Tag: discipleship

Matthew: tax collector, disciple, apostle, evangelist—and “scribe trained for the kingdom”? (Matt 9; Pentecost 2A)

At last! This coming Sunday, we return to Gospel passages in sequence, drawn from the book of origins—the Gospel attributed by tradition to Matthew. None of the four Gospels in the New Testament originally gave any indication as to who wrote those works; it was up to the evolving tradition within the early church to infer, claim, deduce, and assign specific authorship—either to apostles (Matthew and John) or to close followers of apostles (Mark, following Peter, and Luke, following Paul).

This year—Year A—we began with the early chapters of the Gospel according to Matthew (from 2:1 through to 5:37); but when the season of Lent began, the Gospel readings were taken largely from John, with John and Luke featuring during the Sundays after Easter. Only now, after Trinity Sunday, does the sequential pattern resume.

This coming Sunday, we will hear the story of the call of Matthew the tax collector (Matt 9:9–13) as well as the interlinked account of the healing of a haemorrhaging woman along with the raising of a young girl from death (9:18–26). The story of the call of Matthew is told with a somewhat astringent sparseness. “He said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And he got up and followed him.” (9:9). That’s it. No fuss, no fanfare. Just plain and simple, straight to the point: follow me—and he followed him.

This first Gospel, in the order that the four Gospels appear in the New Testament, bears the name of Matthew. It wasn’t the first written Gospel—that was Mark’s, which clearly was a source used by the author of Matthew’s Gospel. By tradition, the attributed author of this Gospel, Matthew, was a tax collector whom Jesus called to follow him. (Why a tax collector who followed Jesus would take the work of a junior and erratic follower as the basis for his work, remains unexplained.)

At any rate: after this tax collector became a disciple of Jesus, he was appointed as an apostle, and later he allegedly wrote an eye-witness account of the time he spent with Jesus. That account runs up until the crucifixion and burial of Jesus, and is wrapped around with some opening chapters about the beginnings of the life of Jesus, and a closing chapter relating to the body of Jesus, his resurrection and departure from his followers.

The tradition that this first Gospel was an eye-witness account by one of the twelve apostles has come under careful scrutiny from biblical scholars, exploring the language, structure, imagery, and ideas found in that narrative.

The consensus from this scholarly work is that the first Gospel in the New Testament was not an eye-witness account, but a carefully crafted account of Jesus, originating in a community of people who had maintained their Jewish culture and practices whilst affirming that Jesus of Nazareth was the long-awaited Messiah—a community that was, therefore, in conflict with the views and teachings of the synagogue leaders in their town, who did not see Jesus in that way.

Within ecclesial tradition, the picture of Matthew, tax collector—disciple—apostle, who subsequently wrote an eye-witness account of the time he spent with Jesus, holds sway. Within biblical scholarship, Matthew is simply a character who appears briefly in the story told by the first Gospel in the New Testament.

Matthew is identified in one short verse narrating his call by Jesus (Matt 9:9). He is also included in the list of twelve who were called to be apostles, with the added descriptor, “the tax collector” (Matt 10:3). He is also named in three other books, with nothing further said about him (Mark 3:18; Luke 6:15; and Acts 1:13). But little else about him is conveyed in the four books that name him.

See https://johntsquires.com/2020/10/15/what-do-we-know-about-who-wrote-the-new-testament-gospels-1/

Those five fleeting references are the only times we see directly this person in the biblical narratives. He is surely there in other scenes, but he simply blends into the collection of “the disciples” (Mark 2:23; 3:7; 5:31: 6:1, 35, 41, 45; 7:17; 8:1–10, 14, 27, 34: 9:14, 28, 31; 10:10, 13, 23–24; 11:19; 12:43; 13:1; 14:12–16; and Synoptic parallels), “the twelve” (Mark 4:10; 6:7; 9:35; 14:20; and Synoptic parallels; and John 6:66–71; 20:24), or, even more anonymously, into “the crowd” (Mark 2:4, 13; 4:1; Matt 7:28; 13:2; Luke 5:1; 6:17; 7:11–12; 8:4; John 6:2; 12:9, 12; Acts 1:15; 2:6; etc.).

And yet, in the evolving church traditions, Matthew emerges from the shadows to take centre stage as disciple, apostle, saint, and author of the Gospel which is placed first in the New Testament. Some churches even maintain the patristic claim that Matthew wrote in Aramaic, and was later translated into the Greek version that forms the basis of the New Testament text.

