Sermons
Two Healings
“Two Healings”
Text: Mark 7: 24-37 Esv
24 And from there he arose and went away to the region of Tyre and Sidon. And he entered a house and did not want anyone to know, yet he could not be hidden. 25 But immediately a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit heard of him and came and fell down at his feet. 26 Now the woman was a Gentile, a Syrophoenician by birth. And she begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. 27 And he said to her, "Let the children be fed first, for it is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs." 28 But she answered him, "Yes, Lord; yet even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs." 29 And he said to her, "For this statement you may go your way; the demon has left your daughter." 30 And she went home and found the child lying in bed and the demon gone.
31 Then he returned from the region of Tyre and went through Sidon to the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis. 32 And they brought to him a man who was deaf and had a speech impediment, and they begged him to lay his hand on him. 33 And taking him aside from the crowd privately, he put his fingers into his ears, and after spitting touched his tongue. 34 And looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, theyEphphatha," that is, "Be opened." 35 And his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly.
36 And Jesus charged them to tell no one. But the more he charged them, the more zealously they proclaimed it. 37 And they were astonished beyond measure, saying, "He has done all things well. He even makes the deaf hear and the mute speak."†
Feeding Dogs Beneath The Table: Who can resist?
As a young boy, I found out the hard way that dogs will not eat broccoli, asparagus, or spinach. When these despicable green things showed up on my plate, I was glad to have a dog—a basset hound that would eat almost anything.
“No, Noel—you can’t be excused until you eat your zucchini.” Good dog! “Come on, Noel—lots of people like liver and onions—you should try it. At least have a few bites.” Yes, what a good boy you are, Beauregard!
Who can deny a face like this?
What, have you no heart?
There are certain scientists who’d say that dogs have simply evolved what we call “cuteness” as a mechanism to make us share food with them. What an unsatisfying explanation!
The first of our two healings concerns little dogs. The second is about King Midas. Both accounts proclaim that Jesus is our healer, our power—Almighty God in the flesh.
Little, Worthless Mutts
As you’ll remember, Jesus and the Disciples have been unable to escape the crowds. Wherever they go, the crowds appear. Where could they go? Gentile territory, perhaps. Our first healing has Jesus in the region of Tyre and Sidon, north of Israel. You’ll remember as well the stormy relationship between Israel and various kings and princes of Tyre. This was enemy territory for devout Jews. It is most likely the Rabbi Jesus and his disciples are there to catch a break from the 80-hour work-weeks they’ve been doing. The text says he was trying to stay incognito, but no luck: in comes a Greek woman of Syrophoenician heritage, begging Jesus to do an exorcism on her little daughter.
Jesus’ response is quite troublesome on first hearing. He says:
Let the children [Israel] be fed first, for it is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs."
The Greek word used here, kunariois, means “little dogs” or “worthless” dogs.
Ancient Jews did not like dogs. They were considered unclean, un-kosher, and since they were scavengers, their association with corpses made them undesirable. Even so, larger dogs were valued as watch dogs. But this word, kunariois, suggests little dogs that were not really good for anything—mutts. In short, Jesus calls this woman a mutt: she is a Gentile of mixed heritage.
This is troublesome because it doesn’t sound like the Jesus we know—the one who loves and values all people equally and infinitely. The Jews are first? Does that mean superior?
Most Jews of Jesus’ day considered Gentiles dogs, even as they did the Samaritans, their racial cousins. This wasn’t born of simple prejudice, but rather out of Israel’s own struggle for identity. The Chosen People were not chosen out of divine racial preference, but rather so that God could be glorified through their weakness. They were chosen as nobodies. Their relationship with God was never automatic, but covenantal—God’s favor and support depended upon their faithfulness to his covenants. The greatest threat to their faithfulness appeared via foreign peoples and their idols. Staying apart, distinct and separate was always hard work and they usually failed.
The common, Jewish disregard for non-Jews came from the constant threat that they might compromise their integrity again. It is just so much easier to call those who do not live under the same covenant “dogs” so that there will be no risk of too much intermixing and therefore reduced risk of compromising faith.
Since we already know how the story turns out, I think we can say confidently that Jesus is speaking to her through the mask of 1st-century Judaism. Jesus is playing along to make a point for his disciples.
Note as well that we have been here before. When Jesus passed through Samaria, the woman asked him, “How do you, a Jew, ask me, a Samaritan, for a drink of water?” Jesus’ question is almost the same type. It could be worded: “How do you, a Syrophoenician Greek, ask me, a Jewish Rabbi, for a special favor?”
So Jesus reminds the woman that most Jews think Greeks are dogs, and challenges her with the implicit question, “Why should I bother?”
The woman could have left it at this. She could have wept, or shrugged her shoulders, turned and trudged away. She could have gotten angry and shouted: “You Jews are all a bunch of racists!” But she doesn’t. What she does instead is far more excellent: she plays along with his insult only to persist in her request:
Yes, but even the useless little mutts eat the crumbs from the children’s table!
At that moment, I think we would have seen a change in Jesus’ face. From the guarded, tongue-in-cheek , superior Jewish face into—what?—a warm, joyous and very impressed face. The face of love and acceptance. The Loving Lord eager to lift up and build up that which the world puts down. He blesses her. He says:
For that, go—your girl is healed.
