The man sits on the ground, beside the road leading into Jericho. Sensing what was happening, who was passing by, what was being spoken about; unable to use his eyes, he was undoubtedly attentive through his listening ears, through the sounds he could hear, as well as the fragrances he could smell. Because of this, he knew the identity of the person passing by, so he calls out with confidence, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me” (Luke 18:38).
Jesus pauses, engages with the man, and responds to his plea. “Receive your sight; your faith has saved” (18:42). The man, all of a sudden, could see; all was clear, so he took his place among those following Jesus on the way (18:43).
This incident takes place towards the conclusion of the lengthy journey that Jesus undertook with his disciples, from Galilee in the north (4:14, 31; 5:17; 8:1, 26, 40), through Samaria (9:51–56; 17:11–19) and into Jericho (18:35; 19:1) en route to Jerusalem (19:11, 28, 41). That journey had I commenced soon after Jesus had been transfigured on the top of a mountain (9:28–36). This striking event, at which Moses and Elijah appeared, pointed towards the exodon (NRSV, “departure”) which Jesus “was about to accomplish at Jerusalem” (9:31).
The essence of that exodon is revealed by Jesus in the words he speaks to his disciples both immediately prior to, and soon after, his transfiguration. Before, he declares “the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised” (9:22). After, he provides a brief summary: “the Son of Man is going to be betrayed into human hands” (9:45). The journey to Jerusalem would be a journey to his death. When this journey is almost at an end, Jesus returns to this teaching, reminding them “we are going up to Jerusalem, and everything that is written about the Son of Man by the prophets will be accomplished” (18:31).
At the start of the journey, the disciples had exhibited a thorough and complete lack of understanding at the teaching of Jesus. Luke provides a succinct threefold declaration that “they did not understand this saying; its meaning was concealed from them, so that they could not perceive it”, before noting that “they were afraid to ask him about this saying” (9:45).
Over the course of the journey, Jesus has taught, healed, told parables, and cast out demons, all of which (we might imagine) could have alerted the disciples to the true nature of the mission of Jesus. So, when the group approaches Jericho, Jesus reminded them of his earlier words, giving more extensive details about what this entails: “he will be handed over to the Gentiles; and he will be mocked and insulted and spat upon; after they have flogged him, they will kill him, and on the third day he will rise again” (18:32–33).
Whilst the disciples were completely ignorant at the start of the journey—at the end, sadly, they were apparently none the wiser. Luke again offers a succinct threefold exposé of the continued ignorance of this group: “they understood nothing about all these things; in fact, what he said was hidden from them, and they did not grasp what was said” (18:34).
So the healing of the blind man functions as an enacting of the teaching of Jesus; it is a moment of revealing that Jesus was, no doubt, hoping would become evident to his followers. As the blind man hear the noise of a nearby crowd, he enquires and is told, “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by” (18:37). The man, it seems, does not share the ignorance or hesitancy of the disciples; he immediately reaches out to the man passing by, calling out “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” (18:38), and then repeating the plea when he was told to be quite (18:39).
The request, “have mercy on me”, sounds much like a prayer to God; it exactly echoes the prayer in a psalm attributed to the penitent adulterer-murderer, David (“have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love”; Ps 51:1) as well as the cry of the pilgrim travellers heading towards Jerusalem (“have mercy upon us, O Lord, have mercy upon us”; Ps 123:3) and another psalm ascribed to the time “when David fled from Saul in a cave” (“be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge”; Ps 57:1). This phrase has, of course, become the basis of a much-repeated prayer amongst pious Christians: “Lord, have mercy on me”.
Indeed, God’s mercy is acknowledged in many psalms—most notably in the well-known affirmation, “surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life” (Ps 23:6), but also in another dozen places (Ps 25:6; 40:11; 69:16; 79:1; 86:15; 103:4; 111:4; 116:5; 119:77, 156; 123:2–3; 145:8). God’s mercy is integral to the repeated biblical affirmation, “the Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love” (Ps 103:8; see also Exod 34:6; Neh 9:17; Ps 86:15; 145:8; Joel 2:13; Jon 4:2).
The man by the road knows of this divine mercy, and believes he will receive it from Jesus. He stands as a striking contrast to those walking with Jesus along the road who, despite an extended time of learning from Jesus, fail to understand him. This man knows exactly what Jesus offers, and he pleads for it. And the immediate response from Jesus was to restore his sight, affirming “your faith has saved you”(18:42)—the same affirmation given to the woman who, before he had set out on this journey, had anointed his feet (7:50).
The conclusion to the story is clear and impactful: “he regained his sight and followed him, glorifying God; and all the people, when they saw it, praised God” (18:43). This man responds to the actions of Jesus as he “followedm him”; he joins those already following him, his committed disciples (5:11, 27–28; 7:9; 9:11, 23, 57–62; 14:27; 18:22, 28), as they walk into Jerusalem.
The man’s response of “glorifying God” shows that he knows the source of the power that Jesus had to heal. It replicates the response of the paralytic man who had been healed by Jesus (5:25). The response of the crowd, “praising God”, echoes the words of Simeon over the infant Jesus soon after his birth (2:28), and anticipates the response of the centurion at the very moment of the death of Jesus (23:47). It also resonates with the responses of the crippled woman (13:13) and the Samaritan leper (17:15), each of whom recognises the divine source of the power manifested by Jesus.
As the Narrative Lectionary continues to offer passages from Luke’s Gospel, this coming Sunday we will hear two stories from Luke 7: a story of a dying slave (7:1–10) and a story of a grieving widow (7:11–17). As is often the case in this orderly account of the things being fulfilled among us, the two scenes are intended to be complementary and interrelated.
There are two parallels to Luke’s account of the story of the healing of the centurion’s servant. One is in Matthew’s book of origins (Matt 8:5–13), the other in John’s book of signs (John 4:46–54). It’s a story that points to some important Lukan themes.
The figures at the centre of this story are the centurion and his slave (doulos) who was ill, “at the point of death” (7:2); these characters appear also in Matthew’s account, where the ill person is his servant (pais). In John, Jesus engages with “a royal official”, whose son (huios—not servant or slave) was ill. The story is obviously the same, even though the characters are slightly different.
