We live in what seem to be uncertain times. The daily economic news is bleak. The continuing wars and the threat of more wars create a sense of fear. And the outbreak of disease causes us to worry and panic. Indeed, each day is filled with uncertainties, whether these are personal struggles or more widespread sufferings.
But is this not what life is and has been throughout history? For sure, there have been better economic times in the past, and one could make the argument that we have seen more peaceful times in our world. Moreover, our personal lives are mostly filled with days of joy and celebration. But by and large, life is always uncertain, and we can never really predict when things will go awry in our lives. And it is this uncertainty to our lives that is often most troubling for us.
I think that we Christians are more unwilling to admit that life is uncertain. As Christians, we are particularly guilty of assuming that all things should work out for us. We express this way of thinking when we respond to tough and heartbreaking times of life with pat answers such as, “God has everything under control”; “Everything will work out for the good”; and “God is teaching you something through this.”
While these answers, and the sentiments behind them, may seem reasonable to us, and we would like them to be true, the reality is that they are sometimes not true. God does not always have everything under control, for if God did, then we would not experience the pain and suffering that we go through as humans. Moreover, not everything does work out for the good. Evil does often win. And while we might learn something through our sufferings, it seems to me to be a very capricious God who would want to teach us through human suffering, especially suffering on a grand scale.
The reality, however, is that life is uncertain for all of us; Christian or non-Christian. Though our world is full of beauty and goodness, and humans are by and large loving and caring, life is uncertain. While God has created a world of beauty and goodness, chaos is part of that world, and chaos often invades our lives through our own choices, the choices of others, or simply because life is unpredictable.
Such an understanding of this view of the world, however, should raise questions for those of us who believe in a good and sovereign God. Simply stated, we should ask, “Where is God during times of struggle and suffering, whether they are personal or more widespread?” This is a serious question, but in my mind, this question should always be first on our minds when we experience or witness human suffering. It is a much deeper response to sufferings and uncertainties than the pat answers we Christians have learned to recite.
Indeed, there is clear evidence from both the Hebrew Bible and the Christian New Testament that reacting to suffering in this way is deeply faithful and is not a lapse in our faith. The Psalmist of Psalm 13 expresses the honest pain he feels as he questions the love and providence of God. “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” “How long will you hide your face from me?” He takes his anger to God in a bold and honest prayer of accusation, blaming God for forgetting him, for hiding from him, for not loving him.
Even Jesus, the divinely empowered Son, protested to his beloved Father, “My God, my God. Why have your forsaken me?” Jesus, like the Psalmist, felt abandoned by the one being he thought he could trust. His cry did not express a belief that God had everything under control, or that all things would work for the good, or that God was teaching Jesus through his suffering. No, Jesus’ cry out to God was a cry protesting that God was letting evil win.
Life will continue to be uncertain for all of us. Indeed, we will face times in which life will become almost unbearable. Some have sought simplistic answers to life’s struggles. Others have been so confounded by the problem of evil that they have abandoned a belief in God altogether. While I have not reached the point of losing my faith, I am very often confused by God’s justice and I can only cry out, “How long, O Lord?”
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Faith Overcomes the Power of Fear
In recent days I have heard far right commentators use the propaganda of fear to capture the imagination of their audiences and to fuel irrational political agendas. Whether they suggest that the ban on assault weapons will lead to taking away all guns, or that illegal immigrants are ruining our country, or that we are heading towards becoming a socialist nation, each of these lies, and the liars who tell them, only serve to create a false sense of fear.
Yet, as history has shown us, fear often leads to extremist reactions such as exclusion, isolationism, xenophobia and hate-filled violence. Moreover, fear suppresses our desire to live boldly as messengers of the gospel of peace.
One of the more interesting biblical stories detailing the contrast between faith and fear appears in Mark 4:35-41, where we find Jesus and his disciples crossing the Sea of Galilee in a boat. In the midst of their nautical journey, a raging storm quickly arises and threatens their lives. While the story shows Jesus as a miracle worker who has power over creation, the impact of the story on its readers speaks directly to the empowering strength of faith to overcome the crippling force of fear in the face of evil.
A deeper understanding of the force of the story rests on the ancient belief that the sea was the place of chaos that threatens God’s good creation. Simply put, people of the ancient world held the view that the sea was under the power of evil and the unpredictable storms on the sea were a challenge to the creation and a threat of the return of chaos.
In the context of the early Christian movement in the Roman Empire, the followers of the crucified Jesus may have identified this story as a narrative about their own persecutions at the hands of an oppressive regime. Feeling lost in a sea of violence and oppression, and longing for Christ’s victorious return, these early believers may have felt that God had left them, that Jesus was asleep.
The crux of the story hinges on the dialogue between two characters; Peter, who represents all the disciples in their fear, and Jesus, who calmly sleeps as the storm rages. In one character, we witness a dramatic picture of human fear in the face of evil’s most powerful force, death. From the other, we discover a peaceful composure and the assurance of God’s presence, even as evil seems to be winning.
This is brought out most clearly in the only two sentences spoken by these two characters. Faced with fear, Peter, seeing that Jesus is asleep, calls out, “Teacher, don’t you care that we are perishing?” Peter’s question exposes the volatile situation of the disciples, and the shock, even the distress they feel because Jesus is sleeping during the onslaught of evil’s power. They are overcome with the enormous propagation of fear; a fear that blinds them to the quiet presence of divine power that is with them in the midst of the storm.
In response to this fear, Jesus asks two extremely profound questions: "Why are you afraid?” and “Have you still no faith?" Through these questions, Jesus expresses disappointment and anger at the fear his disciples have, and he questions whether they have faith at all.