Jesus knew her heart and suspected she might stand up for herself. We have to see him as delighted that she followed through.
Jesus knows us as well. There are times we are down, hurting, feeling spiritually poor if not literally poor, but needing something from the Lord very badly. We can take home from this text that Jesus wants us to persist in prayer—to keep asking when we have good reason to quit. There is only one kind of failure in the.life of faith—only one—and that is give up, to quit. Giving up—finally, for good—may be the most common form of sinning against the Holy Spirit. No matter what life gives us, we are to persist unreasonably in prayer. God will surely meet us there.
Notice as well that Jesus performs the most extraordinary exorcism in all scripture, right here—not only is he at a distance, but he hasn’t even seen the girl. What is more, he doesn’t so much as speak a word! No calling out the demon, no great demonstration of his authority; he just casts it out—like that—without so much as a word.
This final detail brings us into extreme contrast with our second healing story.
Midas in the Decapolis
Jesus and the Disciples leave Tyre and Sidon and go to the area of the Decapolis—the ten Roman cities mostly east of the Jordan river—where no decent Jews would ever set foot.
Remember the first time Jesus and the Disciples tried to escape the crowds? They got in a boat and sailed across the Galilee Lake. A storm came up and blew them over to that horrible place with all the pigs and the demoniac—remember Legion? Well, they’re back and perhaps still looking for a quiet place to retreat. It’s sad that they have to go so far as these Roman, Gentile towns for a little sabbatical, but even here they won’t get much rest.
They really shouldn’t have been bothered, as Jewish news may not have easily spread to these outlying, ten cities. How did they know about Jesus? Remember who the first evangelist is? The Legion guy, now healed—remember, Jesus sent him to the Decapolis to tell all that Jesus had done for him? So he did his job well, and as soon as Jesus enters the Gentile cities, the crowds come a-runnin’. They come—a group of men bring their friend who is deaf and unable to speak. They beg Jesus to heal him.
Mark means for us to remember Capernaum and the paralytic, whose friends bring him to Jesus and lower him through the roof to be healed. Now this city of the Decapolis—solidly in Gentile territory—resembles Capernaum, Jesus’ headquarters.
What Jesus does is very odd. He takes the deaf man into private (presumably with a few disciples). There in private, he puts his fingers in the man’s ears, spits and touches his tongue—this was the standard, well-known rigamarole of ancient healers—run of the mill, professional mumbo jumbo. So here’s the question: We’ve just seen that Jesus can cast out a demon at a distance without so much as a word—so why now this ancient healer routine? Why the mask?
Yes, Jesus heals the man completely, but then immediately commands everyone not to tell! Jesus wants to keep the lid on but it is exploding beyond control.
The desire to conceal—to veil God’s true identity—runs throughout Mark’s gospel. It is the major theme: Jesus is the self-revelation of God, who seeks to remain veiled in the flesh.
Like that great, old, Wesleyan Christmas carol says:
Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see!
Hail the Incarnate Deity!
Jesus is not reluctant to heal, but reluctant to be found out. No matter where he goes or how he tries to hide it, the God—THE LORD—that is in Jesus keeps bursting out, shining forth, and seems to be impossible to contain!
Jesus is God—so much so God—that his deity slips out, seeps out, shines out behind every mask and through every veil.
Like King Midas, everything Jesus touches turns to gold—leaves the traces and aroma of Heaven on everything and everyone.
The human being Jesus wants to remain veiled, masked, incognito, but the people—even Gentiles, even Syrophoenician Greeks—see it. The king walks among his people disguised as a pauper, but the golden touch keeps giving him away.
It’s like someone with a marvelous secret that keeps slipping out though they try their best to contain it; like a lottery winner who has won a hundred million but goes back to work at the sawmill and wants to live an ordinary life (except that he’s now driving a Ferrari to the mill)—something keeps getting out!
This is Jesus. This is the good news of the gospel, the light that can’t be put under a bushel basket, Mark shows us Jesus who is self-revealing and humble at the same time. Mark shows us Jesus like King Midas beneath a beggar’s robe, and the story is that all the masks and disguises fail! This is the message of the Holy Spirit: Aha! You can’t fool us—we see who you are! You’re not just some ordinary, Jewish Rabbi—you are THE LORD! You are GOD! You are so much GOD that even the greatest veils won’t hide you, the thickest masks won’t contain your light, and the disguises are all betrayed by your love, your power and your goodness.
Veiled in flesh? Yes, but just barely.
The irrepressible light of God Almighty blasts forth from him and him alone. His name is Jesus. He was born in a peasant stall, but he was a king. A Midas king whose mere touch transforms all.
Midas Christianity
This should be our witness as well. We point to Christ as the source of all light, but that light should shine in us as well, reflected as it is from his own heart through ours. This is our witness, that the goodness of God would be bursting out of us as well. We too wield the Midas touch. We can be Midas Christians, instruments of Peace, channels of God’s love, vehicles of God’s power and grace. We are his Church; he means for us to live this way.
