Tag: theology

Maintaining faith in God in difficult circumstances (Psalm 22; Lent 2B)

In the psalm that is set for the Second Sunday in Lent (a section of Psalm 22), the psalmist exults the worldwide dominion of the Lord God and sings that “to [the Lord], indeed, shall all who sleep in the earth bow down; before him shall bow all who go down to the dust, and I shall live for him” (Ps 22:29).

This psalm is best known for its opening line, “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Ps 22:1a), as this is the last word of Jesus as he dies on the cross, at least according to two evangelists (Mark 15:34; Matt 27:46). The psalm is one of the psalms of individual lament, as the psalmist reflects the wretched condition of a person who is suffering unjustly, as the psalmist cries, “why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? … I am a worm, and not a human … all who see me mock at me; they make mouths at me, they shake their heads …. I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax; it is melted within my breast; my mouth is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to my jaws; you lay me in the dust of death.” (Ps 22:1, 6, 14–15).

The other psalms usually considered to express individual lament reflect similar ideas: Ps 3 (“O Lord, how many are my foes! many are rising against me), Ps 6 (“be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing”, Ps 13 (“how long will you hide your face from me?), Ps 25 (“I am lonely and afflicted; relieve the troubles of my heart, and bring me out of my distress”), Ps 31 (“my eye wastes away from grief, my soul and body also; for my life is spent with sorrow, and my years with sighing”), Ps 71 (“in your righteousness deliver me and rescue me; incline your ear to me and save me”), Ps 77 (“I think of God, and I moan; I meditate, and my spirit faints”), Ps 86 (“O God, the insolent rise up against me; a band of ruffians seeks my life, and they do not set you before them”), and Ps 142 (“with my voice I cry to the Lord; with my voice I make supplication to the Lord”).

However, the section of the psalm that is offered for this coming Sunday (Ps 22:23–31) comes from the second half of the psalm, where—as is typical of many psalms of lament—the mood turns from internal personal introspection, to an external offering of praise and adoration to God. In each psalm the undergirding assumption is that God does care, God will act, and the trials of the present will be swept away. They are psalms imbued both with the sober reality of the human condition, and an unswerving optimism that faith in God will ensure an ultimate condition of salvation, deliverance, redemption.

Although the psalms offered by the lectionary are chosen each Sunday to provide a companion piece to the Hebrew Scripture passage, this element of this psalm makes it a most fitting accompaniment to the Gospel passage offered this coming Sunday in Lent, as the path that Jesus walks towards the cross is in view during this season.

So the psalmist rejoices. God has dominion over the whole earth: “all the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord and all the families of the nations shall worship before him; for dominion belongs to the Lord and he rules over the nations” (vv.27–28). This affirmation reflects other parts of Hebrew Scripture where the global reach of God is asserted.

One psalmist calls the ends of the earth “the possession of the Lord” (Ps 2:8), for they “have seen the victory of our God” (Ps 98:3). Both the name and the praise of the Lord “reaches to the ends of the earth” (Ps 48:10), for when God acts to judge the nations, “the it will be known to the ends of the earth that God rules over Jacob” (Ps 59:13). One psalmist declares that God is “the hope of all the ends of the earth and of the farthest seas” (Ps 65:5) and another prays, “may God continue to bless us; let all the ends of the earth revere him” (Ps 67:7).

But in this psalm, the dominion of God reaches beyond this life, to humans who lie in the realm of those who have died. “To him shall all who sleep in the earth bow down; before him shall bow all who go down to the dust” (v.29). A number of other psalms indicate that “in the dust” is where the dead rest (Ps 7:5; 30:9; 90:3; 104:29; likewise Job 10:9; 17:16; 20:11; 21:23–26; 40:12–13).

In Daniel’s grand vision “at the time of the end” (11:40–12:13) he refers to “many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt” (12:2). This is a key Hebrew Scripture text which is used in discussions of the resurrection as reported in the New Testament. Clearly, those who “sleep in the dust” are dead.