Yet, for Mark’s audience, Jesus’ query switches the natural human reaction to evil from fear to the divinely empowered response of faith. Jesus’ questions assume that his followers should have responded to the life-threatening storm with the faith that he himself had; a faith that gives abiding and confident assurance. But where does Jesus find such faith in the face of fear?
The answer can be found in another text from Mark. We are very familiar with the scene in the Garden of Gethsemane, where we see Jesus at one of his most human moments, a moment of vulnerability, despair, and fear. The intensity of the scene cannot be overlooked, as the hot breath of fear breathes down Jesus’ neck as he comes closer to facing evil’s worse action, death.
Yet, Jesus does not let the manipulative power of fear overtake him, and he turns to the God in whom he places his faith. This faith leads Jesus to reject the force of fear, to reject the violence that fear produces, and to embrace the calling of God to go to the cross. Jesus’ faith overcomes his fear.
Fear is a powerful force. But if allowed to have control, fear draws us from God and God’s call for us to live peacefully and courageously in the world. Fear will only lead us to irrational conclusions and intolerant, and even violent, responses. Faith, however, is the divinely given power that combats and defeats our fears. Indeed, faith gives us courage to reject fear and its reactions in order to live as Jesus lived.
Yet, as history has shown us, fear often leads to extremist reactions such as exclusion, isolationism, xenophobia and hate-filled violence. Moreover, fear suppresses our desire to live boldly as messengers of the gospel of peace.
One of the more interesting biblical stories detailing the contrast between faith and fear appears in Mark 4:35-41, where we find Jesus and his disciples crossing the Sea of Galilee in a boat. In the midst of their nautical journey, a raging storm quickly arises and threatens their lives. While the story shows Jesus as a miracle worker who has power over creation, the impact of the story on its readers speaks directly to the empowering strength of faith to overcome the crippling force of fear in the face of evil.
A deeper understanding of the force of the story rests on the ancient belief that the sea was the place of chaos that threatens God’s good creation. Simply put, people of the ancient world held the view that the sea was under the power of evil and the unpredictable storms on the sea were a challenge to the creation and a threat of the return of chaos.
In the context of the early Christian movement in the Roman Empire, the followers of the crucified Jesus may have identified this story as a narrative about their own persecutions at the hands of an oppressive regime. Feeling lost in a sea of violence and oppression, and longing for Christ’s victorious return, these early believers may have felt that God had left them, that Jesus was asleep.
The crux of the story hinges on the dialogue between two characters; Peter, who represents all the disciples in their fear, and Jesus, who calmly sleeps as the storm rages. In one character, we witness a dramatic picture of human fear in the face of evil’s most powerful force, death. From the other, we discover a peaceful composure and the assurance of God’s presence, even as evil seems to be winning.
This is brought out most clearly in the only two sentences spoken by these two characters. Faced with fear, Peter, seeing that Jesus is asleep, calls out, “Teacher, don’t you care that we are perishing?” Peter’s question exposes the volatile situation of the disciples, and the shock, even the distress they feel because Jesus is sleeping during the onslaught of evil’s power. They are overcome with the enormous propagation of fear; a fear that blinds them to the quiet presence of divine power that is with them in the midst of the storm.
In response to this fear, Jesus asks two extremely profound questions: "Why are you afraid?” and “Have you still no faith?" Through these questions, Jesus expresses disappointment and anger at the fear his disciples have, and he questions whether they have faith at all.
Yet, for Mark’s audience, Jesus’ query switches the natural human reaction to evil from fear to the divinely empowered response of faith. Jesus’ questions assume that his followers should have responded to the life-threatening storm with the faith that he himself had; a faith that gives abiding and confident assurance. But where does Jesus find such faith in the face of fear?
The answer can be found in another text from Mark. We are very familiar with the scene in the Garden of Gethsemane, where we see Jesus at one of his most human moments, a moment of vulnerability, despair, and fear. The intensity of the scene cannot be overlooked, as the hot breath of fear breathes down Jesus’ neck as he comes closer to facing evil’s worse action, death.
Yet, Jesus does not let the manipulative power of fear overtake him, and he turns to the God in whom he places his faith. This faith leads Jesus to reject the force of fear, to reject the violence that fear produces, and to embrace the calling of God to go to the cross. Jesus’ faith overcomes his fear.
Fear is a powerful force. But if allowed to have control, fear draws us from God and God’s call for us to live peacefully and courageously in the world. Fear will only lead us to irrational conclusions and intolerant, and even violent, responses. Faith, however, is the divinely given power that combats and defeats our fears. Indeed, faith gives us courage to reject fear and its reactions in order to live as Jesus lived.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Jesus’ Cry from the Cross Voices Both Protest and Hope
I write the words of this current reflection during Holy Week, the days that lead up to Easter. Holy Week ends on what has been traditionally called Good Friday, the day on which we reflect on Jesus’ crucifixion. While we refer to it as Good Friday with the intention of focusing on Jesus’ death as sacrificial for us, when we read the narratives of Jesus’ last hours, we can find nothing really that good about that Friday. In fact, it is a very dark story of Jesus at his most vulnerable period.
Portrayed on stage, in film, and in church dramas, the passion story of Christ is fraught with human agony and pain that is unequal to any story we read from the Scriptures. And yet, despite the grotesque nature of the story, it is the focus of the Gospels and indeed the entirety of the New Testament. But what are we to make of this story?