Only Luke reports that Jewish elders were sent by the centurion to Jesus, to function as intermediaries (7:3). There are no such intermediaries in the versions found in Matthew and John. It is been hypothesised that this avoids having Jesus come into direct contact with a Gentile—although, as we have seen, Gentiles were surely already present listening to Jesus and being healed by him (6:17–20). Nevertheless, Jesus himself follows the protocols expected of a faithful Jew, by not entering the house of a Gentile.
This is in accord with the statement placed in the mouth Peter, when he met with Cornelius some years later: “it is unlawful for a Jew to associate with or to visit a Gentile” (Acts 10:28). This position, of course, was overturned by the vision that Peter saw in Joppa (10:11–12), and led to his desire and intention to share in table fellowship with Cornelius (as is implied by 10:23a and 10:48). This is the big, climactic moment in Luke’s two-volume account of “the events that have been fulfilled among us” (Luke 1:1), when the Jew—Gentile barrier is broken down and the fully inclusive nature of the church is revealed.
To have Jesus deliberately adhere to traditional Jewish protocols in his engagement with the centurion in Capernaum allows for the dramatic build-up to this pivotal scene in Acts. We might note also that Luke omits the section of Mark (7:1–20) in which Jesus explicitly “declares all food clean” (7:19), which also points to the climactic intent in the Peter—Cornelius narrative. Leaving out that section of Mark ensures that Luke doesn’t spoil the impact of the later scene in Acts.
A later text, the Mishnah, from the 3rd century, states that “the houses of Gentiles are unclean” (m.Oholeth 18.7). However, it is not clear either that this dictum was in force in the time of Jesus, or that Jesus felt compelled to adhere to it as a sign of his keeping “pure” in terms of the holiness system of the day. Indeed, his later practice—paradoxically—is to share at table with tax collectors or sinful people, which indicates a willingness to breach the strong boundaries of that system. See https://johntsquires.com/2019/05/22/jesus-and-his-followers-at-table-in-lukes-orderly-account/
Only Luke reports that the centurion—a Gentile authority figure—had a relationship with the Jewish synagogue in Capernaum. Indeed, the Jewish elders give accolades to this man, stating that “he loves our people, it is he who built our synagogue for us” (7:5). That reveals an interesting relationship, positive and supportive, between a Gentile (the centurion) and the local Jewish community. So the barrier which Jesus allegedly maintains by not visiting the Gentile house is breached by the patronage (and, we presume, the visits) of a Gentile to a Jewish synagogue.
The Theodotus Inscription
Gentile patronage of Jewish synagogues is known from outside the New Testament; an inscription found in Jerusalem, which is dated from before the fall of the Temple in 70CE, indicates that a certain Theodotus “built the synagogue for the reading of the law and the teaching of the commandments, and also the guest chamber and the upper rooms and the ritual pools of water for accommodating those needing them from abroad, which his fathers, the Elders and Simonides founded.” See https://www.worldhistory.biz/ancient-history/52996-the-theodotus-inscription.html
“Only speak the word”, the elders beg Jesus, “do not trouble yourself” to come all the way to the house (7:6–7). In this way, they maintain the protocols, and try to ensure that that Jesus is kept from defiling himself. This is an interesting positive perspective on the Jewish leadership—a positive assessment that Luke often provides. (See, for instance, how positively he depicts the Pharisees in various scenes: 7:36; 11:37; 13:31; 14:1; and also Acts 5:34; 23:9).
Jesus affirms the man with the words, “not even in Israel have I found such faith” (7:9). This affirmation is given also in the account of this incident in Matthew’s book of origins (Matt 8:10), but not in John’s version of the encounter.
In these words, Jesus sounds a theme which recurs in his subsequent affirmations of the faith of the woman who anointed his feet (Luke 7:50), the woman who had suffered from haemorrhages for twelve years (8:48), the returning Samaritan leper (17:19), and the blind man outside Jericho (18:42), all of whom were characters on the edge, or outside, the central purity group. These affirmations sit uncomfortably alongside Jesus’ recurring lament over the lack of faith of his own followers (8:25; 12:28; 17:5–6; and see also 18:8; 22:31–34).
It’s also noteworthy that the statement of judgement found at Matt 8:11–12, where the characteristic Matthean theme of judgement over the sinful people of Israel is found, is omitted from the Lukan version of the story—although Luke does include this saying in his orderly account at a later point (13:28–30), in the context of his lament over the fate that lies in store for Jerusalem (13:31–35). That different context gives it a narrower focus than the Matthean setting, in which appears to be a (typically Matthean) global condemnation of the people of Israel.
Luke ends this incident with a simple report that the slave was found to be well once again (7:10), as does Matthew (8:13).
The story that follows, recounting how Jesus raises from the dead the son of a widow in the town of Nain (7:11–17), is also a key passage. It narrates the raising of a person from the dead, yet is nowhere near as well-known as the story in John’s book of signs, about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead (see
I consider that the key point of this story is to establish Jesus as a prophet who enacts the visitation of God for the people of Israel (7:16). It is strange that the NRSV renders this statement as “God has looked favourably”, but it is the same verb (episkopeo) which appears at 19:44, where it is more accurately translated as “the time of your visitation from God”. And in that passage, Jesus comes to pronounce judgement up the sinful city.
It is clear that Jesus, by raising this man from the dead, demonstrates his credentials as a prophet, as the people cry that “a great prophet has risen among us!” (7:16)
The cry of the people also signals that the divine is drawing near to the people of Israel. It is curious that this story sits so deeply within the shadow cast by that other story of raising a man (Lazarus): from the dead. This is a striking and dramatic story, as is attested in the response of the people, of whom Luke reports, “fear seized all of them, and they glorified God” (7:16).
Fear (or better, awe) is the regular response in the presence of an angel (Zechariah, 1:12–13; Mary, 1:30; the shepherds, 2:10). It is also evoked by a miracle, as is seen in the responses of the neighbours of Zechariah and Elizabeth (1:65); Peter, James, and John after the huge catch of fish (5:10); the people of the Gerasene countryside (8:37); a messenger from the house of Jairus (8:50); and Peter, James, and John at the Transfiguration (9:34). Fear is also, understandably, manifest before the divine activity in the days of distress when “the powers of the heavens will be shaken” (21:25–26) when the Son of Man appears in power and great glory (21:27). It’s a climactic end of to a striking story, found only in Luke’s work.
