilee, were each afflicted with this condition. The healing that Jesus performs appeared impressive to those present; “he commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him” (Mark 1:25–26).

Yet, curiously, the acclamation of the crowd relates, not to the healing powers of Jesus, but to his words of instruction: “what is this? a new teaching—with authority!” (1:27). Neither the details of this teaching, nor the actual process of drawing out the spirit, are recounted in this scene; simply, “Jesus rebuked him” (1:25). It is from this time that “his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee” (1:28).

And so Jesus is followed by crowds in Galilee (2:4, 13; 3:9, 20, 32; 4:1, 36; 5:21–34; 6:34, 45; 7:14, 17; 8:34; 9:14–17, 25), in the Decapolis (7:33; 8:1–9), in Jericho (10:46), and in Jerusalem (11:8, 18, 32; 12:12, 37). The tragedy of the last days of Jesus is acted out in front of crowds of people, when he is arrested (14:43) and brought before Pilate (15:6–15); by implication, numbers of people witness his crucifixion (15:29–32, 40–42).

But the crowds in Capernaum, early in his public ministry, have witnessed him at the height of his powers. And the man in the synagogue, impaired by his condition, has taken us right to the heart of who Jesus is, and what he is doing as he travels around Galilee.

A bleeding woman, a dying child in Mark 5 (Narrative Lectionary for Epiphany 4)

This coming Sunday, the section of Mark’s Gospel that the narrative lectionary proposes contains a pair of interlinked stories: one about the dying girl who had lived for 12 years (Mark 5:25–34) and one about the woman who has bled for 12 years (Mark 5:21–24, 35–43). These are stories with a Jewish focus. They each contain the number 12, a very important number in Judaism. I have reflected on the significance of this number in these stories in this blog:

On ‘twelve’ in the stories of the bleeding woman and the dying child (Mark 5; Pentecost 5B)

These two stories each tell of a way that Jesus offered hope to the woman and the girl. And they each deal with matters of protocol and behaviour within the Jewish holiness system.

Holiness was central to the people of Israel. Those who ministered to God within the Temple, as priests, were to be especially concerned about holiness in their daily life and their regular activities in the Temple (Exod 28-29; Lev 8-9). The priests oversaw the implementation of the Holiness Code, a large section of Leviticus (chapters 17–26), which explained the various applications of the word to Israel, that “you shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Lev 19:2; also 20:7,26).

As well as overseeing the various offerings and sacrifices that were to be brought to the Temple, the priests provided guidance and interpretation in many matters of daily life, including sexual relationships and bodily illnesses, as well as the annual festivals and other ritual practices.

Part of the Paleo-Hebrew Leviticus scroll (discovered 1956; dated C2–C1 BCE)
which contains the oldest known copy of the Holiness Code.

In the towns and villages of Israel, by contrast, the scribes and Pharisees provided guidance in the interpretation of Torah and in the application of Torah to ensure that holiness was observed in daily living. They undertook the highly significant task of showing how the Torah was relevant to the daily life of Jewish people. It was possible, they argued, to live as God’s holy people at every point of one’s life, quite apart from any pilgrimages made to the Temple in Jerusalem.

So the encounter of the bleeding woman with Jesus had implications in terms of how he interacted with someone suffering from a physical illness. This was a matter regulated by various laws, including, most prominently, a comprehensive catalogue of laws relating to skin diseases, or leprosy (Lev 13–14) and, more relevant to this story, bodily discharges (Lev 15).

These laws specify that, if blood was being discharged from the woman as menstrual blood (“her regular discharge from her body”) that required specific actions to deal with the uncleanness that this produced (Lev 15:19-24).

An image generated by AI,
illustrating an ancient synagogue gathering
where the Law is read

If it was for other reasons (“a discharge of blood … not at the time of her impurity”) another set of laws applies (Lev 15:25-30). The woman herself is not seen as unclean; but anything she touches, anything she sits or lies on, is regarded as unclean. The processes for maintaining a clean status in her household, avoiding these items of furniture, or even direct contact with the woman, would have been onerous.