This is certainly a difficult question to answer for many reasons. For one thing, the narratives of the Gospels tell the story in such vivid detail that we would be hard pressed to sum up the story in a few simple words. For another, details differ from Gospel to Gospel even though they agree at many points and all four tell essentially the same narrative.
But one thing is certain about the story. The early Christians felt the need to tell this story, with all the details, no matter what it might have said about Jesus, their King and Messiah.
While we often look back on the crucifixion with a bit of sentimentality, probably because we are influenced by the introspective idea that “Jesus died for me”, the earliest Christians must have been out of their minds to portray their Messiah as a vulnerable human who hung on a vile Roman cross. Yet, this is exactly the story they told, without sanitizing it.
This straightforward telling of the story by these earliest Christians is epitomized very poignantly in Matthew and Mark through the only statement Jesus speaks from the cross in these two Gospels. It is a prayer of protest in which Jesus recites Psalm 22:1 and calls out in honest anger, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”
This is a cry of naked vulnerability through which the crucified one expresses a deep resentment at the one who once called him the Beloved Son and the one in which he had placed his complete faith. The intimacy that once characterized this relationship was replaced by estrangement and abandonment, and the vulnerability that Jesus experienced in his life was at its most extreme in his death.
We cannot deny the fact that on the cross Jesus felt abandoned by God. This was real human emotion responding not only to the pain of death, but more tragically to the feeling of abandonment by the one in whom Jesus had placed his full trust and obedience. Yet, Jesus’ cry is much more than a personal cry to God for his own feelings of desertion. It is a cry he voices for vulnerable humans who also feel abandoned by God.
We often wrongly assume that the Gospels were written primarily to record the history of Jesus, so that future generations would have a biography of sorts about this famous Jewish Rabbi. But a more important reason that these narratives about Jesus were written was so that Jesus’ story could become the story through which the vulnerable would find hope.
Thus, Jesus’ cry from the cross is the cry he expresses on behalf of those who suffer under the weight of a world system that produces injustice, oppression, and violence that marginalizes the most vulnerable. It is a cry for those who, like him, have been forsaken.
Yet, even as his cry expresses abandonment, it also holds forth continued hope. For one thing, Jesus continues to call out to God for he knows that it is only God who can help him.
Moreover, in quoting the first part of the Psalm, Jesus may also be using a rabbinical technique through which the one who quotes the beginning of the Psalm also invokes the entirety of the Psalm. Though Psalm 22 begins with a cry of abandonment, it ends in hope and victory.
But perhaps more important for our understanding of why the Gospel writers included this inauspicious statement voiced by the one who was crucified is the fact that they are telling a story that does not end at crucifixion. The Jesus on the cross, though experiencing vulnerability, death, and abandonment by God, will be raised by God. The narrative of death and despair will transform into a story of life and hope.
Portrayed on stage, in film, and in church dramas, the passion story of Christ is fraught with human agony and pain that is unequal to any story we read from the Scriptures. And yet, despite the grotesque nature of the story, it is the focus of the Gospels and indeed the entirety of the New Testament. But what are we to make of this story?
This is certainly a difficult question to answer for many reasons. For one thing, the narratives of the Gospels tell the story in such vivid detail that we would be hard pressed to sum up the story in a few simple words. For another, details differ from Gospel to Gospel even though they agree at many points and all four tell essentially the same narrative.
But one thing is certain about the story. The early Christians felt the need to tell this story, with all the details, no matter what it might have said about Jesus, their King and Messiah.
While we often look back on the crucifixion with a bit of sentimentality, probably because we are influenced by the introspective idea that “Jesus died for me”, the earliest Christians must have been out of their minds to portray their Messiah as a vulnerable human who hung on a vile Roman cross. Yet, this is exactly the story they told, without sanitizing it.
This straightforward telling of the story by these earliest Christians is epitomized very poignantly in Matthew and Mark through the only statement Jesus speaks from the cross in these two Gospels. It is a prayer of protest in which Jesus recites Psalm 22:1 and calls out in honest anger, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”
This is a cry of naked vulnerability through which the crucified one expresses a deep resentment at the one who once called him the Beloved Son and the one in which he had placed his complete faith. The intimacy that once characterized this relationship was replaced by estrangement and abandonment, and the vulnerability that Jesus experienced in his life was at its most extreme in his death.
We cannot deny the fact that on the cross Jesus felt abandoned by God. This was real human emotion responding not only to the pain of death, but more tragically to the feeling of abandonment by the one in whom Jesus had placed his full trust and obedience. Yet, Jesus’ cry is much more than a personal cry to God for his own feelings of desertion. It is a cry he voices for vulnerable humans who also feel abandoned by God.
We often wrongly assume that the Gospels were written primarily to record the history of Jesus, so that future generations would have a biography of sorts about this famous Jewish Rabbi. But a more important reason that these narratives about Jesus were written was so that Jesus’ story could become the story through which the vulnerable would find hope.
Thus, Jesus’ cry from the cross is the cry he expresses on behalf of those who suffer under the weight of a world system that produces injustice, oppression, and violence that marginalizes the most vulnerable. It is a cry for those who, like him, have been forsaken.
Yet, even as his cry expresses abandonment, it also holds forth continued hope. For one thing, Jesus continues to call out to God for he knows that it is only God who can help him.
Moreover, in quoting the first part of the Psalm, Jesus may also be using a rabbinical technique through which the one who quotes the beginning of the Psalm also invokes the entirety of the Psalm. Though Psalm 22 begins with a cry of abandonment, it ends in hope and victory.