The claim about Aramaic comes from a fourth century report by Eusebius of Caesarea that a second century bishop, Papias of Heirapolis, claimed that Matthew “put the logia in an ordered arrangement in the Hebrew language (Ἑβραΐδι διαλέκτῳ), but each person interpreted them as best he could” (Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 3.39.16). We should note that this is a somewhat indirect witness at quite some remove, and also that the Greek word Ἑβραΐδι can be translated either as Hebrew or as Aramaic.

But this claim falls down from the clear evidence of the Greek text of Matthew’s Gospel, which mirrors very closely both the Gospel of Mark, at many points, and the Gospel of Luke, at other points, in passages found only in Matthew and Luke.

The two key conclusions drawn by many scholars are twofold: first, that Matthew (like Luke) used the Gospel of Mark as a basis for writing a narrative about Jesus—but modified and adapted both the order and wording of passages; and second, that Luke and Matthew had access to another source (whether oral or written) for many of the sayings of Jesus (the source is known as Q). This makes it completely unlikely that Matthew wrote, in Aramaic, or in Hebrew, the earliest account of Jesus.

And ascribing the authorship of this Gospel to the tax collector identified at Matt 9:9 is also a patristic move. The title of this (and the other) Gospels, identifying the alleged author, is found only in later manuscripts and patristic writings; the narrative itself fails to identify anyone as the author, let alone the tax collector named Matthew. This claim is a later apologetic move, most likely made to provide an “apostolic authorisation” to the Gospel.

See

What do we know about who wrote the New Testament Gospels? (2)

So what do we say, then, of “Matthew”, the purported author of this Gospel, a work which the author declares at the start to be “the book of origins of Jesus, Messiah” (Matt 1:1)? For me, a key to the way that the author of this “book of origins” operated is provided at Matt 13:52, where Jesus concludes a sequence of parables with the statement that “every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old”.

That description encapsulates very clearly, for me, who the author of this Gospel was—a scribe, “trained for the kingdom”, drawing on old resources, but reshaping them so that they are seen to be new. We can see this in many ways in the narrative that he constructs. We can especially see this in the way he presents Jesus as an authoritative teacher of Torah—the one whose words are to be heard, remembered, studied, and passed on. Thus, the reason for his writing of this Gospel.

In this Gospel, we are offered a distinctive, at times unique, portrayal of Jesus. Only in this Gospel does Jesus affirm that all of “the law and the prophets” stand, are not to be annulled, and indeed have been “fulfilled”, or given new life and meaning, by what Jesus teaches (Matt 5:17–20).

So the encounters between Jesus and his disciples, and the scribes and Pharisees, at various moments in the narrative (9:2–8, 10–13; 12:38–42; 15:1–20; 16:1–4; 19:3–9; 21:15–16; 22:34–46) inevitably revolve around differing interpretations of Torah prescriptions and include regular references to (Hebrew) scriptural passages.

Jesus debates the way that the scribes and Pharisees interpret Torah; he meets them on their terms, and engages in these debates in accordance with “the rules” of scripture interpretation. Far from abandoning the Torah, he rather keeps the commandments, valued as “what is old”, and provides distinctive insights and understandings, “what is new”, as he intensifies and radicalises them. (“You have heard it said …”, hard enough; “but I say to you …”, an impossible counsel of perfection?)

In this Gospel alone, Jesus affirms “the scribes and the Pharisees” as those who “sit on Moses’ seat” and teach well—but fail to live by that teaching in their lives (23:1–3). Accordingly, Jesus not only teaches how to live by the law, with a ferocious intensity (5:21–48; 23:13–36), but he puts his teachings into practice; he maintains the old but fills it with new meaning. All of this lies ahead in the passages that will be proposed by the lectionary over the coming months.

Cuthbert: monk, prior, bishop, hermit, miracle-worker, and saint (20 March)

In the Uniting Church’s resource provided for worship leaders, Uniting in Worship, there is a Calendar of Commemorations, based on the cycle of annual feast days for saints in the Anglican, Catholic, and Orthodox churches—but broadened out to be much wider than this. Many days of the year are designated to remember specific people. Today (20 March) is the day to remember three Celtic pioneers, Cuthbert, Aidan, and Bede. Cuthbert of Lindisfarne is remembered as monk, prior, bishop, hermit, and miracle-worker—and, eventually, as saint.

Born in Northumbria into a noble family in the mid-630s, Cuthbert was raised in a Christian society, as King Edwin of Northumbria had recently converted to Christianity and (as was the way) brought that faith across the society. Accounts of the life of Cuthbert, written in the later medieval period, claim that there were miracles taking place even in his childhood. The historicity of these claims is highly dubious.

