1. Mark 10.1-16
These words of Jesus shocked the first disciples. And perhaps that is the first thing we must allow them to do to us – just shock us.
Invited to join a debate about divorce, Jesus completely ignores the long-running rabbinic discussions about ‘strict’ or ‘liberal’ approaches that we now know to be the hidden background to this discussion. He insists on returning to God’s first intention, recentring the debate around the original gift and vocation to marriage in creation. But it is still hard to hear.
And isn’t the gospel about God’s mercy upon humanity in its brokenness and failures? But it may be that the debate had become so absorbed with defining the provisions for what is broken that it had lost touch with the original gift and call – and therefore with God’s judgement or mercy upon our frailty within it. There is no other starting place. Our hope is found here.
For wherever we, in the rawness of our broken dreams, failed intentions or wilful misdoings, come to Jesus for his mercy, we are not turned away against some pitiless measure of religious perfection. There is another shock in store here. He welcomes us – takes us up in his arms and blesses us into the hope of healing and new beginnings.
2. Mark 10.17-31
He comes running and publicly kneels before Jesus. This is a man of considerable status in his own world. He is surely serious. Something draws him strongly. And Jesus, we read, ‘loved him’. This is important. Even the hardest words of Jesus flow from his love.
Having shocked and grieved that would-be follower, Jesus then astonishes his disciples by lamenting what a handicap wealth is for those who seek God’s kingdom. Clearly, Jesus is grieving too. But their astonishment only makes sense if they believed that wealth was a sign of God’s blessing. It was a popular view in their day – and it is still around in ours. Jesus says the truth is the reverse. The absurd picture of a camel straining to get through the eye of a needle means exactly that – something ludicrously impossible.
We do not know if the man ever responds to the call of Jesus to give away his wealth. But we glimpse, with him, another world of such completely different values and relationships that it leaves us attracted, shocked and wondering if we can ever find our way in. Jesus agrees – but says that what we find impossible, God can do for us.
3. Mark 10.32-34
The scene is a vivid one. Jesus and the disciples are walking towards Jerusalem. Jesus has already told them he will suffer appallingly and will die there. Perhaps it is dangerous for them too. But Jesus, it seems, is striding determinedly ahead of the group, as if impatient to arrive. The disciples are dragging behind, anxious, afraid and simply unable to comprehend the behaviour of Jesus.
Jesus stops, walks back to them and, for the third time, spells out exactly what is going to happen. There can be no misunderstanding. He describes being handed over and suffering at the hands of others. It is a fate he freely chooses.
In one of the earliest Christian poems in the English language, The Dream of the Rood, Jesus is a vigorous, determined, young prince of glory who leaps up onto the cross to give his life for the world. Here, on the road to Jerusalem, Jesus is deliberately, purposefully striding towards his suffering and cross.
However much we can only drag our heels and linger at a distance with a mixture of fear and gratitude, here is God, willing to face and endure what we cannot face ourselves.
4. Mark 10.35-45
There is an approach to training people in listening skills that requires that no one contribute to a discussion until they first have the words of the person immediately before them.
Had James and John done this, they might not have come out with their embarrassingly insensitive and self-seeking request straight after Jesus had spoken of his suffering and death. But perhaps they were doing what most of us do when a line of conversation becomes simply too uncomfortable or painful to cope with. They were changing the subject.
Religious devotion can be just as ambitious and self-seeking as any other way of life – though we may well conceal it better than James and John did and join in rebuking them afterwards. To be specially favoured by God is to be special indeed! So, did it come as a surprise to James and John to discover that Jesus had no authority to grant their request? For the one they call ‘Lord’ is among them as a servant. And, as they watched from a distance on Good Friday and saw who was placed at his right and at his left, did they begin to understand what they had actually asked for?
5. Mark 10.46-end
This is one of the stories that forms the basis of the ancient ‘Jesus Prayer’, a rhythmic prayer taught and practised within the Eastern Orthodox tradition: ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.’ The plea for mercy can sound, to Western ears, rather grovelling and negative. But here, on the lips of this blind man, it is a bold cry of hopeful longing for healing and transformation.
It is clear from this and other stories in the Gospels that Jesus loves a faith that takes him on. He teaches us to ask, knock and seek. There is an important place for bold initiative in Christian faith that balances a tendency to stress careful submission.