In the archetypal story that opens Hebrew Scripture, “the dust of the ground” is identified as the source for God’s creation of humanity (Gen 2:7)—and as the place where people’s bodies go when they die. The man Adam is told, “you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

God, indeed, “knows how we were made; he remembers that we are dust” (Ps 103:14), and in the end, “all go to one place; all are from the dust, and all turn to dust again” (Eccles 3:20). The Preacher wistfully observes that at the end, “when the years draw near … the silver cord is snapped, and the golden bowl is broken, and the pitcher is broken at the fountain, and the wheel broken at the cistern, and the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the breath returns to God who gave it”, before drawing his inevitable and well-known conclusion, “Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher; all is vanity” (Eccles 12:1, 6–7).

In other passages in the Hebrew Scriptures, those who are dead are located, not in the dust, but in Sheol, in The Pit. These terms each describe the state of the nephesh (the essence of being) of those whose bodies have died. In one psalm, the pit that is dug for “the wicked” describes this place as “the land of silence” (Ps 94:17), while the prophet Ezekiel imagines it as the place where the dead, the “people of long ago” lie “among primeval ruins” (Ezek 26:20).

In Psalm 88, when the psalmist laments “my soul is full of troubles”, they use these and other terms in poetic parallelism to describe their fate: “my life draws near to Sheol; I am counted among those who go down to the Pit; I am like those who have no help, like those forsaken among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, like those whom you remember no more, for they are cut off from your hand; you have put me in the depths of the Pit, in the regions dark and deep” (Ps 88:3–6).

In this state, people simply lie in darkness, not living, with no future in view, no hope in store. Job laments, “if I look for Sheol as my house, if I spread my couch in darkness, if I say to the Pit, ‘You are my father,’ and to the worm, ‘My mother,’ or ‘My sister,’ where then is my hope?” (Job 17:13-15). Job also equates entering the Pit with “traversing the River” (Job 33:18), in words that seem to reflect the River Hubur (in Sumerian cosmology) or the River Styx (in Greek cosmology), the place where the souls of the dead cross over into the netherworld.

Other words for Sheol in Hebrew Scripture include Abaddon, meaning ruin (Ps 88:11; Job 28:22; Prov 15:11) and Shakhat, meaning corruption (Isa 38:17; Ezek 28:8). These terms indicate the forlorn, lost, irretrievable nature of this state of being. This is the fate in store for all human beings, whether righteous or wicked; there is no sense of judgement or punishment associated with this state. It is simply a state of non-being.

And yet, even in this state—this state where “my mouth is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to my jaws; you lay me in the dust of death” (Ps 22:15)—the psalmist finds hope. They are confident that the Lord God “raises up the needy out of distress” (Ps 107:41) and “lifts up the downtrodden” (Ps 147:5). In like manner, Hannah has sung that the Lord “raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap” (1 Sam 2:8; also Ps 113:7).

And so the psalmist bursts into praise for what, they are confident, God will do. Calling for their listeners to “praise [the Lord] … glorify him … stand in awe of him” (Ps 22:23), they affirm that God “did not despise or abhor the affliction of the afflicted; he did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him” (v.24) and rejoice that “the poor shall eat and be satisfied” (v.26).

The psalmist is certain not only that “the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord and all the families of the nations shall worship before him” (v.27), but also that “posterity will serve him; future generations will be told about the Lord, and proclaim his deliverance to a people yet unborn, saying that he has done it” (vv.30–31).

And so, they offer this resounding declaration of hope: “to him, indeed, shall all who sleep in the earth bow down; before him shall bow all who go down to the dust” (v.29). It is that hope which we hear, and affirm, when these closing verses of this psalm (vv.23–31) are read or sung during this coming Sunday’s worship.

A ransom for many: a hint of atonement theology? (Mark 10; Narrative Lectionary for Lent 2)

When Jesus instructed his followers to tread the pathway of humility and submission (Mark 8:34–38; 9:35–37; 10:38–44)—the same pathway that he himself has been following as he walks towards Jerusalem (8:31; 9:31: 10:32–34), he speaks about laying down his own life, just as he urges his followers to lay down their lives (10:45). This has been a regular refrain throughout his teachings.

See https://johntsquires.com/2024/02/17/not-to-be-served-but-to-serve-the-model-provided-by-jesus-mark-10-narrative-lectionary-for-lent-2/

However, in this particular saying, Jesus indicates that the laying- down of his life is to be seen, not just as the model for his followers to emulate, but as “a ransom for many” (10:45). There are two important observations to make about this short statement. The first relates to the word “ransom”; the second will be canvassed in a later post.