Furthermore, the request of the synagogue leader to Jesus could possibly bring him into contact with a dead body—a matter that was regulated by laws (Lev 22:4; Num 5:1-2, 9:6-12, 19:11-13). Jairus says that the girl is “at the point of death” (5:23). The cries of the crowd (“your daughter is dead”, 5:35) and the weeping and wailing of the people outside the house (5:38) suggest that the rituals of mourning for a deceased person had already begun. Nevertheless, Jesus assures Jairus that the girl is not dead, but sleeping (5:35).

Another strongly Jewish element in the story of the bleeding woman in her belief that, if she touched the clothing of Jesus (most likely the fringes or tassels), she would be cured. Whilst the laws relating to bleeding indicate that the “direction” of things is that an unclean state touching a clean state renders the clean state unclean, the direction is reversed in this story. The power that resides in Jesus is able to overcome the uncleanness associated with the woman (5:29).

The way that Christians have often read the Levitical prescriptions has been to dismiss the so-called “cultic laws” and maintain adherence only to the moral imperatives embedded within the pages of details about ritual and worship. From this perspective, the stories included in the section of Mark’s Gospel that we are focussing on, it is said, reveal that Jesus ignored or dismissed the prescriptions of the Law. Jesus is seen to validate the attitude that the laws in the Old Testament are no longer valid.

But neither of these Gospel stories give any warrant for such a negative approach to the Holiness Code. In neither case does Jesus actually breach the provisions of the Law. Indeed, the way that the Law functions is misunderstood in so many Christian readings of this story, as well as other parts of the Gospels.

Rather than operating as a constraining imposition, the Law actually deals with real life situations and provides ways that these situations are to be dealt with or managed. The woman with a discharge “beyond the time of her impurity”, for instance, could remove her uncleanness by offering two turtle doves or two pigeons (Lev 15:29–30).

The Pharisees, it is often said, imposed numerous demands on the people. They “made a fence around the law”—a phrase derived from the opening words of Pirke Aboth (The Sayings of the Fathers), a tractate in the Mishnah. The tractate begins: “Moses received the Torah at Sinai and transmitted it to Joshua, Joshua to the elders, and the elders to the prophets, and the prophets to the Men of the Great Assembly. They said three things: Be patient in [the administration of] justice, raise many disciples and make a fence round the Torah.”

Making a fence around the Law is apparently derived from Deut 22:8, which in one translation instructs that when you are building a house, you must build a fence around the roof in order to avoid guilt should someone fall off the roof.

The Pharisees were operating as ancient fence-makers (or gatekeepers, if you will), ensuring that people operated within the bounds of what was required by the Law. Of course, each time a particular law is invoked in a specific situation, it needs to be applied to that situation, interpreted as to how it might apply. That goes for laws in society today, as much as it does for laws in the ancient Jewish society. See

On the Pharisees: “to help the people to understand the Law”

The criticisms that Jesus makes of those who follow the Law and teach the Law need to be seen as debates taking place within Judaism, not as criticisms made from outside Judaism. Jesus was a Jew, living in Jewish lands, trained in understanding the Torah, engaged in applying it to situations in life. His words reflect his interpretation of the Law, not a rejection per se of the Law, as he participates in the culture, practices, and customs of his people.

Christians and Jews have had difficult relationships over the years. The difficulties have been based on misunderstandings, accusations, and the damaging intensification that comes through polemical debate, where careful listening and understanding have been absent. That has been the case, sadly, when matters associated with the application of the Law is concerned.

The Gospel passage for this Sunday reminds us of this lack of appreciation, and invites us to commit to a positive appreciation of Jewish traditions and practices, recognising that Judaism continues as a living faith today, and acknowledging that Jesus was engaged in interpretation, not rejection, of the Law. And in the midst of this, he offers hope to a woman who had suffered for 12 years, and a girl of 12 who was on the point of death.

On ‘twelve’ in the stories of the bleeding woman and the dying child (Mark 5; Pentecost 5B)

God changed God’s mind (Jonah 3; Epiphany 3B)

“Follow me and I will make you fish for people”, Jesus tells some fishermen, in the Gospel offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (Mark 1:14–20, the Third Sunday after Epiphany). Perhaps because of the fishing theme, the lectionary pairs with it an excerpt from what must be the best-known fish story of Hebrew Scripture—that of Jonah.