We do know that Cuthbert had quite a career: he was, in turn, monk, prior, bishop, and hermit, before his death. Matching the miracles claimed during his childhood and into his adult life, there are many claims of multiple miracles which allegedly took place after the death of Cuthbert on 20 March 687.

We can’t, of course, substantiate those miracles—the most striking of which relates to Alfred the Great, King of Wessex, further to the south (Wessex was the southernmost part of the Anglo-Saxon Kingdom). Alfred was apparently inspired by a vision of Cuthbert, encouraging in his struggles against the invading Danes. (A saint supporting military action … hmmmm.) He won, of course! The fact that a southern king admired a northern cleric meant that Cuthbert came to be regarded as a focus of reconciliation across the kingdom.

We do know that the body of Cuthbert, originally buried at Lindisfarne on the day that died, was removed and placed into a decorated oak coffin, and reburied in 698. The eleven-year-old corpse was, it was claimed, completely preserved-the first of the post-mortem miracles associated with Cuthbert. We know this from the 8th century account of Cuthbert written by the Venerable Bede, a scholar-monk at Jarrow, who wrote extensively covering science, history, biography, scriptural commentaries, and theology. (Bede is also remembered today in the UCA Calendar of Commemorations.)

Three centuries after his reburial at Lindisfarne, the body of Cuthbert was taken by wagon to Durham, where it was buried again. However, before that, it had been exhumed when Danes overtook the monastery at Lindisfarne in 875, and taken by the monks with them as they wandered the northern countryside. It is now located in Durham Cathedral, where it is said that it is buried (bizzarely) with the head of Oswald, King of Northumbria, who died some decades before Cuthbert’s life.

The life of Cuthbert included various phases. Although raised in a noble household, Cuthbert was attracted to the ascetic life. He had a period of military life, but then in 651 he joined the monastery at Melrose Abbey, an offshoot of Lindisfarne Priory, where Boisil was Prior. Lindisfarne had been founded in 634 by Aidan (who is also remembered today in the UCA Calendar of Commemorations). When Boisil died in 661, Cuthbert was appointed as Prior. He was subsequently invited to become guest master at a new monastery at Ripon, but soon he returned to Melrose as a monk. He became Prior once again in 664.

Cuthbert participated in the Synod of Whitby in that year; this was the Synod that decided to leave behind the Celtic form of Christianity that had been prevalent in much of Northumbria, led from the Abbey at Iona. The specific issue was the way that the date of Easter was calculated. The Synod adopted the Roman custom of dating, and looked to Rome, rather than Iona, for leadership. Cuthbert adhered to this decision and introduced Roman practices at Lindisfarne, where he became Prior in 665, the year after the Synod of Whitby.

Cuthbert continued his ascetic lifestyle as Prior through the ensuing decades, preaching as he travelled through towns and villages; it is said that he preached also to nobles and to royalty, and also that he performed various miracles during this period, as a result of which he later became known as “the wonder worker of Britain”. He maintained his simple lifestyle, with few material needs, as he travelled, and on into the next phases of his life.

Cuthbert moved to what today is called St Cuthbert’s Island, near Lindisfarne, and then soon after to Inner Farne Island, further south, wher he established his abode in a cell in a cave. Elizabeth and I have visited the Farne Islands, as well as Lindisfarne. The northeast coast of Britain is exposed to strong, icy winds blowing across from the Arctic; “living rough”, as we might describe the conditions of Cuthbert’s life, required a strong constitution and a determined mindset. Cuthbert obviously had this.

On this island, Cuthbert befriended the eider ducks and instituted laws to protect the ducks and other seabirds that made their nests on the Farne Islands. As well as his strong environmental credentials, for which we give thanks, Cuthbert is also remembered for his strong misogynistic attitude, for which we lament.

At the west end of Durham Cathedral, a thick black line, made of marble, has been inserted into the flooring. The line (still visible when we were there in 1997) marked the furthest into the Cathedral that women were permitted to step. The reason for this was the belief that Cuthbert would be offended if women came too close to him. This was deduced on the basis of the rules that he introduced in the monastery at Coldingham, where the “improper familiarity” of monks and nuns led to the monastery being consumed by fire—a result interpreted as an act of God!