Ransom is a term that we associate with the forced kidnapping of a person and the demand for a payment in order for them to be released. This is not the way the term is used in biblical texts, where payment in return for release of a captive is not in view. Rather, the orientation is towards the idea that there is a significant cost involved in the process of ransoming.

The Greek word used in Mark 10:45, lutron, comes from a verb, lutrein, which means “to release”. It was a common term for the payment needed to secure the release of slaves, debtors, and prisoners of war. The noun, translated as ransom, occurs in the Septuagint. It identifies the price paid to redeem a slave or captive (Lev 25:51–52) or a firstborn (Num 18:15). It also indicates the price to be paid as recompense for a crime (Num 35:31–32) or injury (Exodus 21:30). In these instances, it translates the Hebrew word koper, which has the basic meaning of “covering”.

Another form of that word appears in another form in the name of the Great High Holy Day in Judaism—Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement (see Lev 16:1–34; Num 29:7–11). On that day, as the cloud of incense covers the mercy seat (kapporeth, Lev 16:13), the mercy seat is smeared with the blood of the sacrificed bull (16:14) and then the blood of the goat which provides the sin offering (16:15). According to Leviticus, it is these actions which “shall make atonement (kipper) for the sanctuary, because of the uncleannesses of the people of Israel, and because of their transgressions, all their sins” (16:16).

The process of atonement in the Israelite religion was to cover up, to hide away from view, the sins of the people. This is developed to some degree in the fourth Servant Song of Deutero-Isaiah, when the prophet honours the servant because “he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities” (Isa 53:5). His life was understood as “an offering for sin” (53:10) which “shall make many righteous” (53:11). Indeed, as the Song ends, it affirms that “he bore the sin of many” (53:12). The Song resonates with the language and imagery of righteous suffering as the means of dealing with, and perhaps atoning for, sins.

That notion is further expounded in a later text which provides an account of the way that a righteous man, Eleazar, was martyred as a means of ransoming the nation during the time of upheaval under Antiochus Epiphanes (175–167 BCE). “Be merciful to your people, and let our punishment suffice for them”, he prays; “make my blood their purification, and take my life in exchange for theirs” (4 Macc 6:28–29).

The idea then appears in New Testament texts which describe the effect of the death of Jesus for those who have placed their trust in him. Paul uses ransom language tells the saints that they were “bought with a price” (1 Cor 6:20; 7:23). He also uses apolutrosis, a compound word but from the base word lutrein, to describe the redemption which was accomplished by Jesus, both in a formulaic way (1Cor 1:30) and in a more discursive manner (Rom 3:24; 8:23). The term recurs in later letters which likely were not written by Paul (Col 1:14; Eph 1:7, 14; 4:30), as well as in the Lukan redaction of the final eschatological speech of Jesus (Luke 21:28).

In another later letter attributed to Paul, most likely written by one of his students, we read of “one mediator between God and humans, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a ransom for all” (1 Tim 2:6), using the term lutron. In another later work providing guidance an account of Paul by an author at some remove from him, the book of Acts, Paul was said to have declared of the church that God “obtained [it] with the blood of his own Son” (Acts 20:28).

It was the combination of such passages that led the third century scholar, Origen of Alexandria to develop an idiosyncratic theory of the atonement (the way that Jesus enables God to deal with human sinfulness). Origen’s ransom theory of atonement reads Genesis 3 as an account of Adam and Eve being taken captive by Satan; this state was then inherited by all human beings. The death of Jesus is what enables all humans to be saved; the means for this was that the blood shed by Jesus was the price paid to Satan to ransom humanity (or, in a variant form, a ransom paid by Jesus to God to secure our release).

However, none of these texts—and particularly not Mark 10:45—require this overarching theological superstructure to make sense of what they say. Origen’s ransom theory held sway for some centuries, but was definitively rejected by the medieval scholar Anselm of Canterbury. It is not a favoured theory of atonement in much of the contemporary church (though it is still advocated in various fundamentalist backwaters). Certainly, none of this should be attributed to the saying of Jesus in Mark 10:45. It is far more likely that he is drawing on the Jewish tradition of the righteous sufferer in his words.