But perhaps more important for our understanding of why the Gospel writers included this inauspicious statement voiced by the one who was crucified is the fact that they are telling a story that does not end at crucifixion. The Jesus on the cross, though experiencing vulnerability, death, and abandonment by God, will be raised by God. The narrative of death and despair will transform into a story of life and hope.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Lent Reflection: Embracing Vulnerability Leads Us to See the Authentic Jesus
The church has historically placed the disciples of Jesus in positions of honor, even referring to them as saints. Yet, when we read the Gospels, and particularly the Gospel of Mark, we find a somewhat different picture of them. This is not to say that the disciples should not be viewed as central figures in church history, for they were certainly the framers of the early Christian movement. But an honest reading of the Gospels shows us that they had real difficulty in understanding who Jesus was and what Jesus’ ministry was about.
Mark 8:22-10:52 is a theologically rich portion of Mark that has a few distinct characteristics. First, the passage is framed by two stories of Jesus healing blind men, a feature I will address shortly. Second, it is in this section where Jesus predicts his coming death three times with great detail. Third, in this subdivision of Mark, the disciples are more noticeably shown as misunderstanding Jesus and his mission, especially in light of his death predictions. All three of these characteristics from Mark 8:22-10:52 come together to say something about the necessity of embracing vulnerability to understand the authentic Jesus.
The two stories of healing two blind men that frame this section are interesting to say the least. The first one (Mark 8:22-26) is odd for it is a miracle that takes Jesus a couple of tries to perform. Though he touched the blind man in an attempt to heal him, the blind man cannot see clearly, and Jesus must touch him a second time. While we may recoil at the thought of Jesus having to retry to heal the man, as if somehow his power to heal the man the first time was short-circuited, the story functions as an important theological point and introduction to this major portion of Mark.
The touching of the man twice serves as an introduction to the theme of the essential blindness of the disciples to Jesus’ teachings about his death and about the meaning of discipleship. Each time he predicts his death, they do not understand him, and they even reject his words. Jesus must come back to them each time and teach them what it means to be a disciple.
Moreover, the disciples are so consumed with their own interests in their own spiritual superiority, pride, power, and exclusiveness that they not only fail to see clearly who Jesus is, they also fail to realize that understanding the mission and message of Jesus requires one to embrace vulnerability. Their failure to understand is seen even more plainly in the second story of Jesus healing a blind man.
Mark 10:32-52 begins with Jesus once again predicting his death. But in response to his words, James and John come to request something of Jesus. Instead of being shocked by Jesus’ words, they continue to misunderstand and to seek for their own. Jesus responds to them, “What do you want me to do for you?” They answer by asking for places of honor in the kingdom.
After explaining to them that he cannot grant their request, and after he once again makes clear that he will give his life as a servant, Jesus and the twelve encounter a blind man sitting on the side of the road. When Jesus calls the man to come to him, he poses the very same question to him as he did to James and John, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man simply replies, “I want to see again.” He does not seek glory or power, as did those closest to Jesus; he merely wants to see.
This story clearly shows that the disciples, who seem to be insiders who are present with Jesus at crucial moments, and who are privileged to hear the secret teachings of Jesus, are really outsiders, who constantly seek their own interests, their own comfort, and their own glory. They refuse the vulnerability to which Jesus calls them, and in doing so, they are blind to the authentic Jesus and to who they must be in response to Jesus.
In stark contrast to these intimates of Jesus, the minor characters in Mark’s story, like the blind man, are those vulnerable individuals on the fringes of that society who seem to understand the authentic Jesus. Though they appear to be outsiders, they are really insiders, who recognize Jesus and his mission.
To see the authentic Jesus we must embrace vulnerability that opens our eyes to the vulnerable Jesus. Embracing vulnerability, however, means we reject our self-interests, our need to lord over others, our propensity to use violence, and our intolerant and exclusive attitudes towards others. But we must also reject a Jesus we have crafted to fit our own prejudices and preconceptions. To know the authentic Jesus, the vulnerable Jesus, means we must also become vulnerable.
Mark 8:22-10:52 is a theologically rich portion of Mark that has a few distinct characteristics. First, the passage is framed by two stories of Jesus healing blind men, a feature I will address shortly. Second, it is in this section where Jesus predicts his coming death three times with great detail. Third, in this subdivision of Mark, the disciples are more noticeably shown as misunderstanding Jesus and his mission, especially in light of his death predictions. All three of these characteristics from Mark 8:22-10:52 come together to say something about the necessity of embracing vulnerability to understand the authentic Jesus.
The two stories of healing two blind men that frame this section are interesting to say the least. The first one (Mark 8:22-26) is odd for it is a miracle that takes Jesus a couple of tries to perform. Though he touched the blind man in an attempt to heal him, the blind man cannot see clearly, and Jesus must touch him a second time. While we may recoil at the thought of Jesus having to retry to heal the man, as if somehow his power to heal the man the first time was short-circuited, the story functions as an important theological point and introduction to this major portion of Mark.
The touching of the man twice serves as an introduction to the theme of the essential blindness of the disciples to Jesus’ teachings about his death and about the meaning of discipleship. Each time he predicts his death, they do not understand him, and they even reject his words. Jesus must come back to them each time and teach them what it means to be a disciple.
Moreover, the disciples are so consumed with their own interests in their own spiritual superiority, pride, power, and exclusiveness that they not only fail to see clearly who Jesus is, they also fail to realize that understanding the mission and message of Jesus requires one to embrace vulnerability. Their failure to understand is seen even more plainly in the second story of Jesus healing a blind man.