The Narrative Lectionary proposes a passage for this coming Sunday containing three distinct events. First, Jesus is engaged by some Pharisees while he “was going through the grainfields” (Luke 6:1–5). Next, after he “entered a synagogue and taught”, he healed “a man whose right hand was withered” (6:6–11). Then, after spending a night on a mountain in prayer, Jesus “called his disciples and chose twelve of them, whom he also named apostles” (6:12–16).
I have already reflected at length on the first two sections of this passage; see
In this blog I focus on the third section, in which Jesus chose twelve disciples “whom he named as apostles”, presumably in recognition of their role in representing his message to those whom they encounter.
“The disciples” in Luke’s account is a broad, inclusive group of followers. It’s a term applied to those who began following Jesus from early on.The Pharisees refer to “your disciples” (Luke 5:33); they are “going through the grainfields” (6:1); and it is from this group that Jesus specifically nominates twelve “who he also named as apostles” (6:13). Jesus evidently attracts “a great crowd of disciples” (6:17) and they follow Jesus where he journeys (7:11; 8:1, 22; 9:18, 43; 11:1; 12:1; 16:1; 17:1), hearing the parables and teachings of Jesus and witnessing the miracles he performs.
Time spent with Jesus involves not just learning from him—although this is the bedrock of the relationship—but also putting his ethic into practice. First, the group of twelve are commissioned by Jesus “to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal” (9:1–2). Then, a larger group of seventy, having spent time with Jesus learning, are challenged to exercise leadership within the Jesus movement. They are sent out “like lambs into the midst of wolves” (10:3) to proclaim peace and declare that “the kingdom of God has come near” (10:4–11).
Eventually, the disciples follow Jesus into Jerusalem (19:29). As they enter the city, the noise made by “the whole multitude of the disciples” (19:37) caused the Pharisees to tell Jesus to order them to stop (19:39). There, the disciples share a final meal with Jesus (22:11). As it was a Passover meal, it would have been a larger group, presumably including the women who were with Jesus in Galilee (8:1–3), who shared in this meal; although Luke, surprisingly, says only that “the apostles” were present (22:14).
The reason for this may be that a few verses later, Jesus tells the disciples, “I confer on you, just as my Father has conferred on me, a kingdom, so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and you will sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel” (Luke 22:29–30; a similar saying can be found at Matt 19:28). On the four occasions when “the twelve apostles” are designated (Mark 3:14; Luke 6:13; Matt 10:2; Rev 21:14) they are intended to mirror and replicate the twelve sons of Jacob, whose names were given to the twelve tribes of Israel.
In the traditions of the church, “The Twelve Apostles” has come to be a standard phrase. A non-canonical work setting out teachings of Jesus styles itself “The teaching of the Lord to the Gentiles by the twelve apostles” (Didache 1.1). This group appears to have ben known at some stage in the early period of the movement.
But there questions about who, exactly, makes up those twelve. Is Judas in “the twelve”? And if so, what about Matthias also (Acts 1:21–26)? Or is Matthias there in place of Judas? And what of poor Joseph Barsabbas, who like Matthias witnessed everything in the ministry of Jesus but missed out replacing Judas by a whisker? Are they not both apostles?
Paul indicates that Jesus appeared to “the twelve” (v.5) and “all the apostles” (v.8)—apparently alluding to narratives found in the later texts of three Gospels Matt 28:16–20, Luke 24:33–48; John 20:19–23, 24–29; 21:1–14. The appearances narrated in the shorter and longer endings of Mark, added after 16:8, are not relevant; these are later patristic additions based on the other three Gospels, designed to harmonise the ending of Mark with these others. Acts 1:6–11 might, however, be relevant here, for Jesus appears for the last time over the forty days since his resurrection (Acts 1:3) to an unnamed and uncounted group; Luke simply recounts that “they had come together” (1:6).
An interesting question is, how did Paul distinguish between these two groups—“the twelve” on the one hand, and “all the apostles” on the other. Indeed, these terms appear to be inherited by Paul from earlier traditions. This is the only place in all Pauline letters which refer to “the twelve”; and besides, the Gospel narratives noted above do not have Jesus appearing to “the twelve”, as Judas was absent from all of them, and so was Thomas in John 20:19–23.
As far as the word “apostle” is concerned, in 16 of the 18 occurrences in the Pauline corpus (including those not authentic to Paul) Paul explicitly apply the term to himself. Paul also acknowledges others as apostles besides himself: James (Gal 1:19), Peter (Gal 2:8), perhaps Barnabas (1 Cor 9:1, 5–6), and an unspecified number of believers who were given gifts to be apostles (1 Cor 12:28–29; see also Eph 4:11). Most strikingly of all , Paul describes Andronicus, a male, and Junia, a female, as “most esteemed amongst the apostles” (Rom 16:7). (And Jesus himself is called “the apostle and high priest of our confession” by the unknown writer to the Hebrews, at Heb 3:1).
Are any of these the people that Paul has in mind when he refers to “all the apostles” at 1 Cor 15:7? Or is this simply a phrase inherited from the tradition, which Paul has repeated? That seems the likely conclusion, to me. And did Paul have a picture of “the twelve apostles” in his mind? Again, I think that unlikely. He is simply using phrases from the tradition in what he writes to the Corinthians. And the origins of those phrases are now, to us, quite unclear.
So the conclusion that I hold to is that “the twelve apostles” was a theological construction devised at an early stage of the movement, that did not bear any relationship to any historical reality of which we are definitely aware.
The Twelve Apostles, a striking rock formation off the coast of Victoria, Australia, seen from The Great Ocean Road
Each year, on the fourth Sunday of the season of Easter, the Revised Common Lectionary provides a section of John 10 as the Gospel reading for the Sunday. That chapter is where Jesus teaches about his role as “the good shepherd” who lays down his life for the sheep. The chapter is divided over the three years: 10:1–10 in Year A, then 10:11–18 in Year B, and 10:22–30 in Year C. For this reason, this particular Sunday is sometimes called the Good Shepherd Sunday.
The section offered in Year A concludes with the classic claim of Jesus, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly” (10:10). The passage set for Year B, this year, begins with the famous affirmation, “I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (10:14-15).
Both passages develop the image of Jesus as the shepherd of the sheep, in intimate relationship with the sheep; the shepherd knows his own (10:15), calls them by name (10:3), shows them the way of salvation (10:9), and lays down his life for the sheep (10:11, 15, 17–18).