From the little mutts beneath the table to the most outsider of outsiders, we today carry God’s touch within us for the world. Let’s agree to make some good happen. Let’s represent our Lord and king, whose Midas touch has brought gold to our lives, turned our hearts to gold, and may we share the touch today, this week and to end of our lives. †
Traditional Thanks
“Traditional Thanks”
Dad’s Thanksgiving Prayer
An amazing Thanksgiving Day prayer—one that my Father prayed, replete with Thees, Thys and Thous in about 1977—will forever remain etched upon my mind for one, simple reason: he broke with tradition. When it comes to table grace, which my family always prayed, my family totally wimped out. I Jesu nam, talbuts ve go; Val sing a Gut del mat ve fol; So fol ve mat; I Jesu nam, Amen. It’s Swedish, it’s traditional, it’s a ritual in our family. We prayed it at dinner, at lunch, and we even prayed it together at breakfast over our Sugar Puffs. When we were out in public at a restaurant, we’d pray sheepishly and quietly like secretive Puritans hiding out from angry Papists. [Whisper]: I Jesu nam, talbuts ve go….
So when we sat down to Thanksgiving dinner in ’77 or so, eager as we were to dive into the feast, we had every reason to expect that we’d pray our “Jesu Nams,” but no, Dad ran an option play—quarterback sneak—and when he finished his unique and self-composed Thanksgiving prayer, he must have looked up to see his beloveds in a state of shock. It was a jaw-dropper, for sure, and for a minute or so we all felt embarrassed, or shy, or otherwise tenderized. It’s not that the prayer was bad or inappropriate—quite the contrary—but still, we all hung in that following silence like a bunch of witless turkeys. Dad broke the code, changed the game, and violated the ritual.
The only thing as bad was the next year when we sat down at Thanksgiving. We didn’t say anything, but I know we were all thinking it: Is Dad going to go off-script again? As we bowed our heads, we heard that sweet sound of my father beginning the old prayer: “Iiiii-Jesu nam…” and all was right with the world once again.
Such is the effect of ritual upon our lives. We come to expect something because it has been part of our happy pattern. We enjoy the sameness and resent its violation.
Today’s text from Mark offers us the account of how Jesus violated the popular and cherished Jewish rituals of his day. Yes, he upset people, but he also led them to something far better than their beloved traditions. As we approach Thanksgiving and the Christmas season, let’s tune our ears to what Jesus may be saying to us about some of our traditions. When we know the difference real tradition and traditionalism, we’ll have confidence with need changes as well as deeper enjoyment of the ones we know and love.
Text: Mark 7: 1-13 Esv
1 Now when the Pharisees gathered to him, with some of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem, 2 they saw that some of his disciples ate with hands that were defiled, that is, unwashed. 3 (For the Pharisees and all the Jews do not eat unless they wash their hands, holding to the tradition of the elders, 4 and when they come from the marketplace, they do not eat unless they wash. And there are many other traditions that they observe, such as the washing of cups and pots and copper vessels and dining couches.) 5 And the Pharisees and the scribes asked him, "Why do your disciples not walk according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?" 6 And he said to them, "Well did Isaiah prophesy of you hypocrites, as it is written, "'This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me; 7 in vain do they worship me, teaching as doctrines the commandments of men.' 8 You leave the commandment of God and hold to the tradition of men." 9 And he said to them, "You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God in order to establish your tradition! 10 For Moses said, 'Honor your father and your mother'; and, 'Whoever reviles father or mother must surely die.' 11 But you say, 'If a man tells his father or his mother, "Whatever you would have gained from me is Corban"' (that is, given to God)-- 12 then you no longer permit him to do anything for his father or mother, 13 thus making void the word of God by your tradition that you have handed down. And many such things you do."†
Rituals Elaborated
Two lines from Franz Kafka say it well:
Leopards break into the temple. They knock over all the statues and drink the ceremonial wine. This happens again and again until it becomes part of the ceremony.
What we have here are examples of human tradition—elaborations on the law of Moses—that have swallowed up the original intent of the law.
The Pharisees’ hand-washing ritual was part and parcel of their self-understanding. Keep in mind, this wasn’t hygenic washing—any ancient with dirty hands would want to eat with clean hands—this was the specifically ritualize washing that took place in addition to (or even in place of) hygene. They washed “to the fist” which means either that they washed their hands by making a fist or they washed from the elbow to the knuckles, which is what the word for fist (pygmie, in Greek, just like the small race of people) means. Many surgeons have personal hand-washing rituals. They may have begun just as thoughtful ways to efficiently sterilize themselves, but before long it becomes a tradition—a well-rehearsed little dance—for which they take personal pride. And not just the Pharisees, but “all Jews” practiced the ritual washing this way, which means Sadducees, Essenes, and every common Jew, in Jesus’ time, washed “to the fist.”
They ask why those who follow Jesus ignore the ritual. Granted, the Pharisees were just trying to be good Jews and obey the cleanliness codes of Leviticus, but what they were doing now was not the same as the original command. It was the centuries of commentaries that turned the law into highly-elaborated practices, which, for the Jews of the day, was their familiar ritual, their cherished tradition.