Mark 10:32-52 begins with Jesus once again predicting his death. But in response to his words, James and John come to request something of Jesus. Instead of being shocked by Jesus’ words, they continue to misunderstand and to seek for their own. Jesus responds to them, “What do you want me to do for you?” They answer by asking for places of honor in the kingdom.
After explaining to them that he cannot grant their request, and after he once again makes clear that he will give his life as a servant, Jesus and the twelve encounter a blind man sitting on the side of the road. When Jesus calls the man to come to him, he poses the very same question to him as he did to James and John, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man simply replies, “I want to see again.” He does not seek glory or power, as did those closest to Jesus; he merely wants to see.
This story clearly shows that the disciples, who seem to be insiders who are present with Jesus at crucial moments, and who are privileged to hear the secret teachings of Jesus, are really outsiders, who constantly seek their own interests, their own comfort, and their own glory. They refuse the vulnerability to which Jesus calls them, and in doing so, they are blind to the authentic Jesus and to who they must be in response to Jesus.
In stark contrast to these intimates of Jesus, the minor characters in Mark’s story, like the blind man, are those vulnerable individuals on the fringes of that society who seem to understand the authentic Jesus. Though they appear to be outsiders, they are really insiders, who recognize Jesus and his mission.
To see the authentic Jesus we must embrace vulnerability that opens our eyes to the vulnerable Jesus. Embracing vulnerability, however, means we reject our self-interests, our need to lord over others, our propensity to use violence, and our intolerant and exclusive attitudes towards others. But we must also reject a Jesus we have crafted to fit our own prejudices and preconceptions. To know the authentic Jesus, the vulnerable Jesus, means we must also become vulnerable.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Lent Reflection: Prophets of God’s Justice Are Vulnerable to the Powers of Injustice
The story of John the Baptist is a familiar narrative to most Christians. We imagine John as a wild man preaching in the desert about repentance and calling people to be baptized. We also visualize John baptizing Jesus, a significant starting point to Jesus’ ministry. But when we think of John, we probably most often recall his death at the hands of King Herod. While all the Synoptic Gospels tell us about John’s death, Mark narrates John’s arrest and death in a quite interesting way that implies something deeply theological about the vulnerability of those who would dare to be prophets of God.
Readers of the Second Gospel are told very early in the narrative that John was arrested. Yet, what seems odd is that this is all the information we are given about the Baptizer’s fate at this point in Mark’s story. In fact, we may just skip by Mark’s comment about John’s arrest in chapter one and treat it as an incidental remark written as a segue into focusing on Jesus.
While the comment might simply be a transition into telling about Jesus, it is written for a very specific reason. The telling of John’s arrest immediately before the narration of Jesus going out and proclaiming that the kingdom of God is near is for the purpose of linking the arrest of John with the preaching of Jesus. By connecting the two stories at this point, Mark foreshadows that the fate of Jesus will be like that of John. And the preaching of justice will be the cause of that fate.
A similar link is made between John’s death and the sending out of the 12 disciples in Mark 6. In reading chapter 6 one would have to admit that the structure is a bit strange. First, Jesus speaks about the dishonor he is given in his home region, and then he sends out the 12 disciples on mission. After we are told that the disciples are sent out, then we are told, in a complete narrative, the details of John’s death. But what is interesting is that just after narrating John’s execution, Mark then tells us that the disciples returned to Jesus to report on their mission.
The structure of intertwining the sending out the disciples and then their return with the narration of John’s death sandwiched in between is a technique used by the author to tie the fate of the disciples with that of John. From a literary perspective, Mark is saying that their going out to proclaim the gospel is a risky endeavor that makes them vulnerable to the powers who seek to silence God’s message of justice.
There are other passages in Mark that suggest what I am stating here, but these are enough to raise a pertinent question. How does proclaiming the gospel make us vulnerable to the powers of injustice?
To get at the answer to this question, we need to refute some common misconceptions about preaching the gospel. Many think it is simply evangelism, where the goal is to convert everyone in the world to Christianity by trying to persuade them that they “need Jesus.” This seems to me to be a very limited understanding of Jesus’ practice of preaching. For one reason, it is mainly, and wrongly I might add, intent on getting people to heaven. For another, it is very individualistic and focused mostly on the spiritual needs of people.
While addressing the spiritual needs of people has some legitimacy, proclaiming the gospel is not simply evangelism. Proclaiming the gospel is speaking the truth about what God desires for humanity- justice in all its forms. While proclaiming the gospel is a call to repent from sin, it is more than anything a call to repent from humanity’s greatest sin, injustice and oppression, whether directly or indirectly, towards those most vulnerable.
The reason that prophets of God’s justice like John, Jesus, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King Jr., just to name a few, face persecution, is that they are willing to speak truth to power, even the religious power that often sanctions the continuing oppression of the most vulnerable. In doing so, these prophets not only side with the struggles of the marginalized as a form of resisting the status quo of injustice, they also boldly proclaim that God sides with the vulnerable and against the powers that rule.
While we must identify with the vulnerable of our world through our close association with them and service to them, we must also be prophets of truth that call to repentance the powers of society that set up structures of violence and injustice that entrap the vulnerable. But becoming those prophets will set us on a collision course that makes us vulnerable to retribution from those powers.
Readers of the Second Gospel are told very early in the narrative that John was arrested. Yet, what seems odd is that this is all the information we are given about the Baptizer’s fate at this point in Mark’s story. In fact, we may just skip by Mark’s comment about John’s arrest in chapter one and treat it as an incidental remark written as a segue into focusing on Jesus.