These two sections of this chapter (10:1–10, 11–18) follow on from the story of the man born blind (9:1–41), which itself has emerged out of the conflicts between Jesus and Jewish authorities (7:10—8:59), reported as taking place in Jerusalem during the Festival of Booths (7:2). That sequence of conflicts had culminated with the Jewish authorities picking up stones to throw at Jesus (8:59).
The story told in chapter 9, like the whole Gospel, reflects the situation of a group of followers of Jesus towards the end of the first century CE, inheriting the richness of the Jewish faith, convinced that they have found The Teacher of the way that God requires, in Jesus of Nazareth. As a result, they have encountered opposition, argumentation, and expulsion from their familiar faith community, and through this they have engaged in verbal warfare with those who have pushed them out.
Retelling the story of the man born blind, who encounters Jesus and claims faith in him, validates their perspective on life and faith. The story reveals what God intends and desires, through the way that an unknown member of their community has constructed this narrative. The story reinforces the views that have been developed by members of the community, as they hope that others might “come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing [they] may have life in his name” (20:31).
John’s Gospel is known for its series of I AM statements. In the first offering from John 10 (verses 1–10), Jesus has said, “I am the gate” (v.9)—the avenue for entry into the sheepfold, which was a place of care and protection for the sheep.
But “I am the gate” makes sense only because of what goes before it; the gatekeeper, who opens the gate for the sheep (v.3). This image then morphs into the more familiar image of the shepherd of the sheep (vv.11, 14)—the one who knows the sheep, calls them by name, and guides them in the paths that they should follow.
In fact, Jesus refers to his followers as “sheep” 13 times throughout the chapter. This draws on the common description of the people of Israel as sheep, found in a number of psalms. The exodus from Egypt is described as the time when “he led out his people like sheep, and guided them in the wilderness like a flock; he led them in safety, so that they were not afraid” (Ps 78:52–53).
The psalmist encourages the people to sing with joy, for “he is our God, and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand” (Ps 95:7). The people rejoice that it is this God who “made us, and we are his; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture” (Ps 100:3; see also Ps 44:11, 22; 74:1).
Alongside this, in Hebrew Scripture, God is explicitly identified as a shepherd; the psalmist declares that God is the “Shepherd of Israel, who lead[s] Joseph like a flock” (Ps 80:1). Elsewhere, the opening line of perhaps the best-known psalm is simply, “the Lord is my shepherd” (Ps 23:1).
But many other passages contain mentions of shepherds. As he was dying, with his sons gathered around him, Jacob spoke to his son Joseph, praying, “the God before whom my ancestors Abraham and Isaac walked, the God who has been my shepherd all my life to this day … bless the boys [Ephraim and Manasseh]” (Gen 48:15–16).
Later, Jacob indicated that Joseph’s strength came “by the hands of the Mighty One of Jacob, by the name of the Shepherd, the Rock of Israel, by the God of your father, who will help you, by the Almighty who will bless you” (Gen 49:24–25). Then, when David was anointed as king, Samuel said to him “it is you who shall be shepherd of my people Israel, you who shall be ruler over Israel” (2 Sam 5:2; 1 Chron 11:2).
Subsequent rulers in Israel were accorded this title; yet key prophets during the exile lamented that there had been “stupid shepherds” with “no understanding” (Jer 10:21; Isa 56:11) and had done evil (Jer 12:10–13; 23:1–2; 50:6–7; Ezek 34:1–10). Some prophets in the Exile then looked beyond this to a better kind of shepherd-leader.
The anonymous exilic figure we know as Second Isaiah declared that the Lord God “will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep” (Isa 40:11). Later, he declares that Cyrus, king of Persia, would be anointed as Messiah, to carry out God’s purpose (Isa 44:28–45:1). He is the one of whom the Lord says, “he is my shepherd and he shall carry out all my purpose” (Isa 45:28). That is a striking extension of the strong scriptural imagery of the shepherd, normally applied to the God of Israel or rulers within Israel, which is now placed onto a foreign ruler.
Also during the exile, the prophet Jeremiah looked to the time when God would restore “shepherds after my own heart” in their midst (Jer 3:15) and Ezekiel prophesied God’s intentions: “I myself will search for my sheep, and will seek them out. As shepherds seek out their flocks when they are among their scattered sheep, so I will seek out my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places to which they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness.” (Ezek 34:12). Ezekiel then extends this role to the king when he reports God’s words: “my servant David shall be king over them; and they shall all have one shepherd” (Ezek 37:24).
This is the scriptural heritage that Jesus draws on in his famous statement, “I am the good shepherd” (John 10:11, 14). Jesus refers to his followers as “sheep” 13 times throughout the chapter, drawing on the equally common description of the people of Israel as sheep, found in a number of psalms (Ps 44:11, 22; 74:1; 78:52; 95:7; 100:3).
Jews would have recognised immediately the claim that he was making for himself—and the way that he has intensified it by noting that “the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (John 10:11; see also v.15). The passage thus looks forward to the death he will suffer on the cross—the example supreme of “the good shepherd”.
This week we once more read and hear the beginning of the story that Mark tells, about the very early stages of the public activity of Jesus. We have already read about John the baptiser during Advent (Advent 2), and heard Mark’s account of the baptism of Jesus (Epiphany 1).
Now, in this week’s Gospel reading (Lent 1), Jesus is baptised, plunged deep into the water, from which he emerges changed (1:9–11), driven into the wilderness, with wild beasts and angels, to be tested (1:12–13), and then announces what his message and mission will be (1:15–15).
This baptism is sometimes regarded as Jesus attesting to a deeply personal religious experience that he had in his encounter with John, who had been preaching his message of repentance with some vigour (1:4-11). His encounter with John deepens his faith and sharpens his commitment.
The relationship between Jesus and John is interesting. In the orderly account of things being fulfilled, which we attribute to Luke, it is clear from the start that John is related to Jesus (Luke 1:36). By tradition, they are considered to be cousins–although the biblical text does not anywhere expressly state this.
It seems also that some of the early followers of Jesus had previously been followers of John himself. This is evidenced in the book of signs, which we attribute to the evangelist John. Andrew, later to be listed among the earliest group of followers of Jesus, appears initially as one of two followers of John (John 1:35-40). They express interest in what John is teaching (John 1:39).