When Bishop, Cuthbert ensured that there was rigorous separation of the genders in all places where monks and nuns lived throughout the diocese. This meant that women (nuns) were unable to visit the holy sites at Lindisfarne, Inner Farne, and Durham Cathedral. Subsequent to his earthly life, Cuthbert was believed to have acted to punish females who transgressed relevant boundaries—some struck dead, one other driven to dementia and killing herself. And that is the basis for the story (fact? or fiction?) about the line in the floor at Durham Cathedral.

Cuthbert was elected as Bishop of Hexham in 684, but was reluctant to leave his hermit’s cave; he was persuaded to take up the appointment as Bishop of Lindisfarne instead. He was consecrated in March 685 but late the next year, he resigned from his episcopal office and returned to his hermitage. This short tenure as Bishop of Lindisfarne explains why he is remembered as “Cuthbert of Lindisfarne”. He died two decades later, in March 687, aged in his mid 50s.

As already noted, numerous miracles after the death of Cuthbert are attributed to his intercessory powers; accordingly, he is honoured as a Saint. He became closely associated with the powerful Bishop of Durham from the 11th century onwards; the people of the region were known as “the people of the saint” (that is, Cuthbert). In the Battle of Neville’s Cross (just up the hill from where we lived in Durham in 1997), a vision of the saint inspired the Prior of Durham Abbey to raise the banner of Cuthbert, thereby ensuring their protection and victory in that battle.

That same banner was carried by Northumbrians in their battles against the Scots, and the shrine of Cuthbert behind the altar in Durham Cathedral (where the body was interred in 1104) was a pilgrimage site through the medieval period (for males—but not, as explained, for females).

So, to the above list—Cuthbert of Lindisfarne, monk, prior, bishop, hermit, miracle-worker, and saint—we add environmentalist, and misogynist. And we remember him, today.

The resting place of Cuthbert in Durham Cathedral

A community of prayer; a community of care; a community to share

“Oh, no—not another ZOOM meeting!” How often have you heard this lament? I confess, it has been uttered with some frequency in my household, over the last two years—with increasing frequency in the past 6–8 months!

Committee meetings. Worship services. Catch-ups over coffee. Bible study groups. Seminars. Why, even full conferences have been held online, by means of ZOOM. ZOOM meetings of Presbytery. ZOOM meetings of Church Council. Even the state-wide 2021 Synod was held online (although on a different platform from ZOOM).

Early on in the pandemic, the Synod organised for all Congregations to have a ZOOM account at a reduced rate, especially for church organisations. It meant that we were able to maintain connections with friends, family, people in our Congregation, people across the Presbytery, despite all the restrictions and lockdowns. There have been lots of online gatherings. People have been grateful for the continuation of connection that online gatherings have provided. And yet, people are getting weary of it. “Not another ZOOM meeting!”

However, there has been one opportunity for meeting online that has a different feel about it. It has only recently started. It has just begun to gain momentum in the past few weeks. At the beginning of Lent, opportunity was provided for people to gather, briefly, online, at the start of each day, and towards the end of the afternoon, for Daily Prayers. The offer was for something that lasted 8–10 minutes, a regular pattern of prayer, each weekday. It was an initiative of Elizabeth Raine, minister of the Tuggeranong Congregation, and was advertised across the Presbytery as well as on the TUC Facebook page.

Over five weeks, now, the online community has been meeting. There are about 20 people who participate—although, in true church style, “you never see them all together at the one time”, just like most Sunday morning worshipping communities! Over the weeks, the community of prayer has formed; the pattern and routine are becoming familiar. Each time, there are 8, 10, sometimes 12 or 13 people online. It changes each time.

The centering of heart and spirit for the day is now an expected part of each weekday morning. The slowing and gathering together at the end of the day is also a regular routine. And the invitation to reflect back on the past seven days, on Friday at 6pm, brings a sense of completion to the week. Each day the resources of the Northumbria Community (a dispersed monastic community) are used, providing reflective prayers, short scripture passages, and an opportunity to reflect in silence and then with gentle music.

But more than this has been taking place. The community of prayer has become a community of care. Some folks log in a few minutes early, chat with each other, share their news, and exchange plans for the day. More recently, one person reported that their partner was moving into palliative care. Those present, hearing this news, have ensured that this person and their partner are remembered in prayer; one participant has ensured that practical help and support is provided. Those gathering make gentle enquiries before prayers begin. The community of prayer has become a community of care.

And even more: the community of prayer, now a community of care, has become a community to share with still more people. Those participating are largely members of the Tuggeranong Congregation. A few people from elsewhere participate in the weekly online Bible Study of the Tuggeranong Congregation; some folks from elsewhere in Canberra, someone 300kms north, another person 250kms west, are joining in regularly for prayer.