It is the elaboration that becomes the problem. Traditions can gather barnacles as they move through history. In time, barnacles grow on other barnacles and eventually take over the hull until it becomes impossible to tell where the barnacles end and the boat begins. Traditions work that way. Our traditions can acquire little elaborations along the way until the elaborations themselves are indistinguishable from the original intention.
For example, consider the communion cup of The Lord’s Supper. Originally, like the Disciples, the Christians just passed around the cup and everyone drank from it, just as Jesus told them to do. Over time, we decided that wine was too valuable and dangerous, so only the priests drank from the cup. Protestants reintroduced the cup, but in time people worried about germs and alcohol, so Welch’s replaced the wine and the single, unified cup got separated into hundreds of little, plastic, shot glasses. Today, some people feel very strongly about those separate little cups because, well, it’s what they’ve always known and always done. The hard thing to see is that dividing the cup undermines the core of the command! Jesus wanted us sharing a cup—one cup—to symbolize our oneness in him and his covenant. Our human elaborations on the sacrament become become our traditions.
We must always look critically at our own elaborations, our own traditions, and beware of how the core message, core practice, and the Word of God can be shuffled aside. We don’t want to veer from God’s Word in our attempts to do what suits us.
Rituals Contested
People don’t like their rituals contested. Jesus tells the Pharisees that their own, manmade traditions have taken over the substance of their faith.
9 And he said to them, "You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God in order to establish your tradition!
Jesus, in allowing his Disciples to eat without the ritual washing proclaims the tradition irrelevant. He calls their attention to their preoccupation with their traditions by citing another example: Corban. In the ancient world, before Social Security and Medicaid, your wealth was your children, who cared for you in your old age. This is the true intent of the commandment to “Honor your father and mother.” We like to teach children this commandment so that they will obey us, but its real target is grown ups who have a moral obligation to care for their aging parents.
This corban rule was a loophole. It allowed a son, perhaps wealthy, perhaps angry at his parents over something, to give the money that would have gone to his parents’ care to the Temple instead. Such a one could say, “I’m so sorry, Mother and Father, but I’ve donated all your care to The Lord.” The parents would be up the creek without a paddle, and the Pharisees would honor it as a generous and godly gift.
This is kind of like a wealthy widow leaving her large inheritance to a televangelist or—preferably—her cats.
Jesus points out the loophole which subverts God’s will, and it was something accepted as tradition. We’ve always done it that way.
The point here is that Jesus sees and calls their attention to the fact that the traditions are not really about the interests of God at all; they are self-serving. The Jewish elders created a tradition that was less interested in pleasing God and more interested in preserving themselves and their own interests.
Church Barnacles
Historically, the Church has gathered its barnacles as well. Look at our central practices—the two sacraments of The Lord’s Supper and Baptism—and it is easy to see barnacles galore.
The Lord’s Supper was a celebration at a common table—a table exactly like you’d find in a common, ancient home. It was a table where people gathered and ate their meals, period. Move that table through history and see what happens. Elaborations on elaborations—the table gets turned into an Old Testament altar, which is the place where animal sacrifices were made. Animals were killed and split in halves and the Spirit of God was understood to pass between the pieces. The bread, which stands for the body of Christ, became the literal, physical body before it was broken at the “altar,” and thereby became a re-sacrificing of Christ week to week at Catholic mass. These traditions became the practice to the point that much of the original intent was lost. Protestants, in attempting to clear off the barnacle, returned the table to the floor as a table, and ensured that the bread was bread, and so on (though we’re still working on the wine part).
In our own practice, have you noticed that we say, “The body of Christ, given for you”? We don’t say “broken for you” because that does not appear once—ever—in scripture. It is a human tradition that just seems to nicely balance with “blood of Christ, shed for you,” and has become part of the ceremony.
With Baptism, it is the Protestants, not the Catholics, who have elaborated. Until the Reformation, there was a general unanimity regarding baptism. With the Reformation came new arguments and elaborations over when to baptize and why. Some refused to baptize babies, and others came to feel that it didn’t count unless you were really dunked under the water. In time, we developed dunkers, sprinklers, pourers, and more. Churches build tubs, pools and fonts in persnickety detail, or else they locate near the river or ocean. Again, all the barnacles can remove us from the core meaning: that all who are baptized are one in Christ!
And there is so much more! There seems to be a different denomination for every imaginable personal tradition. Protestantism has given us a endlessly fragmenting Church, each organized according to their own traditions or lack thereof. The end result is shameful: divided churches and a divided witness to Christ—something Jesus himself never wanted. His prayer in John 17 is that his Church may be one. What divides us is not so much essential tenets as it is our traditions.
Again, we should stay critical of them.
Tradition vs. Traditionalism
Jaroslav Pelikan has a great quote about the difference between tradition and traditionalism:
“Tradition is the living faith of the dead, traditionalism is the dead faith of the living. And, I suppose I should add, it is traditionalism that gives tradition such a bad name.”
Our task seems to be doing what we can to preserve the tradition—the living faith of the timeless Church—while scraping off the barnacles of traditionalism.