Andrew is the brother of Simon Peter, later acknowledged as the leader of the disciples of Jesus. He tells his brother about Jesus. It is Peter who comes to a clear and definitive understanding of the significance of Jesus, even at this very early stage: “we have found the Messiah” (John 1:41). Andrew and John are thenceforth committed disciples of Jesus.
Was Jesus engaging in “sheep-stealing”? Certainly, the dynamic in the narrative is of a movement shifting away from John the baptiser towards Jesus the Messiah; the juxtaposition of these two religious figures can be seen at a number of points (John 1:20, 29-34, 35-36; see also 3:22-30).
See further thoughts on John the baptiser in John’s Gospel at
(And I am looking forward to reading more about John in the most recent book by James McGrath, Christmaker: a life of John the Baptist, published by Eerdmans.)
None of this story relating to John is in view in the account we read in this Sunday’s Gospel. The rapid-fire movement in this opening chapter simply takes us from John, baptising in the Jordan, to Jesus at the Jordan and then in the wilderness, and on into Galilee, beside the lake and in Capernaum (Mark 1:1–45).
Mark has no concern with exploring the relationship between Jesus and John. He wishes only to indicate that, at the critical moment of the beginning of the public activity of Jesus, it was through contact with John, his message and his actions, that Jesus was impelled into his mission.
The Gospel account moves quickly on from the baptism, to a very different scene, set in the wilderness, where Jesus is tested, challenged about his call (1:12-15). The wilderness was the location of testing for Israel (Exod 17:1-7; Num 11:1-15; Deut 8:2). By the same token, the wilderness was also the place where “Israel tested God” (Num 14:20-23), when Israel grumbled and complained to God (see Exod 14-17, Num 11 and 14). Wilderness and testing go hand-in-hand.
The reference to Jesus being “forty days” in the wilderness evokes both the “forty years” of wilderness wandering for the people of Israel (Exod 16:35; Deut 2:7, 8:2, 29:5; Neh 9:21; Amos 2:10, 5:25), as well as the “forty days” that Moses spent fasting on Mount Sinai (Exod 34:28; Deut 9:9-11,18,25; 10:10).
Forty, however, should be regarded not as a strict chronological accounting, but as an expression indicating “an extended period of time”, whether that be in days or in years. It points to the symbolic nature of the account.
We see this usage of forty, for instance, in the comment in Judges, that “the land had rest forty years” (Judges 5:31, 8:28)–a statement that really means “for quite a long time”. Likewise, Israel was “given into the hands of the Philistines forty years” (Judges 13:1) and Eli the priest served for 40 years (1 Sam 4:18).
David the king reigned for 40 years (2 Sam 5:4, 1 Kings 2:11; 1 Chron 29:27), his son Solomon then reigned for another 40 years (1 Kings 11:42; 2 Chron 9:30), as also did Jehoash (2 Kings 12:1) and his son Jeroboam (2 Kings 14:23). If we take these as precise chronological periods, it is all very neat and tidy and orderly–and rather unbelievable!
Other instances of forty point to the same generalised sense of an extended time. Elijah journeyed from Mount Carmel to Mount Horeb “forty days and forty nights” (1 Kings 19:8), whilst the prophet Ezekiel’s announcement of punishments lasting forty years (Ezekiel 29:10-13) is intended to indicate “for a long time”, not for a precise chronological period. Jonah’s prophecy that there will be forty days until Nineveh is overthrown (Jonah 3:4) has the same force.
So the story of the testing of Jesus for “forty days in the wilderness” is not a precise accounting of exact days, but draws on a scriptural symbol for an extended, challenging period of time.
Details about the conversation that took place whilst Jesus was being tested in the wilderness are provided in the accounts in the Gospels attributed to Matthew (4:1-11) and Luke (4:1-13). This is not the case in Mark, where the much shorter account (1:12-13) focusses attention on the key elements of this experience: the wilderness, testing, wild beasts, angels–and the activity of the Spirit.
The Markan account of this period of testing is typically concise and focussed. The constituent elements in the story continue the symbolic character of the narrative.
The note that “he was with the wild beasts” sounds like the wilderness experience was a rugged time of conflict and tension for Jesus. However, commentators note that the particular Greek construction employed here is found elsewhere in this Gospel to describe companionship and friendly association: Jesus appointed twelve apostles “to be with him” (3:14); the disciples “took him [Jesus] with them onto the boat” (4:36); the man previously possessed by demons begged Jesus “that he might be with him” (5:14); and a servant girl declares to Peter that she saw “you also were with Jesus” (14:67).
If this Greek construction bears any weight, then it is pointing to the companionable, friendly association of the wild beasts with Jesus—a prefiguring of the eschatological harmony envisaged at the end of time, when animals and humans all live in harmony (Isaiah 11:6-9; Hosea 2:18). The wilderness scene has a symbolic resonance, then, with this vision.
Alongside the wild beasts, angels are present—and their function is quite specifically identified as “waiting on him” (1:13). The Greek word used here is most certainly significant. The word diakonein has the basic level of “waiting at table”, but in Markan usage it is connected with service, as we see in the descriptions of Peter’s healed mother-in-law (1:31), the women who followed Jesus as disciples from Galilee to the cross (15:41), and most clearly in the saying of Jesus that he came “not to be served, but to serve” (10:45). The service of the angels symbolises the ultimate role that Jesus will undertake.
Finally, we note that the whole scene of the testing of Jesus takes place under the impetus of the Spirit, which “drove him out into the wilderness” (1:12). This was the place that Jesus just had to be; the action of the Spirit, so soon after descending on him like a dove (1:11), reinforces the importance and essential nature of the testing that was to take place in the wilderness.
And the action of “driving out” is expressed in a word, ekballō, which contains strong elements of force—the word is used to describe the confrontational moment of exorcism (1:34, 39; 3:15, 22-23; 6:13; 9:18, 28, 38). The testing in the wilderness becomes a moment when Jesus comes face to face with his adversary, Satan—and casts his power aside. The more developed dialogues in Matthew and Luke expand on this understanding of the encounter.
Both of the key elements in this reading (baptism and testing) serve a key theological purpose in Mark’s narrative. They shape Jesus for what lies ahead. They signal that Jesus was dramatically commissioned by God, then rigorously equipped for the task he was then to undertake amongst his people. The two elements open the door to the activities of Jesus that follow in the ensuing 13 chapters, right up to the time when the long-planned plot against Jesus, initiated at 3:6, is put into action (14:1-2).