Facebook advertising has drawn the group to the attention of a person in a large rural town; they are now “part of the group”, participating regularly. A welcome voice, an assurance of gratitude that they have joined, a clear expression that “we are glad you are here; you belong!” is all that it takes. The community is there, to share with others.

This is how the Church is meant to function! An open community, focussed around our spiritual needs; an invitational community, welcoming people in and actively ensuring that they are made to feel comfortable, valued, a part of the group. And offering food for the soul, a prayer gathering, can be a doorway into community as much as offering food for the body, a soup kitchen, or food for the mind, a Bible study group, or food for our relationships, a community worship service. For this Lenten experience, I am most grateful.

To join the Daily Prayer, go to the TUC website ( https://tuc.org.au ) and click on the Church Services icon.

To sample the worship resources of the Northumbria Community, go to https://www.northumbriacommunity.org/offices/morning-prayer/

Faithfulness in the turmoil of the time: the historical context of Mark 13 (Pentecost 25B)

The Gospel reading for this coming Sunday (Mark 13:1–8) comprises the beginning of longer speech, a block of teaching which Jesus delivered to his disciples (13:3–37), some time after they had arrived in the city of Jerusalem (11:1–11). It’s a striking speech, with vivid language and dramatic imagery, drawn from the increasingly apocalyptic fervour of prophetic oracles delivered through the history of Israel. The apocalyptic character of the speech means that it certainly makes a mark!

This final speech of Jesus confirms the thoroughly apocalyptic character of his teaching. The parables he tells about that kingdom are apocalyptic, presenting a vision of the promised future that is in view. The call to repent is apocalyptic, in the tradition of the prophets. The demand to live in a way that exemplifies righteous-justice stands firmly in the line of the prophetic call. Such repentance and righteous-just living is as demanding and difficult as giving birth can be.

For the way that this language developed over centuries in ancient Israel, and became a mainstay of prophetic language, see https://johntsquires.com/2021/11/09/the-beginnings-of-the-birth-pangs-mark-13-pentecost-25b/

Mark’s Gospel has drawn to a climax with the same focussed attention to the vision of God’s kingdom, as was expressed at the start. The beginnings of the birth pangs are pointers to the kingdom that Jesus has always had in view. Jesus was, indeed, a prophet of apocalyptic intensity. But how do we make sense of this dramatic language in the context of the post-Enlightenment scientifically-aware world of the 21st century? How do visions of turmoil and warfare, oracles about fiery destruction and fierce retribution, relate to our contemporary world?

One way of understanding this kind of language and these kinds of speeches, whether by Jesus or any number of the prophets, is to claim that these words were spirit-inspired predictions, from long ago, of the turmoil and conflict that was to take place in the future. Sometimes this is seen to relate to the times immediately in the future of the writer, in the late 1st century in the case of this Gospel passage. Other interpreters claim that such speeches are pointing forward in time, to events that will take place well beyond the time of the reader, even into our own times (that is, the 21st century).

Like the final book in the New Testament, Revelation, this speech of Jesus in Mark 13 has been interpreted of fervent believers throughout the centuries as evidence that the end of the world was at hand. Repentance, now, is the bottom line; repentance, before the end comes, and it is too late.

Another line of interpretation holds that this kind of language needs to be understood as inspired scripture, which provides us with clear doctrinal statements about what is called eschatology (the study of the end times, the last days). In which case, this book could be mined as a source for teachings about “the last days”, instructing us so that we are aware and informed, and thus able to undertake interpretation of events that are currently taking place.

It may not be that we are right in the midst of those “last days”, but we are equipped with the capacity to interpret and understand what is happening—to know exactly where we are, now, in the alleged timetable of events leading up to “the last days”.

However, there are difficulties with both lines of interpretation. Neither understanding actually reflects the nature of the literature, the purpose for which each of the apocalyptic oracles and speeches were given in their own time. It is important to understand the literary nature of apocalyptic writings, as well as the social-historical context in which such works came into being. The same applies for Mark 13.

(For some further consideration of ways of interpreting apocalyptic literature, in relation specifically to the book of Revelation, see https://johntsquires.com/2020/12/04/revelation-a-complex-and-intricate-world-of-heavenly-beings-and-exotic-creatures/)

But first, we need to be clear about the Historical Context within high this Gospel was written.