You’ll remember that the motto of the Reformed tradition, of which all Presbyterians are part, is:
Ecclesia Reformata, Semper Reformanda
The Church Reformed, Always Reforming
Although some have taken this motto as a justification to make whatever progressive changes they wanted to make, this is not what it means. We are indeed always reforming, but that reform is necessarily one of reforming to God’s Word and will. To be Reformed means is is one of our core values to be self-critical about our traditionalisms. We are committed to regular, ongoing barnacle removal—painful though it may be—in order that our life and witness remain well-aligned with God’s intentions for us and the world.
We consider our traditionalisms expendable and the substance of our core tradition—the gospel—as fixed and unalterable. Even so, that doesn’t make the work of separating the two easy. Many people have veered all the way out of Christianity in preference of the barnacles to the actual boat. We know what happens to such boats!
family traditions & thanks
I loved my father, but I think he missed an opportunity that Thanksgiving-after when he returned to our Swedish prayer. He had written a beautiful, personal prayer the year before. While we all felt relief at the return of tradition, I can’t help but think we missed out on something better.
As you plan your Thanksgiving, take the bigger risk: pray for real, from the heart, and dare to embarrass your loved ones with a gift of genuine thanks to The Lord for all we have and are. That is the tradition proper, and completely in order with or without the turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie and football games. May God bless you and yours this Thanksgiving, in Jesus’ name! Amen. †
Sheep-feeding
Before reading the text, I want to alert you to something that connects us with Veterans’ Day in the text. I bring it up now because I make nothing of it in the sermon, but it is a worthwhile note to the text.
In this, the feeding of the five-thousand, Jesus commands the people to gather in groups. The word for “command” is a Roman military term, as are the words for their groupings. “Group by group” the Disciples are told to put the. The old King James’ Version called these “companies,” as in armies. The actual word is “symposia” which meant “drinking party.” They are put into groups, rank-and-file as it were, and at the end they counted five-thousand men. Not people, or even men in the mankind-inclusive sense, but men, males.
Certainly this does not mean that women and children were not there, but rather Mark is giving us his poetry. Remember: the “crowds” are to be thought of as a character in Mark’s narrative—the crowds do this or that—and here something wondrous happens: the crowd—that chaotic swarm of humanity—is put into order, organized.
The image is reminiscent of the armies of Israel assembled prior to entering the promised land. Is this Mark’s picture of a Messianic Army getting ready to leave the wilderness and issue in the Messianic Age? The historical answer is clearly no, but Mark’s picture is very careful in presenting us these military details. Mark does nothing by chance; for him, words matter.
Text: Mark 6: 30-44 Esv
30 The apostles returned to Jesus and told him all that they had done and taught. 31 And he said to them, "Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while." For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. 32 And they went away in the boat to a desolate place by themselves. 33 Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they ran there on foot from all the towns and got there ahead of them. 34 When he went ashore he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. And he began to teach them many things. 35 And when it grew late, his disciples came to him and said, "This is a desolate place, and the hour is now late. 36 Send them away to go into the surrounding countryside and villages and buy themselves something to eat." 37 But he answered them, "You give them something to eat." And they said to him, "Shall we go and buy two hundred denarii worth of bread and give it to them to eat?" 38 And he said to them, "How many loaves do you have? Go and see." And when they had found out, they said, "Five, and two fish." 39 Then he commanded them all to sit down in groups on the green grass. 40 So they sat down in groups, by hundreds and by fifties. 41 And taking the five loaves and the two fish he looked up to heaven and said a blessing and broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples to set before the people. And he divided the two fish among them all. 42 And they all ate and were satisfied. 43 And they took up twelve baskets full of broken pieces and of the fish. 44 And those who ate the loaves were five thousand men.†
Walk-Through the Text
We’re going to see something of our own story reflected in the text. Mark has a wonderful revelation for us which I’ll point out later.
1. getting away from it all
After evangelizing, the Disciples had regathered to decompress, but the crowds gave them no rest. Jesus, knowing what’s best for them all, declares a holiday—a retreat—a chance to get away from it all and refresh.
2. Crowd in hot pursuit
Somehow, someone caught wind of where they were heading. Like mad paparazzi, they spread the word and soon the crowds are hoofing it around the lake toward Jesus’ intended destination. When the boat docks, the crowd is there waiting for them.
3. wilderness by the water
The word for “desolate place” is used three times in this text. It is the same word as “wilderness”—as in the place where John the Baptist lived, or where Jesus was driven to be tempted. This place is not down south by Jericho, but on the lake of Galilee, but it is decidedly rural, remote—a noplace where Jesus and his disciples fled to escape the crowds. No such luck.
4. compassion = teaching
I imagine the Disciples seeing the crowd and their hearts sinking: “Oh no! What the heck? Not again! Are we ever gonna get a break!?” Jesus, on the other hand, sees sheep in need of a shepherd, and begins teaching. Notice the change here? The crowd is no longer pressing in for healings and/or exorcisms! They want to be with Jesus. Perhaps many of these were people who had been healed and just wanted to follow him. Either way, Jesus’ chief activity with them is now teaching. And he teaches until sunset, when the Disciples have had enough.