Of course, this story is offered in the lectionary each year on the first Sunday in the season of Lent. It serves as an introduction to the whole season. Jesus being tested in the wilderness points forward, to the series of events taking place in Jerusalem, that culminate in his crucifixion, death, and burial.
The narrative arc of Mark’s Gospel runs from the baptism and wilderness testing, through to death at Golgotha and burial in a tomb. The weekly pattern of Gospel readings during Lent follows a parallel path, from the wilderness testing of Lent 1, to the entry into Jerusalem on Lent 6, the farewell meal on Maundy Thursday, and the death and burial on Good Friday.
That is the path that Jesus trod. That is the way that he calls us to walk.
The latest issue of the daily Bible reading resource, With Love to the World, is currently being distributed tcsubscribers. It features a stunning wraparound cover photograph of “Reflection at Circular Pool”, taken at Walpole, WA, by Steph Waters of Perth.
Steph offers her own reflection on the significance of the seasons of Lent and Easter, which are the focus of this particular issue. I’ve included an introduction to each season in the opening pages of this issue, and the issue concludes with a wonderful poem on resurrection, “Seasons gone south”, by Alison Bleyerveen of Sydney.
With Love to the World has always sought to provide a resource which assists worshippers to come to Sunday worship with an awareness of the Bible passages they will hear read and proclaimed. So each day has not only a succinct commentary on a biblical passage, but also a prayer, a song, and a question for discussion, all related to the day’s passage. This means that Sunday worshippers will hear more acutely and respond more directly to the scripture in focus.
The writers of these commentaries in this issue are all experienced in pastoral ministry, and so as they reflect on the daily passage, they bring their theological training as well as their engagement in pastoral ministry to bear on what the passage is saying. In keeping with the commitment of With Love to the World, the writers are drawn from Asian, Pasifika, Maori, South African, and Anglo-Australian heritages.
Yvonne, Peter, Radhika, Simon, Jason, Alimoni, and Rob (and yours truly) each write with the intention of drawing from scripture ideas and provocations that are expressed in an accessible way. They write so that the the faith of their readers is deepened and their discipleship is strengthened.
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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 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.
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
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).
“Follow me”. We most likely know these words of Jesus as the words that he spoke to Peter and his brother Andrew, as they were fishing in the Sea of Galilee (Mark 1:16–17). This was also, presumably, what Jesus said to the brothers James and John, soon after (Mark 1:20), as well as to Levi the tax collector (Mark 2:14), and then, later on, to the crowd that was following him through Galilee (Mark 8:34) and, quite poignantly, to the rich man who felt unable to follow (Mark 10:21–22).
We encounter these words in the Synoptic parallels to these incidents; but as well, we hear them spoken by Jesus in the book of signs which we know as the Gospel according to John. The resurrected Jesus tells Peter, “follow me” (John 21:19), and soon after, speaks the same words to the beloved disciple (John 21:22). At the last meal he shared with his followers, he had warned them, “where I am going, you cannot follow me now; but you will follow afterward” (John 13:36), and a little before that, he had said to Philip and Andrew, “whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also; whoever serves me, the Father will honour” (John 12:26).
The first time these words occur in the book of signs is in the scene when Jesus first meets Philip (1:43–51). This is the passage which is offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, the second Sunday after Epiphany. The scene also involves Nathaniel, who poses the sceptical question to Philip concerning Jesus: “can anything good come out of Nazareth?” (1:46). The following interaction with Jesus leads to Nathaniel making a high claim about Jesus: “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” (1:49). The scene itself ends with another description of Jesus, from his own lips, as “the Son of Man”, upon whom the very angels of heaven are resting (1:51).
This scene concludes the extended prose narrative (1:19–51) that follows the majestic poetic prologue which opens this opening chapter (1:1–18). Throughout the various scenes in this prose narrative (which I call the Prelude to the Gospel), a series of revelations of the identity and significance of Jesus are made.
It is noteworthy that there are a number of Jewish titles which are embedded in this prose narrative, as key characters confess the significance of Jesus throughout this extended preface (1:19–51). Jesus is addressed as “Rabbi” (1:38, 49), “Messiah” (1:41), “King of Israel” (1:49), and “Son of God” (1:49). It is worth noting that these claims about Jesus are each made also within the Synoptic traditions. Indeed, the Johannine Jesus himself refers, in the allusive synoptic fashion, to the “Son of Man” (thirteen times, from 1:51 to 13:31), which we must presume to be a self–reference.
In later scenes in the book of origins, Jesus is also addressed by these Jewish terms, when he is called “prophet” (4:19), “Messiah” (4:29; 11:27), and “Rabbouni” (my teacher, 20:16). Then, the ultimate Christological confession of the Gospel is uttered by Thomas, when he moves beyond this viewpoint in the phrase, “my Lord and my God” (20:28), echoing the perception of the Jews, that Jesus was “making himself equal to God” (5:18).
Perhaps we tend to remember the fourth Gospel as the one which reveals the extensive cosmic significance of Jesus—the Word made flesh (1:14), the one closest to the heart of the Father who has “made the Father known” (1:18), and most famously, the one through whom God shows that “God so loved the world” (3:16). This Gospel seems to offer much in terms of a Saviour for the whole world (4:42), a sign for Greeks (that is, Gentiles) from beyond Judaism (12:20).
Yet, for the most part of this Gospel, Jesus is presented in terms drawn from within a Jewish context. Indeed, even the final, climactic confession by Thomas can be understood within a particular stream of Jewish tradition, for the hellenistic Jewish author Philo uses the terms “Lord” and “God” to designate the two major divine powers of creation (signified by “God”) and eschatological judgement (signified by “Lord”). In light of this usage of the terms by Philo, Jerome Neyrey wisely concludes that “Jesus is correctly called ‘God’ because he exercises creative power, and ‘Lord’ because he has full eschatological power”; see https://www3.nd.edu/~jneyrey1/MyLord.God.htm
So an important clue to a central motif running throughout this Gospel is placed in the mouth of Philip, when he says to Nathanael, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth” (1:45). The Jewish terms point to this reality about how Jesus was understood in the community within which the book of signs was written: Jesus is to be regarded as the fulfilment of scripture.