Jewish people of the first century lived in one of two ways. Some were members of the nation of Israel which was occupied by a foreign military force, the Romans. (The Romans called this region Palestine). Others were members of a minority group of Jews who were permitted to exist in another nation. (These are known as Jews of the Dispersion). Life in such situations demanded compromise.

For Jews living in the Dispersion, the degree of compromise might vary—but compromise was inevitable. For those living within Israel, the need for compromise was a constant irritant. Some groups, like the Sadducees and the priests, accepted the compromises and did well out of them. Many common folk simply made the best of the situation. Others resented what was imposed on them. They looked back to an earlier time in the history of Israel, when the troops of another foreign force, the Seleucids, held power in Israel. An honoured group of Jews, the Maccabees, had led an armed insurgency which brought victory over the Seleucids in the years 167 to 164 BCE. For a time, Jews had ruled Israel once again.

From the time that Roman troops had occupied Palestine, in 63 BCE, there was tension. It would wax and wane according to the attitudes of the Jewish leaders and the political imperatives at work through the Roman governors. In the year 66, the governor, Florus, demanded money from the Temple treasury in Jerusalem. This was too much for some Jews; hostilities broke out in various places across Palestine. The war which resulted lasted eight years; in 70 CE, the Temple in Jerusalem would be burnt to the ground, and by 74 CE, all active Jewish resistance to the Romans would be quashed.

In this setting, amidst the battles fought in Galilee, Samaria and Judaea, apocalyptic hopes were inflamed. Many of the Jews actively fighting the Romans believed that their actions would help to usher in the long-promised kingdom, in which God would reign over Israel and foreign troops would be banished. Perhaps a significant number of the followers of Jesus also believed that the kingdom of God was drawing near, as Jesus had proclaimed some decades earlier, in the events of their own day.

Should the followers of Jesus, then, join with the rebel groups in rising up against Rome? Was the way to the kingdom to be won through conflict, martyrdom, and military victory? Or was there another way? Remarkably, one writer chose to answer these questions by writing about the way which would have been chosen by Jesus.

The earliest written account that we have for the life of Jesus—the beginning of the good news of Jesus, the chosen one (which we know as the Gospel according to Mark)—appears to deal with precisely these issues as it assembles and reshapes many of the stories told about Jesus. It is strongly marked by apocalyptic overtones, from the urgent message which Jesus utters (1:14–15) to his parting description of apocalyptic terrors (13:3–37).

This work does not provide a clear declaration against military involvement; but this implication can be drawn from its pages. This Gospel was written for first century Jews who were who were caught up in a fervent hope that the kingdom of God was soon to be ushered in, but who were also struggling with what it meant to follow the way of Jesus.

Mark tells the story of Jesus—a person who submitted to his death, at the hands of the Romans, without raising any weapons in defence. The way of Jesus, according to Mark, was the way of suffering obedience and faithful discipleship. The answer to the questions posed lay in following the way of Jesus. That is the focus of the story that he tells—what does it mean for us to follow Jesus in our own context? The work does not set out to answer the question, “is the end at hand?”, and not even to set out a timetable of events leading to that end. It simply asks, how best do I follow Jesus?

The last set of instructions which Jesus leaves for his disciples, delivered as he sits opposite the magnificent Jerusalem Temple (13:1), sets out the task which lies ahead for the disciples. During this apocalyptic discourse, Jesus speaks explicitly about their future commission (13:9–13). The situation will be one of persecution: “you will be beaten” (13:9), and “they [will] bring you to trial” (13:11); there will be betrayal and death (13:12), and “you will be hated by all” (13:13). False preachers will arise (13:5–6) and fraudulent claims will be made (13:21– 22).

In this context, the fundamental act of discipleship will be to bear witness to the way of Jesus: “you will stand … as a testimony” (13:9), “the good news must first be proclaimed” (13:10), what you are to say will be given by the Holy Spirit (13:11). The role of the disciple will be to remain faithful throughout these trials: “the one who endures to the end will be saved” (13:13). The need for such faithfulness is underscored by the closing words of Jesus’ teachings: “beware, keep alert … keep awake … keep awake” (13:33, 35, 37).

Seeing and believing as Jesus passes by (Mark 10; Pentecost 22B)

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 of Nazareth, Son of David, have mercy on me” (Mark 10:47).

Jesus pauses, engages with the man, and responds to his plea. “Go; your faith has made you well” (10:52). The man, all of a sudden, could see; all was clear, so he took his place among those following Jesus on the way (10:52).