While the comment might simply be a transition into telling about Jesus, it is written for a very specific reason. The telling of John’s arrest immediately before the narration of Jesus going out and proclaiming that the kingdom of God is near is for the purpose of linking the arrest of John with the preaching of Jesus. By connecting the two stories at this point, Mark foreshadows that the fate of Jesus will be like that of John. And the preaching of justice will be the cause of that fate.
A similar link is made between John’s death and the sending out of the 12 disciples in Mark 6. In reading chapter 6 one would have to admit that the structure is a bit strange. First, Jesus speaks about the dishonor he is given in his home region, and then he sends out the 12 disciples on mission. After we are told that the disciples are sent out, then we are told, in a complete narrative, the details of John’s death. But what is interesting is that just after narrating John’s execution, Mark then tells us that the disciples returned to Jesus to report on their mission.
The structure of intertwining the sending out the disciples and then their return with the narration of John’s death sandwiched in between is a technique used by the author to tie the fate of the disciples with that of John. From a literary perspective, Mark is saying that their going out to proclaim the gospel is a risky endeavor that makes them vulnerable to the powers who seek to silence God’s message of justice.
There are other passages in Mark that suggest what I am stating here, but these are enough to raise a pertinent question. How does proclaiming the gospel make us vulnerable to the powers of injustice?
To get at the answer to this question, we need to refute some common misconceptions about preaching the gospel. Many think it is simply evangelism, where the goal is to convert everyone in the world to Christianity by trying to persuade them that they “need Jesus.” This seems to me to be a very limited understanding of Jesus’ practice of preaching. For one reason, it is mainly, and wrongly I might add, intent on getting people to heaven. For another, it is very individualistic and focused mostly on the spiritual needs of people.
While addressing the spiritual needs of people has some legitimacy, proclaiming the gospel is not simply evangelism. Proclaiming the gospel is speaking the truth about what God desires for humanity- justice in all its forms. While proclaiming the gospel is a call to repent from sin, it is more than anything a call to repent from humanity’s greatest sin, injustice and oppression, whether directly or indirectly, towards those most vulnerable.
The reason that prophets of God’s justice like John, Jesus, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King Jr., just to name a few, face persecution, is that they are willing to speak truth to power, even the religious power that often sanctions the continuing oppression of the most vulnerable. In doing so, these prophets not only side with the struggles of the marginalized as a form of resisting the status quo of injustice, they also boldly proclaim that God sides with the vulnerable and against the powers that rule.
While we must identify with the vulnerable of our world through our close association with them and service to them, we must also be prophets of truth that call to repentance the powers of society that set up structures of violence and injustice that entrap the vulnerable. But becoming those prophets will set us on a collision course that makes us vulnerable to retribution from those powers.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Lent Reflection: Jesus Embraced Human Vulnerability in order to Unite with Vulnerable Humans
As I wrote in my last column, Jesus lived a very vulnerable life and was not immune to or protected from the challenges that the people of his time confronted every day, especially those persons at the bottom of the embedded social and religious structures of Palestine. First century Palestine was a volatile place within the Roman Empire, and those on the fringes of that society who were oppressed by injustice and violence were the most vulnerable to the pains and struggles of life.
But the idea that Jesus embraced human vulnerability raises a crucial theological question. For what reason did Jesus live as a human susceptible to the struggles of life? Did he become incarnate and face human vulnerability just so he could be a sacrifice for our sin? While many Christians answer this question with a resounding yes, it seems to me that there must be more to Jesus being human than just God’s plan for him to become a sacrifice.
When I read the Gospel narratives, I come away with the impression that although Jesus may at times imply that his death will be sacrificial, being a sacrifice for human sin seems not to be at the forefront of Jesus’ mind until that event arrives. Even when he predicts his death to his disciples, he only speaks a small number of times about his crucifixion being a sacrifice for human sin.
I am not saying that this traditional interpretation is not found in the Gospels, or on the lips of Jesus. What I am suggesting is that we need to take a careful look at what may be the utmost reason for why Jesus faced human vulnerability. Jesus did not simply put on the skin of human existence and wear that skin until his crucifixion, after which he was resurrected, making everything okay. Jesus’ choice to take on human vulnerability was based on something more concrete that had a more intimate effect on those vulnerable persons around him.
His free choice to be vulnerable to everyday existence was not for the sole reason of being some sort of worthy sacrifice. His choice to take on human existence was a choice to unite with the most vulnerable of society.
To get at what I am suggesting, let’s consider one of the stories of Jesus’ encounter with one of those persons forgotten by society. For me, one of the most powerful stories that relates to the question of why Jesus chose human vulnerability is the story of the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years. Mark tells this story in such a way as to picture Jesus not only as a powerful healer, but also as a person who was tuned into the needs of those vulnerable people around him.
There are a number of details that help us hear the story as a story of human vulnerability. First, the character is a woman, and being a Jewish woman of the first century, she was not worthy to be in the presence of a male, much less approach that male.
Second, the woman is not named. Mark could have easily given her a name, but he leaves her unnamed to demonstrate her existence as an insignificant person to those around her.
Third, this woman has been bleeding for twelve years, which makes her ritually unclean according to the cultic code of Judaism. She is an unnamed, impure woman, who is marginalized from her community.
But perhaps most important for the point I am seeking to make about Jesus is that though the crowds press in upon him, Jesus feels this woman touch his cloak. Even his disciples, who were close to him in the crowd, were unaware of the woman’s presence, much less her touching Jesus. But Jesus feels her touch.