Jesus himself draws on various psalms of the righteous sufferer; psalms 22, 27, 31, 69, and 109 would each seem to express the despair and anguish being felt by Jesus in his passion. However, it is the fourth of the four Servant Songs (Isa 42:1–9; 49:1–7; 50:4–11; 52:13–53:12) to which this statement in Mark 10:45 might best be correlated.

The passion narratives that we have in scripture, recounting events leading to the death of Jesus, offer many connections with details of this fourth song (Isa 52:13–53:12). The prophet describes the marred appearance of the Servant (52:14); he is despised, rejected, and suffering (53:3), bearing our infirmities (53:4), and wounded for our transgressions (53:5).

The Servant is led like a lamb to the slaughter (53:7), suffering “a perversion of justice” (53:8), not practising violence or speaking deceit (53:9), and is buried with the rich (53:9). The Servant gives his life as “an offering for sin” (53:10), carrying the iniquities of many (53:11), making them righteous (53:11), bearing the sin of many (53:12), making “intercession for the transgressors” (53:12).

The role that the Servant plays in relation to sin, for the sake of the many, shapes the important saying of Jesus, that “the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45). Jesus, according to Mark, foresees his role as that chosen one, destined to suffer for the sake of many. As we look to the cross, we can see that this was an ominous foreboding.

Not to be served, but to serve: the model provided by Jesus (Mark 10; Narrative Lectionary for Lent 2)

“The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (Mark 10:35-45). So Jesus instructs his followers, after a bruising encounter with James and John, two of the leading followers of Jesus (10:35-40) which enraged the rest of the disciples (10:42).

The dispute was over status; James and John wanted to claim the places next to Jesus: “one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory” (10:37). This was not unusual in the world of that time (indeed, this is still the case in our own times). Public debate that was intended to best the other person was common in ancient Mediterranean societies. Seeking greater honour (higher status) by getting the upper hand, or the last word, in public debate, was common.

In an honour—shame society, such as that in which Jesus, James, and John lived, the culture was characterised by a constant and ongoing “challenge—riposte,” enacted in the public arena. Jesus engaged in such challenges on a regular basis; see the disputations of 2:1-3:6, when Jesus was travelling around Galilee, and later during his time in Jerusalem, in 11:27-12:34.

Such challenge—riposte encounters typically involved the challenger setting forth a claim, through either words or actions; a response to the challenge by the persons who was challenged; then, after further back-and-forth amongst the participants, once the challenge and riposte has run its course, the verdict is declared by the public who was watching the encounter.

(For a clear description of this process, as it applies in Mark 11:27–12:34, using the analysis of Jerome Neyrey and Bruce Malina, see https://www.etsjets.org/files/JETS-PDFs/43/43-2/43-2-pp213-228_JETS.pdf)

At this moment, Jesus critiques the common process of public disputation; he distances himself from the common cultural practice of seeking honour and working for a higher status. Those who lord it over others, who act as tyrants, are not to be the role models for his followers; “it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all” (10:43–44).

Indeed, Jesus rubs salt into the wound by inferring that James and John were acting like Gentiles (10:52). That was an insult, to be sure, for good Jews (see the sayings attributed the Jesus at Matt 5:47; 6:7, 32).

This was the third time, after demonstrating their misunderstanding of what Jesus was teaching, that his disciples were directly rebuked for their attitude. First, Peter represents the disciples’ lack of clarity about Jesus (8:27–38); then a number of the disciples arguing about being great, and John fails to welcome the activity of a person casting out demons (9:33–48); and now, James and John demonstrate their continued inability to understand the attitude of Jesus towards status (10:35–40).

At least in this last scene, the other ten disciples are angry about what James and John have asked for (10:41). Far too often, on earlier occasions, Jesus has lamented that the disciples failed to understand (4:22, 13; 6:52; 7:18: 8:17, 21; 9:32). It seems that finally, at this moment, things had fallen into place for the disciples. (Or were they simply annoyed at the way the brothers promoted their own interests over the hopes of the other disciples?)