Although, curiously, in what the lectionary offers, we don’t get the actual fish scene (Jonah 1:17—2:10). What we have is the “second chance” that Jonah has, to act as a real prophet. Rather than running away to sea (1:3), in the opposite direction from where he had been commanded to go, Jonah this time accepts the call from God, “get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you” (3:2).

What we hear in this chapter is the simple report of Jonah’s fiery message—“forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”—and the immediate response, “the people of Nineveh believed God; they proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth” (3:4–5).

The book of Jonah, of course, is one great comic burlesque from beginning to end. In the midst of the accounts of prophets who heard the call of God, hesitated, and then accede to the divine pressure to take up the challenge and declare the judgement of the Lord to a sinful people, we have Jonah.

We have Jonah, who when he is commanded to go northeast to Nineveh, immediately flees in the opposite direction, boarding a ship that was headed west across the Mediterranean Sea, to Tarshish, “away from the presence of the Lord” (Jon 1:3).

We have Jonah, escaping from the command of the Lord, only to find that “the Lord hurled a great wind upon the sea”—so all the cargo on the ship is thrown overboard. We have Jonah, blissfully sleeping, apparently unaware of the great storm (as if!), interrogated by the sailors, eventually offering himself as a sacrifice to save the boat (1:12). A comic hero, indeed.

Jonah, by Albert Pinkham Ryder (1885)

So the sailors try in vain to save the ship; but realising that this is futile, they throw Jonah into the sea—and immediately “the sea ceased from its raging” (1:15). Then, adding further incredulity to the unbelievable narrative, “the Lord provided a large fish to swallow up Jonah” (1:17). The three days and three nights that he spends “in the belly of the fish” before he is vomited onto dry land (2:10) add to the comic exaggeration. You can just imagine the ancient audiences rolling with laughter.

The psalm that Jonah prays from inside the fish (2:1–9) and the successful venture to Nineveh, where even the king “removed his robe, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in ashes” (3:1–10) apparently demonstrate that Jonah should have obeyed the command of the Lord in the first place. However, Jonah’s response continues the exaggerated response of a burlesque character; “this was displeasing to Jonah, and he became angry” (4:1).

Jonah’s resentment and his plea for God to take his life (4:2–4) and his patient waiting for God to act (4:5) lead to yet another comic-book scene, as a bush grows and then is eaten by a worm and Jonah is assaulted by “a sultry east wind” (4:6–8). The closing words of the book pose a rhetorical question to Jonah (4:9–11) which infers that God has every right to be concerned about the lives of pagans in Nineveh. The last laugh is on Jonah; indeed, he has given his readers many good laughs throughout the whole story!

However, the section offered by the lectionary does provide us with a matter warranting serious thought. In the midst of the comedy, the narrator reports that when God saw the repentance of the people of Nineveh, “God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it” (3:10).

God changed God’s mind. That is a striking statement! If we read from the perspective of classic Christian theology, then we read with the expectation that God knows everything (and thus would have known of Jonah’s initial resistance and subsequent obedience); that God is in control of everything (and thus would have engineered the vomiting fish and the sheepishly-repentant prophet); and that God has sovereign power to determine the course of events (and thus would have planned well in advance the repentance of the Ninevites).

So a classic theological approach is somewhat stymied, I would have thought, by the comment that “God changed God’s mind”. By contrast, reading the story as part of Hebrew Scripture (rather than from the lens of systematic theological thinking) means that we can recognise that there is a vigorous “debate” being undertaken amongst the various authors of different parts of scripture on precisely this issue.

On the one hand, some texts make it quite clear that God was understood to have been averse to any change of mind; once God had decided, that was the end of the matter. M

In the historical narrative of the story of Israel, when Samuel informs Saul that David will be anointed as king, he asserts that “the Glory of Israel will not recant or change his mind; for he is not a mortal, that he should change his mind” (1 Sam 15:29). In an earlier book in that extended narrative, Balaam tells Barak that “God is not a human being, that he should lie, or a mortal, that he should change his mind. Has he promised, and will he not do it? Has he spoken, and will he not fulfill it” (Num 23:19).