The scene is familiar. Some chapters earlier, in Bethsaida, another blind man also engages with Jesus; and Jesus heals the man. “He saw everything clearly” (8:25), just as the second man “immediately regained his sight” (10:52). Yet the two scenes are remarkably different. The first man healed is not named; whilst the man outside Jericho is identified as Bartimaeus (10:46).

The unnamed man is brought to Jesus by some friends, begging Jesus to heal him (8:22). By contrast, the later man is initially is hindered from engaging with Jesus by the crowd, demanding that he remain silent (10:48). And whilst the restoration of sight takes place immediately in the Jericho scene (10:52), in the Bethsaida scene it takes two attempts by Jesus before the man can see.

First, Jesus performs the actions of a traditional healer, placing saliva on his eyes and touching him (8:23; on the traditional healing practices of the time, see https://johntsquires.com/2020/03/19/in-the-most-unlikely-way-touching-the-untouchable-john-9/). After that, because the man can only see imperfectly, Jesus touches his eyes for a second time; after this, the man can see clearly (8:25).

A number of interpreters have commented on the similarities and contrasts in these two scenes. They provide, it is felt, bookends to the important central section of this earliest Gospel (8:27–10:45). There are some key events that take place within these two bookends.

First, there is Peter’s confession that Jesus is the Messiah (8:29). This is one of the high moments at the mid-point of the whole narrative of this work. It serves to remind the readers what was already declared to them at the very start of the gospel: that it was about the good news of Jesus, Messiah, Son of God (1:1).

The other key moment in this section comes almost immediately after Peter’s confession: the scene of Transfiguration (9:2). This takes place on the top of a mountain, a traditional place for encountering the divine in Israelite stories (think Moses on Mount Sinai, Solomon’s Temple on Mount Zion, the vision of the prophet Isaiah that all the nations would stream to Mount Zion, and the place where Matthew locates the teaching of Jesus in the “Sermon on the Mount”).

This key mountaintop moment contains the words from the heavens about Jesus, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” (9:7). These words link back to the initial baptism of Jesus, when the same words were heard (1:11) and forward to the final scene of crucifixion, when a centurion at the foot of the cross witnesses Jesus’ death, and declares, “Truly this man was God’s Son!” (15:39). All three scenes contain the foundational statement, recognising Jesus as Son of God, reiterating the other important element in the opening verse (1:1).

There are other significant components within this central section of the Gospel. Three times, Jesus makes clear predictions of what lies in store for him in Jerusalem (8:31; 9:31; 10:32–34). This triple passion prediction is actually the central spine of the whole narrative. The cross is the climax of the story; the road to the death of Jesus has been in view since early in the narrative, when “the Pharisees went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him” (3:6). From that moment onwards, the likelihood that Jesus would be caught and dealt with was strong.

Finally, after each one of these predictions of his fate, Jesus provides clear and direct teachings about the cost of discipleship. We hear “take up your cross” and “lose your life” in the first set of teachings (8:34–9:1). “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all” is spoken in the second set of teachings (9:33–37), followed by guidance about taking care of “the little ones” (9:38–50).

“Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all” is uttered in the third set of teachings (10:35–45), an expanded saying with synonymous parallelism reflecting back to the earlier teachings. And the final set of teachings ends with a clear statement about the role of the Son of Man as the model and the means of redemption for his followers (10:45).

So this story of Jesus, blind Bartimaeus, and the crowd in Jericho (10:46–52) brings to a close a rich and deeply significant sequence of scenes, which began back in Bethsaida with Jesus, an unnamed blind man, and the crowd in that town (8:22–26). The two outer scenes provide a carefully-crafted literary framing for the central sequence of scenes.

The symbolism is significant: two scenes with people unable to see, reaching out to Jesus, experience the piercing light after their years of blindness—these two scenes surround the confession of Jesus as Messiah and his transfiguration, the three predictions of what lies in store for him in Jerusalem, and the three blocks of teaching about the way of discipleship.

What was not able to be seen, is now made manifest. What was hidden, incomprehensible, is now revealed. For the disciples, there can be no excuse, and no turning back. Jesus no longer will ask, “do you not understand?” (4:22, 13; 6:52; 7:18: 8:17, 21; 9:32), for understanding has been provided. The pathway is set. The way of discipleship is clear. As Bartimaeus joins with the disciples to follow Jesus on that way, so we who hear the story are invited also to “follow him on the way”.