On each of those three occasions of misunderstanding, Jesus responds by correcting the inadequacies displayed by his followers: he refers to the fate that is in store for him in Jerusalem (8:31; 9:31: 10:32–34), and then he indicates that his followers must tread that same pathway of humility and submission (8:34–38; 9:35–37; 10:38–44). See

Boundary lines and the kingdom of God (Mark 9–10; Pentecost 18B to 20B)

On this occasion, Jesus goes one step further. His own life—or, more precisely, the laying-down of his own life—is to be seen, not just as the model for his followers to emulate, but as “a ransom for many” (10:45). This will be the focus of a subsequent blog post. See

A ransom for many: a hint of atonement theology? (Mark 10; Narrative Lectionary for Lent 2)

The Way: a key motif in Hebrew Scripture (Psalm 25; Lent 1B)

“Good and upright is the Lord; therefore he instructs sinners in the way. He leads the humble in what is right, and teaches the humble his way. All the paths of the Lord are steadfast love and faithfulness, for those who keep his covenant and his decrees.” (Ps 25:8–10) So the psalmist sings, in the psalm that is set for the First Sunday in Lent.

Of course, this short phrase, “The Way”, has a significant place in Christian understanding. When he recounts a key incident in the second volume of his orderly account—namely, the conversion and call of Saul—Luke describes the followers of Jesus as being of “The Way” (9:2). This is a term which he likes; it recurs in four subsequent chapters of Luke’s narrative (18:25; 19:9,23; 22:4; 24:14,22).

Using this term to describe the followers of Jesus makes sense when we consider the thoroughly Jewish character of the early Jesus movement. Luke takes pains to document this thoroughly Jewish ethos, from the opening stories of pregnant women (Luke 1–2), told firmly in the style of Hebrew scripture narrative, through the various occasions where he notes that Jesus was in the synagogue on the sabbath (Luke 4:16; 6:6; 13:10), the many instances where he relates the story of Jesus to scripture passages (Luke 4:21; 7:27; 9:30; 12:52–53; 13:33–35; 19:37–38; 20:9–19; 21:20–24; 22:37) and the way that his second volume traces the way that the followers of Jesus take their message of good news “to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8, quoting Isa 42:6; 49:6).

I think that it is most likely that “The Way” as the name of the movement owes its origins to scriptural usage in association with God’s activity. “Lead me, O Lord, in your righteousness because of my enemies”, the psalmist prays; “make your way straight before me” (Ps 5:8). In a song praising God for delivering victory to the King, we read, “This God—his way is perfect; the promise of the Lord proves true; he is a shield for all who take refuge in him” (Ps 18:30). By extension, Luke sees that God is at work in the movement initiated by Jesus and his followers.

This scriptural usage is widespread. The Way figures in a number of psalms. “Good and upright is the Lord; therefore he instructs sinners in the way”, says the psalm proposed for this coming Sunday. “He leads the humble in what is right, and teaches the humble his way” (Ps 25:8–9). The psalmist goes on to explain, “all the paths of the Lord are steadfast love and faithfulness, for those who keep his covenant and his decrees” (Ps 25:8–10).

Other psalmists pray, “Teach me your way, O Lord, and lead me on a level path because of my enemies”(Ps 27:11), and sing, “Wait for the Lord, and keep to his way, and he will exalt you to inherit the land; you will look on the destruction of the wicked” (Ps 37:34). There are many other other psalms which invoke the image of the way of the Lord.

The term is also appropriated in the Dead Sea Scrolls as a means of defining the Qumran community (1QS 9.17-18,21; 10:21; CD 1:13; 2:6). This most likely reflects competing claims for being the authentic keepers of Torah amongst Jewish sects in the latter period of Second Temple Judaism. Members of the community who followed the instruction of The Teacher of Righteous believed that they were keeping faithfully to The Way of the Lord.

A particularly important passage to note is the declaration that opens the second main section of the book of Isaiah—the section which scholars call Deutero-Isaiah. In the opening verses of chapter 40, the prophet addresses the Israelites, in exile in Babylon. Life in the exile was not a happy time for many of the people of Israel. (Psalm 137 is the classic expression of this; note especially the anger expressed in verses 8–9.) The prophet offers them words of comfort and hope.