An easy explanation to Jesus’ sensitivity would be to say that because he was God in human form, he would have felt this woman touch him, for he had divine senses. But it seems to me that Mark’s theology leans more toward portraying Jesus as the human who is keenly aware of the vulnerability of human existence, mainly because he has experienced that human vulnerability himself. He is sensitive to the needs of those on the very bottom of the social and religious rung of first century Palestine, not because he is divine, but because he has embraced human vulnerability for the purpose of associating with those most vulnerable in his world.
This understanding of Jesus’ mission as the Human One must have a life-altering impact on our living as humans. If Jesus embraced human vulnerability for the purpose of associating with those who were exposed to the pains of life, how much more are we called to sacrificial living that causes us to renounce our comfort and to identify with the most vulnerable of our world.
But the idea that Jesus embraced human vulnerability raises a crucial theological question. For what reason did Jesus live as a human susceptible to the struggles of life? Did he become incarnate and face human vulnerability just so he could be a sacrifice for our sin? While many Christians answer this question with a resounding yes, it seems to me that there must be more to Jesus being human than just God’s plan for him to become a sacrifice.
When I read the Gospel narratives, I come away with the impression that although Jesus may at times imply that his death will be sacrificial, being a sacrifice for human sin seems not to be at the forefront of Jesus’ mind until that event arrives. Even when he predicts his death to his disciples, he only speaks a small number of times about his crucifixion being a sacrifice for human sin.
I am not saying that this traditional interpretation is not found in the Gospels, or on the lips of Jesus. What I am suggesting is that we need to take a careful look at what may be the utmost reason for why Jesus faced human vulnerability. Jesus did not simply put on the skin of human existence and wear that skin until his crucifixion, after which he was resurrected, making everything okay. Jesus’ choice to take on human vulnerability was based on something more concrete that had a more intimate effect on those vulnerable persons around him.
His free choice to be vulnerable to everyday existence was not for the sole reason of being some sort of worthy sacrifice. His choice to take on human existence was a choice to unite with the most vulnerable of society.
To get at what I am suggesting, let’s consider one of the stories of Jesus’ encounter with one of those persons forgotten by society. For me, one of the most powerful stories that relates to the question of why Jesus chose human vulnerability is the story of the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years. Mark tells this story in such a way as to picture Jesus not only as a powerful healer, but also as a person who was tuned into the needs of those vulnerable people around him.
There are a number of details that help us hear the story as a story of human vulnerability. First, the character is a woman, and being a Jewish woman of the first century, she was not worthy to be in the presence of a male, much less approach that male.
Second, the woman is not named. Mark could have easily given her a name, but he leaves her unnamed to demonstrate her existence as an insignificant person to those around her.
Third, this woman has been bleeding for twelve years, which makes her ritually unclean according to the cultic code of Judaism. She is an unnamed, impure woman, who is marginalized from her community.
But perhaps most important for the point I am seeking to make about Jesus is that though the crowds press in upon him, Jesus feels this woman touch his cloak. Even his disciples, who were close to him in the crowd, were unaware of the woman’s presence, much less her touching Jesus. But Jesus feels her touch.
An easy explanation to Jesus’ sensitivity would be to say that because he was God in human form, he would have felt this woman touch him, for he had divine senses. But it seems to me that Mark’s theology leans more toward portraying Jesus as the human who is keenly aware of the vulnerability of human existence, mainly because he has experienced that human vulnerability himself. He is sensitive to the needs of those on the very bottom of the social and religious rung of first century Palestine, not because he is divine, but because he has embraced human vulnerability for the purpose of associating with those most vulnerable in his world.
This understanding of Jesus’ mission as the Human One must have a life-altering impact on our living as humans. If Jesus embraced human vulnerability for the purpose of associating with those who were exposed to the pains of life, how much more are we called to sacrificial living that causes us to renounce our comfort and to identify with the most vulnerable of our world.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Lent Reflection: God Didn't Protect Jesus from Human Vulnerability
I find it fascinating the way in which the Gospel of Mark tells about the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness. In only two verses, Mark raises challenging theological questions by what he does say as well as through what he does not say about Jesus’ temptation.
One interesting feature is that Mark’s account is much shorter than either Matthew’s or Luke’s, both of whom include details that are absent from Mark. I don’t have the space to rehearse all the explanations scholars propose as to why details are missing from Mark, but I can offer my own interpretation that gets at the heart of Mark’s theology.
In my view, the reason Mark’s temptation story is shorter than Matthew’s or Luke’s is not because Mark was less concerned for details. The purpose is to imply to the hearers of his story that Jesus faced temptations and trials throughout his life, and not just in a one-time encounter with Satan in the wilderness. Moreover, the shortness of Mark’s account of Jesus’ temptation also indicates to the readers that Satan was not the primary tempter of Jesus.
The temptation of Jesus in the wilderness was not a single event which he overcame and that was it. No, Mark shows us through the remainder of his narrative that Jesus faced trials and temptations throughout his life, and most of these did not come from Satan, but from Jesus’ closest followers, and even Jesus’ own inner struggle.
Another interesting, but I think more theologically awkward trait peculiar to Mark’s story of Jesus’ temptation is the way Jesus is placed in the wilderness. The opening chapter of Mark reaches a crescendo at the baptism of Jesus, when we hear the voice from heaven express God’s pleasure with Jesus, calling him the Beloved Son, and when the Spirit of God comes upon Jesus. Yet, immediately, to use one of Mark’s favorite words, the same Spirit that came lovingly onto the Beloved Son, casts Jesus into the wilderness to be tempted.