5. disciples irritable Part 1
They go to him and say, in effect, “It’s late and we are nowhere near a town—you’re gonna wanna send everyone away so they can see to their dinners.” Do the Disciples really care about the multitude’s needs? I kinda doubt it. They were bushed, beat and probably pretty hungry themselves by now. They were looking forward to their retreat—to being away from the crowds and in situ on retreat with Jesus.
6. “you feed them”
Jesus response is disturbing. “YOU take care of them—give them all something to eat.” Jesus asks them something that is literally impossible for them. Atop their fatigue, this command made them irritable to the point of snarkiness, as their response makes clear.
7. disciples irritable part 2 T
There is no denying the sarcasm in their response. They say, in effect, “Oh yeah, sure—we’ll just take about $50,000.00 and go to that bread factory out here in the middle of nowhere and feed everybody, no problem.” They had neither money nor food nor places to buy food in the wilderness. What Jesus commands of them is patently impossible. They are at the end of their resources, but Jesus keeps believing:
“What do you have?”
[Awkward silence from the Disciples]
“Go find out?’
WHOSE RESPONSIBILITY?
Question: Why was it the Disciples’ responsibility to feed the crowds?
Answer: Because Jesus made it theirs.
Jesus may command the impossible, but it’s only because he is up to something wonderful.
The Disciples return after rummaging through all their backpacks in the boat. Their haul is nothing less than embarrassing:
Five loaves and two fish.
The fish were likely the popular garnish fish produced in Magdala. They were small, dried fish—two wouldn’t cover half a biscuit.
They may have had a “told you so” look on their faces, or perhaps a sheepish “sorry we can’t do better” faces; either way, the impossibility of their task only becomes crystal clear.
When challenged by the Lord, we too are likely to feel that we are under-resourced, or that the task is utterly impossible. Granted, God is only likely to ask us to do things that are God-sized, meaning if we can do something in our own strength, then what room are we leaving for God to work?
Too often, this is how churches work. We think about what we’d like to do and make happen, and then we run a campaign to raise enough money to make it happen. If we don’t raise the money, we’re unlikely to move forward. We are no different than the Disciples.
Jesus’ word to the Disciples is his word to us:
Don’t tell me what you don’t have,
but bring me what you do have.
Participating in the Glory
Reminder: Jesus didn’t need the Disciples to feed the people. He didn’t need their measly 5 and 2 to work with. Similarly, God doesn’t need us to accomplish his mission in his world. The amazing and wondrous thing is that he chooses to use us, useless though we may be! He could have rained manna from the sky, turned the blades of grass into stalks of celery, or caused an army of fish to wiggle out of the lake onto the people’s plates, but instead, he chooses to work with us and to use whatever it is that we do bring forward in order to reveal his power and glory among us.
We hear this very intention expressed to Martha when Jesus is about to do the impossible and raise Lazarus from the dead in John 11:
Jesus said to her, "Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?" [John 11:40]
Again, if God calls us to do something that is beyond our ability or resourcing, it only means that he is planning on filling the gap himself. When we plan based upon what we already know we can do, we are being less than faithful; we are simply being reasonable, walking by sight and not by faith.
Believe, Trust and Obey
Did the Disciples believe that Jesus was going to feed an army of five-thousand with their little lunchbox? We don’t know. What we do know is Jesus made a way to reveal his glory in an unforeseen and unexpected way.
We should live, act and give with the same expectation; namely, that when we are moving in alignment with we know God is calling us to do and be, that God will reveal himself and his glory in our midst. If we trust, God will act. If we believe, God will empower us. If we obey his calling, we will succeed.
the Shepherd Revealed
In today’s text, Mark is at his most poetic. Aside from the military imagery, something wonderful is revealed that I’m excited to share.
When I was an undergrad, before I had any thoughts of seminary, I was reading Mark, this very passage, as a typical student of poetry and English Lit major would. I came to a disturbing line: He made them sit on the green grass. What struck me was the word green. Mark doesn’t describe most things—people, buildings, towns and villages—but he goes to the trouble to tell us that the grass is green. Really? We needed that detail? Something is going on. It was then I was able to see the poetry—the multidimensional picture that Mark painted.
By pulling various words and phrases out of the text, we see a striking correlation with a song all Jews (and Christians) cherish:
In feeding the five-thousand, not only is Jesus a Moses-like leader in the wilderness providing bread for his people; not only is he a Joshua (the same name Jesus) readying his people to enter the promised land; not only is he the one from Genesis 1whose word brings order out of chaos; but he is The Lord who is our shepherd.
His ultimate role: to restore our souls.
His glory is revealed in our weakness,
our emptiness,
our failed resources,
our wearied lack of patience,
our tired snarkiness and sarcasm,
our unneeded hands and useless gifts—
all of our wandering, our chasing him round the lake, our wanting to be with him—all are taken up by him in his grace, transformed and returned to us infused and charged with wildly amplified goodness.
When we trust in him, his power and presence glow from us.
When we step forward in faith, he is there to reveal his power.
When we bring what we have—not our little gifts out of our surplus—but all we have, all we are, and all we expect for the future, then we give rightly.
I can think of nothing better and more exciting than a life fully devoted and given to Christ, for it is the totally-committed heart that stands close to the heart of God.