The people of Israel yearned to return home (Jer 29:10–14; 30:1–31:26). They looked back on the past with longing eyes. They remembered their years in the land which God had given to them. Now, they were living among Babylonians—foreigners, conquerors. Soon, the prophet declares, they would leave behind these memories, and grasp hold of the future that God has for them. In a later statement, he declares that God would “send to Babylon and break down all the bars” (Isa 43:14). God, the prophet declares, is doing a new thing! (43:19).

So in the opening chapter of this section of the book, the return from exile to the land of Israel is announced with a declaration of comfort. “Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins” (Isa 40:1–2).

Immediately after this, the prophet declares, “A voice cries out: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’” (Isa 40:3). The way of the Lord, granted to the people who have been faithful throughout the decades in exile, is that they will return to their homeland. The Lord makes a way in the wilderness (43:19), just as in the past God had “dried up the sea, the waters of the great deep; who made the depths of the sea a way for the redeemed to cross over” (51:10)— and so, “the ransomed of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away” (51:11).

This is, indeed, a powerful promise declared by the prophet. The pathway of justice, the way of understanding (40:14) is not hidden (40:27); indeed, the one chosen to be the servant of the Lord will make known this way, by declaring justice, by persisting with his mission to declare this way, “until he has established justice in the earth” (42:1–4).

It is by speaking through this servant (48:15) that the Lord “teaches you for your own good … leads you in the way you should go” (48:17). The servant’s mission is “to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel”; as a result, God declares, “I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth” (49:6). This is the way of the Lord for those ancient Israelite people.

Indeed, through the person of the servant, all those who have “turned to [their] own way” will know that “the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all” (53:6); “the righteous one, my servant, shall make many righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities” (53:11).

This Way of the Lord, first declared in the late sixth century before the Common Era, is later proclaimed, in that same desert, by the wild desert prophet, John, as he invites people to “prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight” in anticipation of the imminent coming of the one chosen by God, Jesus of Nazareth (Mark 1:1–3; Matt 3:1–3; Luke 3:1–6). And the psalm we will hear this coming Sunday also offers a focus on this same Way: for God will teach “those who fear the Lord … the way that they should choose” (Ps 25:12).

The season of Lent 2024 (With Love to the World 17/6)

On Ash Wednesday each year, Christians around the world begin forty days (plus six Sundays) of the season of Lent. This is the focus for the first half of issue 17/6 of With Love to the World.

So often, when the season of Lent comes around each year, preachers inevitably start to talk about our “journey”, and seek to relate our “walk of faith” to the pathway that Jesus trod as he led his disciples, with firm and steadfast resolve, towards Jerusalem—the city where he knew what his fate would be.

Yet we are not tramping determinedly to our death at the end of Lent—at least, I hope we are not! And, in a sense, nor was Jesus. Yes, he would die in Jerusalem; he dies there because of the intersection of the plotting of Jewish leaders (always anxious about prophetic pretenders, as they probably saw him) and the co-operation of Roman authorities (always willing to act harshly to squash potential problems). But each Gospel attests, in its own way, to a life beyond the life that Jesus lived in Galilee and Judea.

Jesus has an ‘afterlife’ that leads him to appear to his followers, charge them with a global mission, and send the Spirit to renew and energise them in that mission. That’s how Matthew, Luke, and John portray what transpired around the time we mark as Easter—each in their own idiosyncratic way.

But this year (2024), we are following the story that the Gospel of Mark tells about Jesus; and we know that this account comes to an abrupt ending, right at the point where the news about Jesus, raised from the dead, is about to be broadcast (Mark 16:7–8). “They said nothing to nobody, for …” [my translation] is one way to render the awkward ending of this earliest Gospel. It is a peculiar way to end the story; many suggest that we may have lost Mark’s intended ending, as this sentence seems to trail off into nothing …

So here we face the question: how do we proclaim the good news that God raised Jesus from the dead, when our primary text (at least for this year) doesn’t report that? Yes, we can find hints in the words of Jesus (Mark 14:28) that are repeated by the young man in the empty tomb (Mark 16:7)—but the Gospel itself does not give us much more than this.

It is as if the author of this earliest written account of Jesus wants to hand the responsibility over to us—invite us to run with the story, to shape for ourselves the words and the actions which bear witness to the reality that Jesus has, indeed, “gone to Galilee”, and that we ourselves have seen him. What is the way that we, having traced the story of Jesus to this point, pick up the story and offer our own testimony to the living one who is in our midst?