While both Matthew and Luke soften Mark’s rawness by saying that the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness, Mark is clear to say that the Spirit of God threw Jesus into the wilderness for the explicit purpose of facing temptation. In other words, though he is proclaimed by God to be the Beloved Son, Jesus would not be protected from the vulnerability of being human, and God plays a direct role in Jesus’ experience of human vulnerability.
Whilst the traditional interpretation that Jesus had to face temptation to be the pure sacrifice for human sin might have some truth to it, and thus God allowed him to be tempted, I think the more theologically rich interpretation is that God was intentionally putting God’s future purpose at risk.
By deliberately casting Jesus into the wilderness to be tempted, God was placing God’s purposes in the hands of the human Jesus, taking the risky chance that Jesus might fail. And yes, it was entirely possible that Jesus could have failed, and we must admit that there is a measure of scandal to God’s providence in relation to the life of Jesus.
Yet, there is one other important piece of theology I have learned from the years I have spent with Mark. While the Gospel was written to tell the story of Jesus, it was not written to tell this story primarily for historical reasons. Mark’s story is not primarily a historical writing; it is firstly a theological narrative that was written to tell the story of Jesus as a paradigm for what it means to be a disciple. It is not a story distant from its audience. It is a narrative that forces its reader to be involved.
If we pay close attention to the plot of the narrative, we find that Jesus begins his life, if you will, at the point of baptism. From that point he travels the treacherous road of human existence, facing trials and temptations all along the way, until finally he meets a tragic end at his death on the cross. Mark’s story line functions as a guidebook for discipleship, and Jesus’ story of vulnerability is also our story of vulnerability.
Jesus’ temptations and trials, and the struggles he faced all along the journey, all serve to remind us that our lives are indeed uncertain and vulnerable. If Jesus’ story is our story, then following him means that we choose to walk the treacherous road of life, facing the struggles and the trials and temptations that are a part of human existence. Whereas we can see the future hope of resurrection, as Jesus did, this does not ease the struggles and sufferings we face on the road that always leads to Jerusalem, the place of suffering and death.
One interesting feature is that Mark’s account is much shorter than either Matthew’s or Luke’s, both of whom include details that are absent from Mark. I don’t have the space to rehearse all the explanations scholars propose as to why details are missing from Mark, but I can offer my own interpretation that gets at the heart of Mark’s theology.
In my view, the reason Mark’s temptation story is shorter than Matthew’s or Luke’s is not because Mark was less concerned for details. The purpose is to imply to the hearers of his story that Jesus faced temptations and trials throughout his life, and not just in a one-time encounter with Satan in the wilderness. Moreover, the shortness of Mark’s account of Jesus’ temptation also indicates to the readers that Satan was not the primary tempter of Jesus.
The temptation of Jesus in the wilderness was not a single event which he overcame and that was it. No, Mark shows us through the remainder of his narrative that Jesus faced trials and temptations throughout his life, and most of these did not come from Satan, but from Jesus’ closest followers, and even Jesus’ own inner struggle.
Another interesting, but I think more theologically awkward trait peculiar to Mark’s story of Jesus’ temptation is the way Jesus is placed in the wilderness. The opening chapter of Mark reaches a crescendo at the baptism of Jesus, when we hear the voice from heaven express God’s pleasure with Jesus, calling him the Beloved Son, and when the Spirit of God comes upon Jesus. Yet, immediately, to use one of Mark’s favorite words, the same Spirit that came lovingly onto the Beloved Son, casts Jesus into the wilderness to be tempted.
While both Matthew and Luke soften Mark’s rawness by saying that the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness, Mark is clear to say that the Spirit of God threw Jesus into the wilderness for the explicit purpose of facing temptation. In other words, though he is proclaimed by God to be the Beloved Son, Jesus would not be protected from the vulnerability of being human, and God plays a direct role in Jesus’ experience of human vulnerability.
Whilst the traditional interpretation that Jesus had to face temptation to be the pure sacrifice for human sin might have some truth to it, and thus God allowed him to be tempted, I think the more theologically rich interpretation is that God was intentionally putting God’s future purpose at risk.
By deliberately casting Jesus into the wilderness to be tempted, God was placing God’s purposes in the hands of the human Jesus, taking the risky chance that Jesus might fail. And yes, it was entirely possible that Jesus could have failed, and we must admit that there is a measure of scandal to God’s providence in relation to the life of Jesus.
Yet, there is one other important piece of theology I have learned from the years I have spent with Mark. While the Gospel was written to tell the story of Jesus, it was not written to tell this story primarily for historical reasons. Mark’s story is not primarily a historical writing; it is firstly a theological narrative that was written to tell the story of Jesus as a paradigm for what it means to be a disciple. It is not a story distant from its audience. It is a narrative that forces its reader to be involved.
If we pay close attention to the plot of the narrative, we find that Jesus begins his life, if you will, at the point of baptism. From that point he travels the treacherous road of human existence, facing trials and temptations all along the way, until finally he meets a tragic end at his death on the cross. Mark’s story line functions as a guidebook for discipleship, and Jesus’ story of vulnerability is also our story of vulnerability.
Jesus’ temptations and trials, and the struggles he faced all along the journey, all serve to remind us that our lives are indeed uncertain and vulnerable. If Jesus’ story is our story, then following him means that we choose to walk the treacherous road of life, facing the struggles and the trials and temptations that are a part of human existence. Whereas we can see the future hope of resurrection, as Jesus did, this does not ease the struggles and sufferings we face on the road that always leads to Jerusalem, the place of suffering and death.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)