Notice that the author of this Gospel takes Philip, an almost anonymous figure in the Synoptic Gospels, and places in his mouth these key sayings, about the fulfilment of the scriptures (1:45), and the relevance of Jesus to Gentiles (12:20–26), and, indeed, the fundamental request, “Lord, show us the Father” (14:8). Philip articulates what the author of the book of signs seeks.
Now, it is true that the affirmation that Jesus fulfils scripture is common to all four canonical Gospels. It is very clear in the Synoptic accounts; we should not, however, diminish its significance on the fourth Gospel. This interpretive stance is hinted at as early as the Prologue, in the comparison between Jesus and Moses (1:17).
This perspective is stated explicitly, as we have noted, in the claim put on the mouth of Philip, “we have found him of whom Moses and the prophets wrote” (1:45), and later in the words attributed to Jesus, “You search the scriptures, because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that bear witness to me” (5:39).
There are fifteen clear quotations from Hebrew Scriptures in this Gospel. There are eight explicit references to scripture in the early chapters (1:23; 2:17; 6:31; 6:45; 7:38; 7:42; 10:34; 12:13–15), while a “fulfilment formula” is used in later chapters, to introduce seven such scriptural quotations (12:38–40; 13:18; 15:25; 18:9; 19:24, 28, 36–37). There is also a passing note that Judas died after betraying Jesus “so that the scripture might be fulfilled” (17:12).
However, the total significance of the Hebrew Scriptures in this Gospel is much greater than these sixteen occurrences, as the Gospel contains numerous allusions to specific scripture passages, such as references to Jacob’s ladder (1:51) and the sacrificial lamb (1:29, 36), as well as more generalised allusions to scripture. These allusions are much freer in their form and indicate that, for the author of this Gospel, the Hebrew Scriptures had become an integral part of his mind and heart, for he treats them with a freedom born from intimate familiarity. (For this last phrase, I am indebted to an unpublished paper on this topic by my first New Testament teacher, the late Rev. Dr Robert Maddox.)
So this Gospel passage for the second Sunday in Epiphany reminds us of the Jewish origins of Jesus and also the continuing appreciation of Jesus in Jewish terms, throughout the early decades of the movement that was initiated by his proclamation and action in Galilee and (especially in John’s account) in Jerusalem, over some years. In our Christian appropriation of the figure of Jesus, we would do well to remember his Jewish origins, and the strongly Jewish nature of early Christian interpretation of Jesus. We owe much to Judaism, both as our ancient heritage and indeed as an enduring living faith which continues to proclaim faith in the God whom Jesus knew, and loved, and revealed.
In this blog, I am focussing on an extrapolation from that basis, into an area that is of vital concern for the contemporary church—developing disciples who are well-equipped to engage in the mission of God.
Underlying this paper is an observation that my friend and colleague Craig Mitchell made last year: “When the ‘missional turn’ began to take hold in the UCA, we somehow made an either/or choice to resource mission instead of discipleship. We stopped resourcing local faith formation and education. Today most churches lack a plan for these, yet discipleship is one of the key aims of most councils. It’s like bemoaning the quality of preaching while cutting homiletics or biblical scholarship.”
Craig’s comment is undergirded by the important research he undertook in the course of completing his PhD, written up as (Re)forming Christian Education in Congregations as the Praxis of Growing Disciples for a Missional Church, PhD Thesis, Flinders University, 2018. See https://theses.flinders.edu.au/view/3da42e12-260f-4d92-b78a-51a9d193ee60/1
In this work, Craig explored a number of “intentional learning communities” within the Uniting Church. (The context where I was involved in team ministry with my wife, the Rev. Elizabeth Raine, was one of the “intentional learning communities” that Craig explored.) Craig has made available his conclusions and many resources relating to this research through his website; see https://craigmitchell.com.au/forming-disciples-in-mission/
I begin my own reflections with our current context. It is widely recognised that we are in a changing context for the church. The Christian Church now occupies a new position within society; no longer do we find that the church is considered to be at the centre of society. The old Christendom model of the village church in the centre of the marketplace, where people were to be found each day of the week, where the priest or vicar was the most educated person in the village, is no longer who we are as church.
Indeed, the view of church held by many in society is changing. There are various reasons for this. Certainly, the media has played a role, especially in the years when the Royal Commission has been in the spotlight, and many people in society have lumped all denominations together and tarred us all with the same brush as certain Roman Catholic and Anglican Dioceses and individuals. That’s not fair, to be sure, but it is a reality, unfortunately.
Such stereotyping is easy to do and proves to be the first port of call in many situations. Further steps have been taken by individuals and groups in society, who move from seeing the church as irrelevant, to taking a more antagonistic view of religion, and the church in particular. So we find ourselves in a changed and changing context.
The key questions for many congregations at this time, then, are these: what is the most faithful and most effective form of mission, today, in this changed and changing context?what is the way that we are being called, as the church, to demonstrate that God loves the world—the whole world—and that we are here to serve others at their points of need?
During the years that I served as Presbytery Minister—Wellbeing in the Canberra Region Presbytery, I worked to a set of five key commitments which the Presbytery had identified as key goals. The first two of these were Resourcing Congregations to function in healthy ways and Working with Congregations to discover new futures. Both of these proved to be important for developing a robust understanding and an effective practice of mission.
A fundamental element in the process of strengthening the mission of the church, is to encourage the development of a missional imagination amongst the leadership of each congregation. Such an imagination will approach the life of the congregation in two ways; it will enhance the existing missional commitments of congregations, but will also be working to ensure that local leadership pushes into new areas and adopts new methods of missional engagement.
To have missional imagination means to see, at every step, how the church can be on mission: in the traditional ways, in fresh expressions and new initiatives. This takes some work; I have found that I needed structured experiences to prompt me along the pathway of “developing a missional imagination”.
So I have learnt much about this by taking part in the Mission Shaped Ministry Course, developed in the UK but now widely applied in Australia. And I learnt more about God’s mission and fresh expressions of church as I prepared and led sessions designed to inform, challenge, and develop the missional imagination of those taking part in the course.
This course encourages the learning of new skills (community engagement, community development, creative missional activities). It also requires congregations to consider a re-prioritising away from the established paradigm of “being church”. In the current paradigm that is practised by many churches, Sunday worship and aged care worship enjoy high priority; maintaining established church groups and activities has a medium-high priority; and developing new initiatives is regularly perceived as too difficult and too threatening. This course challenges and invites people to re-order those priorities, and focus on developing new initiatives.