In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus asks many questions; so do his followers, and his opponents. (I once counted them: this Gospel has 118 questions, in 668 verses!) I see the ending to Mark as another question—a big question, for us. He is not here. Jesus is risen. How do we proclaim that? How do we share this news? That is the big question addressed to us by this Gospel.

*****

During Lent, you are invited to join an online Bible Study sponsored by With Love to the World, each Thursday, at either 10:00am or 7:00pm.

Forty days, led by the Spirit: Jesus in the wilderness (Mark 1)

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

The witness of John (John 1; Advent 3B)

and

John (the baptizer) and Jesus (the anointed) in the book of signs (the Gospel of John; Epiphany 2A)

(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).

See my comments on the character of Mark 1 at

“Let’s get down to business”: beginning the story of Jesus (Mark 1; Epiphany 3B)

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.

For more on Jesus in the wilderness, see

Sacred place and sacred scripture: forty days in the wilderness (Luke 4; Lent 1C)

and

A Testing Time: forty days in the wilderness (Luke 4)

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.

Changed. Transformed. Transfigured. (Mark 9; Narrative Lectionary for Transfiguration, Epiphany 6)

The story that is told in the Gospel for this coming Sunday (included in the longer reading of Mark 8:27—9:8) is a story about being changed; about being transformed. It’s a story that shows that being transformed means you are able to stand and challenge others to be transformed.

It’s the story of when Jesus took his three closest friends to a mountain, and they had a shared experience of seeing Jesus standing between two of the greats of their people: Moses, to whom God had given the Law to govern the people of Israel, and Elijah, through whom God had established a long line of prophets in Israel (Mark 9:2–8). It’s a story that in Christian tradition is called The Transfiguration.

The word Transfiguration is a strange word. It is not often found in common English usage. It’s one of those peculiar church words, that seems to be used only in church circles. Like thee and thy, holy and righteous, sanctification and atonement … and trinity. These words don’t usually pop up in regular usage!

I looked for some helpful synonyms for the word transfiguration, and found these: change, alter, modify, vary, redo, reshape, remodel, transform, convert, renew … and transmogrify. I am not sure whether that last one gets us anywhere nearer to a better understanding, but some of the others are helpful. Transfiguration is about change, adaptation, and taking on a new shape or size or appearance.

One of the other words offered as a synonym was metamorphose; and that caught my eye, because that word comes directly from the Greek word, metamorphidzo, which is used by Mark in his Gospel, when he tells his account of this incident. “After six days, Jesus took Peter, James and John with him and led them up a high mountain, where they were all alone; and he was metamorphosed before them” (Mark 9:2). Mark then explains that this metamorphosis was evident in that “his clothes became dazzling white”.

The story of the Transfiguration tells of the moment that Peter, James, and John perceived Jesus in a new way. No longer did they see him as the man from Nazareth. In this moment, they see him as filled to overflowing with divine glory. He was not simply the son of Joseph; he was now the divinely-chosen, God-anointed, Beloved Son (9:7).

Jesus brings the heavenly realm right to the earthly disciples. It is what is known, in Celtic Christianity, as a “thin place”: the place where heaven breaks into earthly life.

The disciples had the possibility, in a moment of time, to feel intensely close to the heavenly realm, to stand in the presence of God. They symbolise the desire of human beings, to reach out into the beyond, to grasp hold of what is transcendent—to get to heaven, as that is where God is (see Gen 28:10-12 and Deut 30:12; Pss 11:4, 14:2, 33:13, 53:2, 80:14, 102:19; although compare the sense of God being everywhere in Ps 139:8-12).

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 and those with him 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 words of the unclean spirits in Galilee (3:11) and the man possessed by demons in the country of the Gerasenes (5:7). For, as Simon Peter declares in the pivotal scene at Caesarea Philippi that is also included in this Sunday’s reading, Jesus is “the Messiah” (8:29).

The voice, booming forth from the clouds, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” (9:7) seems, at first hearing, to be quoting Hebrew scripture: perhaps the second Psalm, which praises the King of ancient Israel as the one whom God has begotten; or perhaps the song in Isaiah 42, which extols the servant as the one whom God has chosen, or anointed; or perhaps even the oracle in Deuteronomy 18, which instructs the people to listen carefully to the words of the prophet.