And in a well-known royal psalm (which Jesus was said to have quoted), the psalmist declares that “the Lord has sworn and will not change his mind, ‘You are a priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek’” (Ps 110:4, quoted at Heb 7:21). This idea of the unchanging deity whose mind remains resolutely fixed is also reflected in the oft-quoted line from Hebrews, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever” (Heb 13:8).

On the other hand, other biblical authors recount stories in which God is, indeed, capable of changing God’s mind. God has a change of mind in the story of Moses and the Golden Calf, narrated in Exodus 32. Moses is appalled when he discovers that the Israelites, in his absence, have created an idol—a Golden Calf—and have thereby breached one of the Ten Words that are at the heart of the covenant he has made with God. Moses mounts a passionate plea to God, asking for the divine fury to be turned away from the sinful people.

Invoking the covenant made with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Moses implores God to “turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people” (Exod 32:12–13). So the Lord repented (v.14), and Moses took revenge on the people (vv.19–20); he burned the idol and ground it into water, and made the people drink it. God clearly has a change of mind in this story.

God also has a change of mind in Genesis. Abraham is instructed to take his son, Isaac, and “offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I shall show you” (Gen 22:2). Abraham is obedient, and “reached out his hand and took the knife to kill his son”; but an angel of the Lord called to him from heaven and restrained him (Gen 22:11–12), providing instead “a ram, caught in a thicket by its horns” as the sacrificial victim (Gen 22:13). Clearly, God changed God’s mind.

The prophet Amos speaks two short oracles in which God was planning to judge the people, sending a plague of locusts (Amos 7:1) and then a shower of fire (Amos 7:4). In both instances, after petitions from the prophet, “the Lord relented concerning this; ‘it shall not be,’ said the Lord” (Amos 7:3, 6).

And how many psalms contain petitions to the Lord, from faithful people, imploring God to change God’s mind? “O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger, or discipline me in your wrath” (Ps 6:1); “rise up, O Lord; O God, lift up your hand; do not forget the oppressed” (Ps 10:12); “do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me” (Ps 51:11); “hear a just cause, O Lord; attend to my cry” (Ps 17:1).

One psalm presses the point with intensity: “do not let the flood sweep over me, or the deep swallow me up, or the Pit close its mouth over me; answer me, O Lord … turn to me; do not hide your face from your servant, for I am in distress—make haste to answer me” (Ps 69:15, 17). Another reflects on their situation with pathos, pleading, “do not cast me off in the time of old age; do not forsake me when my strength is spent” (Ps 71:9; see also vv.12, 18).

And in the longest psalm of all, Psalm 119, even though the psalmist notes that they are consistently faithful to Torah, yet the plea comes: “do not utterly forsake me” (v.8), “turn away the disgrace that I dread” (v.39), “I implore your favour with all my heart” (v.58), “how long must your servant endure? when will you judge those who persecute me?” (v.84), “look on my misery and rescue me … plead my cause and redeem me” (vv.153–54). This psalm, like so many psalms, is premised on the understanding that God will hear the passionate prayer of the psalmist and have a change of mind.

The prophet Jeremiah considers the possibility, and then affirms the actuality of God changing God’s mind. “At one moment I may declare concerning a nation or a kingdom, that I will pluck up and break down and destroy it”, he says, in the name of the Lord; “but if that nation, concerning which I have spoken, turns from its evil, I will change my mind about the disaster that I intended to bring on it. And at another moment I may declare concerning a nation or a kingdom that I will build and plant it, but if it does evil in my sight, not listening to my voice, then I will change my mind about the good that I had intended to do to it.” (Jer 17:7–10). The capacity for a change of mind is crystal clear here (and see also Jer 26:3, 13).

Later, Jeremiah tells of the prophet Micah of Moresheth, from the days of King Hezekiah of Judah, who threatened destruction for the city in his oracle. Jeremiah comments, “did he not fear the Lord and entreat the favour of the Lord, and did not the Lord change his mind about the disaster that he had pronounced against them?” (Jer 26:18–19).