And it’s easy. Don’t worry and don’t make excuses. Don’t feel unworthy. Just bring what you do have and watch for the miracle to happen. The hungry lambs shall be fed, the poor in spirit encouraged, the Church amazed, and every soul restored.
†
Salome
“SALOME”
Text: Mark 6: 14-29 Esv
14 King Herod heard of it, for Jesus' name had become known. Some said, "John the Baptist has been raised from the dead. That is why these miraculous powers are at work in him." 15 But others said, "He is Elijah." And others said, "He is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old." 16 But when Herod heard of it, he said, "John, whom I beheaded, has been raised." 17 For it was Herod who had sent and seized John and bound him in prison for the sake of Herodias, his brother Philip's wife, because he had married her. 18 For John had been saying to Herod, "It is not lawful for you to have your brother's wife." 19 And Herodias had a grudge against him and wanted to put him to death. But she could not, 20 for Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he kept him safe. When he heard him, he was greatly perplexed, and yet he heard him gladly. 21 But an opportunity came when Herod on his birthday gave a banquet for his nobles and military commanders and the leading men of Galilee. 22 For when Herodias's daughter came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his guests. And the king said to the girl, "Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it to you." 23 And he vowed to her, "Whatever you ask me, I will give you, up to half of my kingdom." 24 And she went out and said to her mother, "For what should I ask?" And she said, "The head of John the Baptist." 25 And she came in immediately with haste to the king and asked, saying, "I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter." 26 And the king was exceedingly sorry, but because of his oaths and his guests he did not want to break his word to her. 27 And immediately the king sent an executioner with orders to bring John's head. He went and beheaded him in the prison 28 and brought his head on a platter and gave it to the girl, and the girl gave it to her mother. 29 When his disciples heard of it, they came and took his body and laid it in a tomb.†
interpreting jesus
The question has not been asked, but Herod and his court are answering the question that Jesus later asks his disciples; namely: Who do people say that I am?
Our first three verses are Herod’s attempt to interpret Jesus—to say who he is and what he means to Israel. Some say Elijah, some say one of the prophets like the prophets of old. These were the highest possibilities for Jews, and it’s remarkable to note that they were thinking this about Jesus already. Elijah was the greatest prophet, and you’ll remember that he didn’t die, but ascended to Heaven in a flaming chariot, so there is a chance that he has come back and the people are calling him Jesus.
Second to that, they wonder whether Jesus might be one of the “prophets of old,” by which they mean one like Isaiah, Jeremiah, or even Moses. Following these guesses, Herod lays the matter to rest, stating that this Jesus is clearly John the Baptist returned from the dead, perhaps to reek vengeance upon Herod himself for having decapitated him.
The rest of the text is backstory. In it we hear about the complex relationship between Herod, his wife Herodias, her daughter Salome, and John. We hear a story of moral succession from John—the greatest of the prophets—down to Salome, a feckless girl with neither will nor moral compass. Their story has something to say to us today. Our role will be to determine which part we shall play today
herod’s canary
John is clearly strong-willed, but his strong will is God’s strong will, which John rightly represents. He is strongly moral; again, with Gods’ strength and God’s law. John spoke the truth to people in power. That truth was neither personal opinion nor individual preference; it was God’s Word to Israel and humanity.
John told Herod and Herodias that their marriage was unlawful according to Leviticus 18:16 and 20:21. God’s Word made it clear that Herod should not be married to his brother’s wife as long as his brother was alive. The resulting marriage was considered a form of incest—abominable and ungodly. John simply called it as it was, and in doing so evoked the wrath of Herodias.
Herodias, wife of Herod, was incensed by John’s accusations and wanted him dead. I’m sure she wanted to be seen not only as royal but as virtuous—a good, Jewish woman—but John’s preaching made her feel like a woman of ill repute. She wanted to use her queenly power to kill John, but Herod protected him.
We could say that John was Herod’s canary—there was something about John that intrigued and impressed Herod. Herod liked John, despite the fact that he kept him in prison. The text implies that Herod had conversations with John and was intrigued by him. Herod protected John from his wife Herodias, which had to be an issue in their relationship.
Herod the weak
Like Ahab before him, Herod was weak willed with a weak moral compass. He throws the ancient equivalent of a White House banquet and invites all the elites—nobles, military chiefs, and the richest Galilean families—to demonstrate what a great guy and big shot he was. No doubt the wine flowed freely and the mood was festive. When entertainment time came around, Salome—Herodias’ daughter and Herod’s step-daughter—performs a dance. So charming is the girl that Herod tries to impress the crowd by making a grandiose gesture of generosity.
"Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it to you."
We can almost see him, reclined against a bunch of pillows with a big wine goblet in his hand. As if his gesture is not impressive enough, he raises the stakes: “Whatever you want—ask and I’ll give it to you—up to half my kingdom.”