Whatever scripture, or scriptures, are here spoken by the divine voice, making this bold declaration from the cloud, it is clear that God has a special task, a special role, and a special place for Jesus. The words of this heavenly voice link this story back to the opening scenes of the story of the adult period in the life of Jesus, and also to a moment towards the end of that adult life.

As this voice is heard, Jesus is on a mountain, with three of his closest followers—and also with two key figures from the past of Israel: Moses, who led the people out of slavery, who then was the instrument for delivering the Torah to Israel; and Elijah, who stood firm in the face of great opposition, whose deep faith bequeathed him the mantle of prophet, as he ascended into heaven.

Mark says that “there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus” (9:4). Matthew reverses the order, placing Moses before Elijah: “suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him” (Matt 17:3). Priority, in Matthew’s narrative, goes to Moses. Indeed, Matthew’s concern has been to make as many parallels as possible between the story of Jesus and the story of Moses. The regular reminder that “this took place to fulfil what the Lord has said through the prophets” (Matt 1:22; 2:4, 15, 17, 23) underlines this Mosaic typology.

The covenant given to Moses on Mount Sinai (Exod 19:1–6) is accompanied by the giving of the law (Exod 20:1–23:33), and is later sealed in a ceremony by “the blood of the covenant” (Exod 24:1–8). The scene on the mountaintop, with Jesus and his three disciples, evokes the mystery of the mountaintop scene in Exodus. This story is but one part of the story of Jesus which draws connections with the story of Moses.

*****

The Gospel writers say that Jesus was transformed at that moment. But in this story, also, there is the indication that the friends of Jesus were transformed. That moment on the mountain was a challenge to each of them; the response that Peter wanted to make was seen to be inadequate. Jesus challenged him to respond differently. It was another moment when metanoia, complete transformation, took place. And these disciples did change; yes, it took some time, but these friends of Jesus ultimately became leaders amongst the followers of Jesus, and spearheaded the movement that became the church.

The change, the metanoia, that occurred within Peter, James, and John, spread widely. They faced the challenge head on, and responses, in metanoia. That is mirrored, today, in changes that are taking place in society. Especially, that has been the experience of people over the last few years. We have met the challenge of a global viral pandemic; patterns of behaviour have been modified, as we prioritise safety and care for the vulnerable, and wear masks, sanitise, and socially distance. We have changed as a society.

In the church generally, through the pandemic that hit with such force in 2020, we have changed how we gather, how we worship, how we meet for Bible studies and fellowship groups, how we meet as councils and committees, how we attract people to our gatherings. Transformation has been widespread.

In my own church of these past few years, we worked hard to meet the challenge of reworking our understanding of mission; for across the church, we now see the importance of people from each Congregation engaging with the mission of God in their community as the priority in the life of the church. See

The church is alive and well in southern Canberra

So in each place where people gather as church, there is a pressing need to consider how we might grow fresh expressions of faith, nurture new communities of interest, foster faith amongst people “outside of the building” and outside the inner circle of committed people. It is an ongoing process.

Change is taking place. Change is all around us. Change is the one thing that is constant about life: we are always changing. Sometimes we think that the church doesn’t change, isn’t changing, even resists changing. But that is not the case. Our church is changing. Our society is changing. And the story of the Transfiguration of Jesus encourages us throughout this change.

With Love to the World for Lent and Easter 2024

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.

As always, as Editor, I have a number of complimentary copies to distribute to encourage new subscribers. Please send me a direct message if you (a) would like to sample With Love to the World for yourself, or (b) know of a friend or someone in your congregation who might be interested in sampling an issue. I can mail them direct to you or to the person you nominate. (Please include your mailing address in your message to me.)

In addition, you can take out an annual subscription to With Love to the World on your phone or iPad via an App, for just $28 per year. (That’s just 54 cents a week, or seven and a half cents a day!) Search for With Love to the World on the App Store, or UCA—With Love to the World on Google Play. For the hard copy resource, for just $28 for a year’s subscription, email Trevor at wlwuca@bigpond.com or phone +61 (2) 9747-1369.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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