So while the systematicians want to locate our knowledge of God and our relationship with God within the constraints of doctrines and structures and systems, those attending carefully to the biblical text will know that the witness of scripture is diverse and varied, and also that there are different points of view put forward within the pages of the Bible, about important matters—including, as we have seen, the capacity of God to have a change of mind. Some authors consider God can do this; others reject the possibility.

So what do you think?

Fishing for people: not quite what you think! (Mark 1; Epiphany 3B)

Jesus said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people” (Mark 1:17). That’s the famous verse in the Gospel reading that is suggested for this coming Sunday, the third Sunday in the season of Epiphany. They are striking words, coming at the very start of the public activity that Jesus undertook in the region of Galilee (see Mark 1:28, 39; 6:6b, 56; 9:30).

What do you think of when you hear these words? Perhaps you are guided by many sermons you have heard and devotional material you have read, and so you imagine that Jesus is calling his earliest followers to participate in the mission that he has in view for his life and for those who follow him? After all, at a crucial point in his ministry, he sent his earliest followers through the villages of Galilee with a message of proclamation (6:12).

Inspired by this instruction, and despairing at the lack of a satisfactory conclusion to this shortest of Gospels, one scribe later added a “longer ending” that concludes by re-affirming this missionary orientation: “they went out and proclaimed the good news everywhere, while the Lord worked with them and confirmed the message by the signs that accompanied it.” (This appears as Mark 16:20 in many Bibles today.)

In like manner, another scribe provided a much more succinct “shorter ending”, declaring that “Jesus himself sent out through them, from east to west, the sacred and imperishable proclamation of eternal salvation.” (The language is most un-Markan—just one of the clues that this ending was a later addition to the Gospel.)

This line of interpretation is fostered, no doubt, by the fact that other Gospels frame their accounts of the life of Jesus with statements about his missional directives. “As you go, make disciples of all nations, baptizing them … and teaching them …” is how Matthew ends his Gospel (Matt 28:19)—leading multiple interpreters to regard the visit of the Magi from the east (Matt 2:1–12) as a prefiguring of this mission. (I have a different take on the role played by the Magi.)

Luke is more forthright from the start of his “orderly account”. Inspired by the Spirit as he lays eyes on the infant Jesus, the aged Simeon tells his parents, “my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel” (Luke 2:30–32). Decades later, as he reports the activity of John the baptiser, the author includes the affirmation that “all flesh shall see the salvation of God” (Luke 3:6, quoting Isa 40:5).

Luke ends his account with Jesus telling his followers that “repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem” (Luke 24:47). He then begins the second volume of his account with Jesus commissioning these followers, “you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8). The missionary impulse is clear.

These passages play a large role in shaping our understanding of the words and activities of Jesus as being oriented strongly towards mission. Certainly, that was a key impulse as the followers of Jesus grew and the faith gatherings that were established made inroads into their local communities with the message of the good news. But is that what is going on in the excerpt from Mark (1:14–20) that we will hear this Sunday? Let me offer some different thoughts.

(The direction that I have taken in the comments below has been inspired by a short commentary by Chad Bird, in his daily devotional book, Unveiling Mercy, pub. 2020.)

Was Jesus focussed on a world-wide mission from the very start? I want to propose that Mark’s account—the earliest “story of Jesus” that we have—does not suggest this. Not only is there no “mission commission” at the end of his Gospel, if we accept the earliest manuscripts do not include this; there is no call to mission anywhere in his narrative.

It is true that in chapter 6, Mark notes that the disciples are sent out to proclaim repentance; but this does not build through the following chapters into a persistent and expanding mission. In fact, in Mark’s narrative, rather than being empowered for mission, the disciples remain ignorant and unknowing.

“Do you not understand this parable?”, Jesus has asked them as he was teaching, continuing, “Then how will you understand all the parables?” (4:13). A little later, Mark notes that “they did not understand about the loaves, but their hearts were hardened” (6:52). Mark reinforces this view of the disciples as he reports Jesus asking them, “do you also fail to understand?” (7:17), then “do you still not perceive or understand?” (8:17) and “do you not yet understand?” (8:21), before concluding “they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him” (9:32). The disciples, in Mark’s narrative, remain unrelentingly obdurate. So much for the idea of energetic, enthusiastic missionaries!!