Teaching, they say, is the best way of learning. As a teacher, in tertiary contexts as well as with lay leaders of Congregations, I know that I have learnt much from all those times when I have undertaken preparation for, and then facilitation of, learning experiences for others. And the Uniting Church’s commitment for its ministers to be “lifelong learners” feeds directly into those experiences. I know that I learnt by teaching!
Experiencing, also, is a key element in learning. Reflective practice works best when a person is immersed in a experience, and then steps “outside” of that experience to consider what took place; to reflect on how they felt, how they acted, how they responded to others, what they did that was helpful, what they did that they might do differently next time.
I am grateful that I was taught long ago to be a “reflective practitioner”, and that I have been encouraged—and required—to practise those skills throughout my ministry. Regular supervision with a qualified professional supervisor is a great discipline for developing and extending those skills!
Alongside the importance of teaching and experiencing for the learning process, then, I want to place a further dimension, which encompasses both structured learning opportunities and reflection on experience. That dimension is one that ought to be familiar to anyone who listens regularly to the stories about Jesus that are collected in our Gospels: it is the matter of discipleship.
I fear, however, that the church today has “dropped the ball” with regard to discipleship. Worried about our declining numbers, our ageing buildings, our lack of outreach, our fixation on certain matters of doctrine and church practice, we have overlooked the fundamental element of being a follower of Jesus—a disciple.
The earliest written account of the life of Jesus, which we know as Mark’s Gospel, emphasises the necessity of following Jesus; “follow me” is an important refrain from the beginning of Mark’s story. In three early scenes, the command of Jesus, “follow me”, is met each time with an immediate response: Simon and Andrew follow him (1:17), then James and John follow him (1:19), and then Levi the tax collector follows him (2:14). Each leave what they are doing and follow Jesus.
What is involved in this “following”? The Gospel narratives make it clear that it involved walking along the dusty roadways alongside Jesus; sleeping in the homes offered to the wandering group by sympathetic villagers; eating at table with whomever happened to be present; witnessing the “deeds of power” that Jesus was equipped to undertake; and listening carefully as he taught in parables, offered succinct, pithy sayings, and gave extended discourses as opportunity presented.
“Have you understand all this?”, Jesus asked his followers, impertinently confronting them after having offered a series of parables (Matt 13:51). It’s my favourite question, amongst all the questions that Jesus asked. The response of the disciples (“Yes”) needs surely to be heard with a grain (or more) of salt. Clearly, there was more work for Jesus to do (see Matt 14:26; 15:23; 16:5–12, for subsequent examples of times when the disciples clearly did not understand).
How do we understand all that Jesus offers? The words he speaks after asking that impertinent question (Matt 13:51) contain a vital clue. He speaks about “every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven” in these words (Matt 13:52). The Greek word translated “trained” is mathēteutheis, from the root word manthanō, meaning “to be a disciple, to be a learner”. And that root word also morphs into the noun, mathētēs, which is regularly translated as “disciple”.
At the heart of discipleship is learning. This is why the first disciples were to follow Jesus—to learn. They learnt by listening (but we know that most learning doesn’t happen from simply listening). They learnt by watching (which has a better success rate—but is still not optimal). They learnt by being involved (which brings an even better result). And then, they learnt by doing, as Jesus sent them out, two by two, “to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal” (Luke 9:2)—to do, for themselves, precisely those things that he had been doing, and they had been observing.
And, of course, after they returned from this practical experience, “they told Jesus all they had done, and he took them with him and withdrew privately to a city called Bethsaida” (Luke 9:10). I imagine that this was a very vigorous debriefing session as they recounted and reflected on their varied experiences during this period. This is precisely what we now recognise to be excellent pedagogical practice: some orientation, an immersion experience, and then in-depth reflection on what was learnt in that experience. (And then, repeat, and repeat, and repeat!)
Last year, I co-authored an article on mission with my wife, Elizabeth Raine (Minister at Tuggeranong Uniting Church in Canberra). The article was published in Uniting Church Studies vol.24 no.2, pp.43–51, and is available online at
“We believe that mission is something that anyone can do, but it is not something that comes easily and naturally to most people. Training in mission is essential. Being prepared to step outside the familiar and comfortable “box” of church is an essential element—so the right mindset is the first step.
“After that, training can inspire, encourage, refine, and develop missional sensitivities and lead to strong missional practices. But without that commitment to do something different, to reach out of the predictable, to experiment and explore, no mission will occur. Business as usual is a big temptation to many church people; and business as usual can quickly stifle mission (unless mission itself is the “business as usual”).
“So, training in the “how-to” of Messy Church, Godly Play, Fresh Expressions, GodSend, and Mission Shaped Ministry, can indeed inspire and equip people to become missional in their orientation. These courses don’t provide any guarantee, but they do each offer a set of stimuli, challenges, and resources for people to consider how to “do church differently” and hopefully also “engage in mission”.
“There is a clear principle that is often articulated, with which we agree, and which we feel should be stated again and gain. Mission is about the world, not the church. Mission means knowing the community we live in, the society of which we are a part, and the culture(s) that shape(s) us, the expectations and patterns and customs of people.
“Mission means shaping and reshaping the way we “do church” in the light of these matters. The Mission of God is God doing things in the world, and we, as the people of God, joining with that activity. It means going out to others, not expecting others to come in to us. A missional church is not simply a church that opens the doors and expects people to flock in to the wonderful programmes that are on offer. A missional church is one that is always oriented outwards, a church whose people are dispersed, engaged in communities, actively involved in the various needs of people across these communities.”
In the context of the ACT-2 processes, and also in the light of what I have earlier written regarding the “culture of an informed faith”, I think it is imperative that we incorporate within our thinking and planning the essential element that each Congregation (re)commits to being an intentional learning community in which “the continuing witness and service of evangelist, of scholar, of prophet and of martyr” is valued, explores, and acted upon.
Learning from the voices of experience, alongside times of learning from being immersed into experiences and then reflecting on them, provide a rich way to develop discipleship and foster a missional imagination. May it be that one of the outcomes of the ACT-2 process is just such an outcome—a network of intentional learning communities in which missional imagination fostered, from which fresh expressions of church emerge, and through which the kingdom of God is proclaimed and enacted in contemporary Australian society.
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An Informed Faith 