See also https://johntsquires.com/2021/10/13/not-to-be-served-but-to-serve-the-model-provided-by-jesus-mark-10-pentecost-21b/

https://johntsquires.com/2021/10/14/a-ransom-for-many-a-hint-of-atonement-theology-mark-10-pentecost-21b/

https://johntsquires.com/2021/09/21/giving-priority-to-one-of-these-little-ones-mark-9-pentecost-18b/

https://johntsquires.com/2021/09/28/boundary-lines-and-the-kingdom-of-god-mark-9-10-pentecost-18b-to-20b/

https://johntsquires.com/2021/09/06/the-paradoxes-of-discipleship-mark-8-pentecost-16b/

What can love hope for? A review.

Bill Loader is widely-known, much-consulted, and greatly loved across the Uniting Church. He has had a fine career as a leading biblical scholar, teaching for decades at Murdoch University and publishing prolifically with prestigious international publishers.

This academic career has sat alongside an active involvement in the Uniting Church, preaching in local Congregations, teaching regular sessions with lay leaders, and forming ministers and deacons for their ministries. His website with its scholarly yet accessible discussions of lectionary texts (http://wwwstaff.murdoch.edu.au/~loader/home.html) attracts regular readership, not only from Uniting Church people, but from preachers right around the world

Out of this wealth of experience comes this slim but rich offering: ten succinct chapters (most only ten to twelve pages long) on topics of key theological import: the significance of Jesus, the good news for the poor, how to understand the cross, the place of other faiths, God’s wrath and God’s justice, the place of the Law, miracles and faith, God and love–and, of course, marriage and sexuality. All in 110 pages.

Each chapter ends with a focused “question for reflection”, to encourage ongoing consideration of the topic at hand. The book itself ends with a bonus afterword, setting out Bill’s personal journey “from fundamentalism to fundamentals”. The afterword concludes, “we all walk with some grit in our shoes in religious and cultural contexts where its awareness is possible even if, by and large, its removal is not” (p.130).

Loader seeks to work with the irritants provided by this “grit” in a constructive and hope-filled way, to indicate how, in the midst of contentious discussions, people of faith are able to discern “what brings life and health”. In Chapter 5, whose title also provides the title of the book, he concludes that we ought “to be a just and caring society that is inclusive and to care for the world and its future inhabitants” (p.46).

It’s no surprise that the enduringly contentious issue of marriage and sexuality is addressed (in chapter 10, the longest chapter). Bill Loader has made many contributions to the long-running discussions of these matters–leading workshops and producing resources pitched at a popular level, undergirded especially by the academic research and writing undertaken during his five years as a professorial fellow with Australian Research Council funding.

This chapter makes clear the two key pillars of his well-considered views: one, that Paul reflects the common first century belief that “all people are heterosexual”, so anyone identifying as homosexual is “in an unnatural state of being as a result of sin” (p.111); and two, that in some circumstances “it is not appropriate, indeed it is irresponsible, to apply what Paul says” to contemporary situations (also p.111).

Thus, Loader affirms that “the Bible does not tell it all on these matters any more than it did on matters of women and divorce” (p.112). Such honesty about matters hermeneutical is to be commended. As is the case in each chapter, the reader is invited to give serious personal consideration to how biblical passages are to be brought into engagement with contemporary situations and considerations.

But the book is not just about marriage and sexuality. There is much more that is explored in its pages.

Chapter 5 (whose title, as we have noted, provides the title for the whole book) begins with a further observation about the process of interpretation: “There is a 2,000-year gap between believers in today’s twenty-first-century world and those of the first century”, such that “to engage the writings of the New Testament is to engage in a cross-cultural encounter with all the respect and opportunity for learning and enrichment which that entails” (p.35).

Starting with the fact that New Testament texts expect a return of Jesus within the lifetime of those then alive, the chapter canvasses the eschatological vision of the kingdom, various parables of Jesus, the function of the risen Jesus, and the resurrection body, leading to the conclusion that we, today, are to “reconfigure our approach to hope, retaining the central [first century] substance, but not their notions of timing and manner of its achievement” (p.45).

In this way, Loader models the task of the interpreter, be they preacher, Bible study leader, scholar, or individual disciple. Immersion into the culture, customs, languages, perspectives of the ancient texts is as important as thoughtful, reflective consideration of what is heard and seen in the text, in the light of contemporary understandings, insights, and perspectives. (Somewhat like what paragraphs 5 and 11 of the UCA Basis of Union affirms.)

There is much more to be said about this delightful book; but only one comment needs to be made here. This is a book worth buying, reading, studying (alone or with others), and engaging with wholeheartedly.