Jesus, according to Mark, is not intent on developing a crack mission team. Rather, he is focussed on calling people to metanoia—to a full, deep, all-pervading change of being that reorients their lives and resets their priorities. The first word of Jesus in Mark’s early account is clear: “the time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent (metanoeite) and believe (pisteuete) in the good news” (1:15).

In this programmatic Markan announcement, the two statements (in the indicative mood) about “the time” and “the kingdom” are followed by two commands (in the imperative mood) to “repent” and “believe”. The imminence of the kingdom is the motivation for the call to repent and believe.

This fourfold declaration sits immediately before the story of the call of the fishermen, who are called to follow and told, “I will make you fish for people” (1:17). It is the imperative of metanoia and pistis that is at the heart of the enterprise that Jesus is engaged in. It is this dual imperative that should most strongly inform the way that we hear and understand the call to “fish for people”.

Fish are referenced in Hebrew Scripture texts on a number of occasions. Along with “every animal of the earth, and every bird of the air, and everything that creeps on the ground”, all the fish of the sea are integral to God’s created world (Gen 1:26, 28; 9:2; Deut 4:17–18; 1 Ki 4:33; Job 12:7–8; Ps 8:7–8; Ezek 38:20; Hos 4:3). But the Markan text is not quite about the fish of the sea; rather, the language of fishing is used as a metaphor for what Jesus is calling his disciples to undertake.

The prophet Jeremiah displays this kind of use of language, with metaphorical references to describe a known process. After he has warned Israel that the Lord God is “weary of relenting” and is now determined to bring punishment on a sinful people (Jer 15:2–9), he envisages that there will come a time when he “will bring them back to their own land that [he] gave to their ancestors” (Jer 16:15).

However, before this occurs, God makes this threatening promise: “I am now sending for many fishermen, says the Lord, and they shall catch them; and afterward I will send for many hunters, and they shall hunt them from every mountain and every hill, and out of the clefts of the rocks … I will doubly repay their iniquity and their sin, because they have polluted my land with the carcasses of their detestable idols, and have filled my inheritance with their abominations” (Jer 16:16–18). The men looking to catch fish, and the hunters looking to catch miscreants, are carrying out the work of the Lord God, bringing judgement on the people.

Is this the task that Jesus is calling his followers to undertake, when he says, “I will make you fish for people”? Centuries earlier than Jeremiah, Amos had warned the “cows of Bashan who are on Mount Samaria” of the punishment in store for them: “the time is surely coming upon you, when they shall take you away with hooks, even the last of you with fishhooks” (Amos 4:1–2).

A little later, Habakkuk uses similar imagery as he complains to God, “you have made people like the fish of the sea, like crawling things that have no ruler; the enemy brings all of them up with a hook; he drags them out with his net, he gathers them in his seine; so he rejoices and exults” (Hab 1:14–15). This is the way that God undertakes his task of “destroying nations without mercy” (Hab 1:17). To fish for people is to execute God’s righteous judgement.

Consistent with this understanding, the prophet-in-exile, Ezekiel, is charged with proclaiming this oracle of judgment against the Pharaoh of Egypt: “I will put hooks in your jaws, and make the fish of your channels stick to your scales. I will draw you up from your channels, with all the fish of your channels sticking to your scales. I will fling you into the wilderness, you and all the fish of your channels; you shall fall in the open field, and not be gathered and buried.” (Ezek 29:4–5). Once again, in the prophetic rhetoric, the metaphor of fishing for a human being indicates the means of carrying out the judgement of God.

Is Jesus, in Mark’s Gospel, engaged in a mission to declare divine judgement and warn of the wrath to come? Most certainly he is! Indeed, the instruction that he gives his disciples as he sends them out on mission (Mark 6:7–11) appears to be that they are to preach judgement; Mark comments that “they went out and proclaimed that all should repent” (6:12). Such repentance is the foundation of the message of Jesus (1:15; cf. 4:12).