This was really foolish. First, the kingdom of Israel wasn’t his to give. Israel was under Roman occupation. Second, I think even then the guests would have seen that this was a bit too much: too showy, too gushy—an embarrassment they probably attributed to the wine. But Herod is determined to prove himself a big shot—a generous, likable big shot.
wishless, feckless salome
Salome is the lever Herodias employa to weasel control out of her weak-willed husband Herod. Salome is a youngish girl—and clearly one with neither strong will nor strong morals. She complete her dance and her step-father (oh they lengths some will go to to win their step-children’s affection!) offers her a gigantic wish. Herod presents himself to her almost as a kind of great genie, a wish-granter with tremendous power and generosity.
We know Salome is weak-willed because she can’t even think of anything to ask for! Try that today—you’d have a list of cars and computers named before you could say “enough!” But Salome wants to ask her mother Herodias for what she should wish for! When she does, Herodias is ready; she usurps her daughter’s wish for herself and takes what she wants: revenge on John the Baptist. So she asks for his head. Salome immediately goes back into the party and tells her step-father that she wants John’s head on a plate. This proves her lack of a moral compass. Now don’t rush to her defense on the grounds that she’s so young, for she certainly could have said no to killing a man just as easily as she could have made her own wish.
In his sad moment of self-realization, Herod must have seen what a fool he had been. Herodias would get her way, and with all the beautiful people watching him, he had little choice but to follow through on his stupid promise. Again, his will was so weak and his moral compass so askew that he would rather send a good man—even a holy man—to his grave rather than change the game. I’m sure it ruined his evening, but likely made him (behind his back) the laughing stock of the elites.
killing conscience
Question: What is the chief work of the weak-willed and the immoral?
Answer: Killing conscience.
We see this clearly in Herodias, who, like Jezebel before her, was a self-seeking, scheming, evil woman. She would rather slay the greatest prophet rather than admit that she was wrong. John represented the righteousness of God, and she had to be told by this lowlife, desert-dwelling, locust-eating oddball that she didn’t measure up? How dare he? Howww daaaaaare he!
Deep down, she certainly knew that what she was doing was wrong before God. That’s why she was so annoyed with God’s representative. She was in an illicit marriage, but she didn’t want to be reminded of it. She thought that because she was rich, beautiful, and royal that she didn’t play by the same rules. She was above the law—even God’s law.
Furthermore, she—and her husband Herod (if he’d ever get his act together)—had the power to suppress John. They could afford to silence conscience. They had the power to make all dissenting voices quietly go away. As for the louder voices of conscience, like John, drastic measures were called for.
All of this trouble because one man, one prophet, chose to represent God’s Word and spoke the truth to those in power.
the ongoing drama
Who are the players today?
Who are the weak-willed and immoral, like Herod and Salome?
Who are the scheming and self-seeking, like Herodias?
Who are the voices of conscience, advocates for God, like John the Baptist?
Throughout history there have been men and women of faith who were strong-willed with strong moral compasses who were not hesitant to represent the Word of God to the elites of this world. These have always been the people who personally inspired me the most.
Martin Luther, standing on God’s Word, refused to compromise conscience for the sake of the Roman Catholic institution. As a result, the Pope wanted Luther tried for heresy and run of the mill Catholics wanted him dead. Martin Luther was a kind of John the Baptist.
History is replete with examples of Godly men and women who were willing to say the emperor has no clothes, and most of them suffered for it. This may be why most people do not want to be prophets!
There are others, eager to don themselves with the prophetic mantle. They are quick to christen themselves “prophetic” for whatever popular cause they champion. In my understanding of scripture and history, it doesn’t happen that way. Usually the call comes to the unwilling and the less-than-eager. Most prophets defy the call before following God’s will.
One of the chief indictments against the modern church is its reluctance to be strong-willed and representative of God’s Word. Outsider see many Christians as compromisers. Like Salome, simply going along with the dictates of the cultural elites—the modern versions of Herodias—self-seeking, scheming, evil.
Christians to the polls
America votes in its new president this week. Most people I know—in both parties—will be holding their noses as they vote. But vote we must. Just as it is every citizen’s right and responsibility to vote, it is every Christian’s responsibility to participate as we can in the governmental processes of our host culture. We need to vote as an exercise of backbone and moral compassing. America needs Christians at the polls, even if many Americans doubt our wisdom. This isn’t about self-empowerment, nor is it about “Church power,” but rather it is part and parcel of our witness—our exercise of embodying the will and Word of God in the American system.
While I think it highly inappropriate for preachers of any stripe to suggest for whom Christians in general ought to cast their votes, I stand with them that encourage voting per se, and I’ll add one thing. Among all the reasons you vote—whether it be for a candidate who represents the kind of America you want to live in, or whose economic program you support, or whose long-term legacy best benefits America—don’t forget the bigger question: Who will be best for Christianity? Who will best serve the advancement of the gospel of Jesus Christ in America and throughout the world? I kindly recommend that this question move to the top of your list before Tuesday, for it is our chief concern. Economy, program-planning, health and welfare—these are important, but not as important as the central mission of our lives.
In the voting booths, may we, the people of First Presbyterian Church of Upland, rightly represent God’s will and Word, both with strong will and a God-focused moral compass. And as we come to the table, let us be extra mindful of our brother and sister Christians around the world who have no say in their governments, no say in their courts, and who hope and pray that American Christians can help make a difference. †