Repentance, metanoia, entails a complete and thoroughgoing transformation of the individual, in light of the imminent appearance of God’s realm (1:14; 9:1; 14:25). This apocalyptic orientation (“the kingdom is coming, and coming soon”) governs the distinctive flavour of the preaching of Jesus, which is apocalyptic in that it is oriented towards the message of divine judgement. The coming kingdom of God, and the present need for metanoia, together show this clear orientation.

That Jesus expected God to act, to intervene in history, to redeem the faithful, is evident in his teaching: people will see “‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory” (Mark 13:26, quoting Dan 7:13). Indeed, the expectation is that this will be very soon: “there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see that the kingdom of God has come with power” (Mark 9:1) and “this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place” (13:30). So he warns his followers to “beware … keep alert … keep awake” (13:33, 35, 37).

There is no doubt that the Jesus portrayed in each of the Synoptic Gospels was an apocalyptic preacher with a fervent presentation of an intense message. It required a whole-hearted and equally intense response. “Follow me” is his clarion call (1:17; 2:14). Such following means that they must “deny themselves and take up their cross” (8:34); it is akin to losing their own lives (8:35–37).

No wonder when Jesus called one man in Judea to “sell what you own, and give the money to the poor … then come, follow me”, we are told that “he was shocked and went away grieving” (10:21–22). It is equally unsurprising that people in Galilee were saying of him, “he has gone out of his mind” and “he has an unclean spirit” (3:21, 30). Following Jesus was not for the faint hearted! Mark makes this clear; Matthew and Luke each intensify this in their portrayals of Jesus.

On the apocalyptic preaching of Jesus in Mark, see

The beginnings of the birth pangs (Mark 13; Pentecost 25B)

and

Towards the Coming (Mark 13; Advent 1B)

So the call to “follow me” and the indication that “I will make you fish for people” (Mark 1:17) is intense. Fishing for people, if we understand it in the light of the Hebrew scriptural usage of this idea, is an apocalyptic enterprise, which means undertaking the daunting task of announcing the imminent judgement of God, calling those who listen to a complete life-transforming metanoia, and letting them know that “life as you once knew it is over”, as Chad Bird says (Unveiling Mercy, 11 Nov).

Jesus and the Demoniac in Mark 5 (Narrative Lectionary for Epiphany 3)

The story provided by the narrative lectionary this coming Sunday (Mark 5:1–20) contains a potent question. The story concerns an encounter that Jesus has with a man who is introduced in graphic terms: he lived among tombs and was “restrained with shackles and chains”—but he broke open the chains, “and no one had the strength to subdue him” (5:3–4). More than that, “he was always howling and bruising himself with stones” (5:5). This description bodes no good for Jesus. How would he deal with this troubled and threatening, figure?

Gerasene demon by toonfed (Federico Blee)
https://www.deviantart.com/toonfed/art/Gerasene-demon-102415150

When the man saw Jesus from a distance, the narrative says that he ran and bowed down before him; and he shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?” (5:7).

It’s a good question. It’s a question that, in a sense, jumps out from the story and confronts us directly. What does Jesus, Son of the Most High God, have to do with us? with me?

It is this question that is in focus, for me, as I consider this passage—and indeed, this whole Gospel. Indeed, many interpreters argue that Mark’s Gospel can best be characterised by the central question of Jesus: “who do you say that I am?” (8:29). The identity of Jesus is, indeed, central to this Gospel (as it is, also, in the other canonical Gospels).

A passage earlier in the Gospel, Mark 1:21–28, contains another confronting question, which a demon-possessed man asked of Jesus in the early stages of his public ministry: “what have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?” (1:24). Now this is a question worth pondering.

In Mark’s Gospel as a whole, there are (according to the NRSV) no less than 118 questions. Since there are 668 verses in total in Mark’s Gospel, this means that the reader (or hearer) of this Gospel is confronted with a question, on average, every 5.66 verses! (Why not try reading a couple of chapters through, looking out especially for the questions?)

Some of these questions are simple conversational enquiries—the kind of questions that we ask one another every day. “should we go there? should I do this? do you have any? can I get you something?” and so on.

Some questions are genuine requests for information, and reflect people who really want to learn from Jesus—“what must I do to inherit eternal life?” (10:17), or “which commandment is the first of all?” (12:28), or “what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?” (13:4). Jesus, good teacher that he is, responds with information and insight; he takes the opportunity to convert the question into a step forward in the life of discipleship.

Indeed, Jesus himself follows the rabbinic practice of teaching by questioning—he often poses a question which leads the disciples, or the crowd, into further discussion and debate (see, for instance, 3:33; 4:30; 10:3; 10:51). It is interesting to note that this is often how Jesus uses scripture; he does not simply quote it, but he says, “have you not read that…?” or, “do you not known the scripture which says…?”. (Look at 11:17; 12:10; and 12:26.)

This style invites conversation and leads to deepened understanding. Scripture is not being used to squash debate, but to open up insights about God. Now that is an insight worth recalling and preserving in our current context!

As Mark tells his story, some people pose questions to Jesus which are quite sharp—and may be designed to create controversy or to challenge the authority of Jesus. For instance: “why does this fellow speak in this way? it is blasphemy! who can forgive sins but God alone?” (2:7); “why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” (2:16); “why do your disciples do not fast?” (2:18); “by what authority are you doing these things?” (11:28); “is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” (12:14). Jesus did not shy away from the challenge to his honour and authority that such questions posed. According to Mark, he was a public debater of the first order.

Throughout this Gospel, Jesus poses pointed questions of his own for his disciples and the crowds who follow him. Think about the provocations and challenges in these phrases of Jesus: “why are you afraid? have you still no faith?” (4:40); “do you also fail to understand?” (7:18); “do you still not perceive or understand? are your hearts hardened? do you have eyes, and fail to see? do you have ears, and fail to hear?” (8:17–18); “you faithless generation, how much longer must I be among you? how much longer must I put up with you?” (9:19). There is certainly no “gentle Jesus, meek and mild” in this Gospel!!

The teachings of Jesus are demanding: to his disciples, he asks, “for what will it profit a person to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?” (9:36); or, with eyes fixed towards the cross, he prods them further: “are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” (10:38). For their part, the disciples are not afraid to confront their leader when required, as we have seen: “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” (4:38). Discipleship means entering into the rough-and-tumble of these difficult questions.

Theologically, perhaps the most challenging question in the Gospel is when Jesus quotes the Psalmist: “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (15:34). Is this an expression of the deepest despair of a human being who feels alienated, abandoned, utterly alone? Mark gives a great gift to followers of Jesus in all generations, when he takes us to the heart of the struggle which Jesus faced on the cross. This question shows us the human dimension of Jesus, as he was confronted by the starkness of life and death.

Of course, the identity of Jesus remains the central motif of this Gospel. It is the focus of the very first verse (“Jesus, Messiah, Son of God”, 1:1) and is reiterated in a variety of ways in statements made at crucial moments in the story (see 1:11; 8:29; 9:7; 10:45; 14:62; 15:39). But it also forms a recurring question, asked by many characters throughout the story.

We can’t read Mark’s Gospel without being confronted, again and again, by this question, in whatever guise it comes:  “what have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?” (1:24, from a possessed man); “who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” (4:41, from the disciples); “what have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?” (5:6, from the Gadarene demoniac); “where did this man get all this? what is this wisdom that has been given to him?” (6:2, from his extended family in Nazareth).

Once he is in Jerusalem, Jesus encounters the same question from the High Priest: “are you the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed One?” (14:61); and from the Roman governor: “are you the King of the Jews?” (15:2). So, the key question remains for us: “who do people say that I am?” (8:27, asked by Jesus)—a question which he immediately sharpens into “who do you say that I am?” (8:29).

For this coming Sunday, let’s invite people to take some time to consider this particular question, amongst the many questions that we will encounter in reading Mark’s Gospel. What does Jesus have to do with us??

And in the coming weeks, as we meditate on Mark’s Gospel in our personal devotions, as we hear it read in worship, as we prepare sermons to preach from it, or however it is that we encounter it—may the questions it poses strengthen our discipleship, expand our understanding and deepen our faith.