Bartimaeus models for us this less-encouraged way of approaching Jesus. It is a long way from lowered voices, polished phrases and the bowed heads of Sunday intercession: ‘Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.’ This is faith shouted aloud by the public roadside, crying out for what he cannot see but hears is near, enduring the hostility of those around and refusing to be quiet until Jesus stops and pays attention. And Jesus does just that. And the man’s prayer is answered.
6. Mark 11.12-26
Cursing a fig tree for not bearing fruit for a hungry passer-by when it is not even the season for figs sounds plain grumpy – even on the lips of Jesus! But his response has both practical and symbolic meaning.
It seems that, at the beginning of the growing season, fig trees put out leaves and also a small hard fruit that can be eaten. These drop away before long but are forerunners to the ‘real’ fruit and are a sure sign that it will appear in its time. What is certain is that, if a fig tree contains ‘nothing but leaves’, there will be no final fruit at all.
The story of the barren fig tree is told either side of the visit of Jesus to the temple. The fig tree was traditionally a symbol of the people of Israel. There, at the heart of Israel’s worship and prayer, Jesus finds no fruit either – only corruption. On another occasion, he weeps bitterly over this and for the tragedy of hearts that cannot recognize his gift to a faith now withered to its roots and in need of resurrection from the dead.
7. Mark 11.27-end
‘Again…’ The story keeps returning to Jerusalem and then withdrawing. And, with each visit and encounter, the tensions are rising and the lines are hardening. The story is building towards its terrible climax.
What did the authorities expect from this meeting with Jesus? Their problem is that they could not afford to hear the truthful answer to their question. So, no real discussion was possible. Real conversation always requires an openness to the possibility that we may end up changing our own position. That is the risk of listening. Without that willingness, no real meeting is possible. And what kind of faith needs to be defended so hard that we must refuse any hospitality to people and views that differ from our own? Deep anxiety is driving this encounter.
Jesus knows all this. This cannot be a real meeting or open discussion. His answer will not be acceptable, however he offers it. The most loving thing he can do is to ask a question that invites them to recognize that fact. The answer they choose could risk opening a door to new recognition or closing it more strongly in the face of Jesus. The door is firmly shut.
8. Mark 12.1-12
This appears to be a continuation of the meeting described in yesterday’s reading. Debate had proved impossible with the authorities. But the meeting is not yet over. Jesus now tells them a story.
The image of Israel as a vineyard planted by God was a familiar one. The story tells of disregard for the owner, repeated abuse of responsibility and of a sustained, increasingly violent campaign to take over the vineyard for themselves. After many messengers have suffered at the hands of the tenants, the owner sends his only son. We are not meant to apply the details of the story too literally to Israel’s history (nor even to wonder at the apparent naivety of the owner in expecting a different outcome). It is an allegory of the situation developing even as Jesus is speaking. The tenants, entrusted with the care and fruitfulness of the vineyard, were clearly the religious authorities standing before him – a point they understood perfectly.
In telling this story, Jesus was not predicting what was going to happen. Instead, he is appealing to them, even at this late stage, to recognize the path they were going down and its terrible consequence. There is still a choice.
9. Mark 12.13-17
Troubled times throw up strange alliances, forged against a shared ‘common enemy’. This is one such occasion. Herodians and Pharisees normally had no time for each other at all. The intention is to trap Jesus. If he supports the paying of taxes to Caesar, he would lose his popular support. Paying taxes to an occupying power is a constant reminder of a subjugation and a source of festering resentment. But, if Jesus advocates not paying taxes, they could denounce him to Pilate on grounds of sedition.
He does neither. He first embarrasses his questioners by requiring them to produce a Roman coin – they are already more personally involved in this issue than they care to admit.
The face on the coin is Caesar’s. So, return what is his. But give to God what is God’s. By saying this, Jesus is not dividing life into religious and secular compartments. To give to Caesar what is Caesar’s is a practical obligation. The coin is his. Taxation (at its best) is a way of managing resources for the common good. To give to God what is God’s is to ask how the whole of life must be lived under his rule. And that is a question even emperors have to answer.
10. Mark 12.18-27
The Sadducees, with their denial of resurrection, sound to our minds like those who try to explain away miracles or reinterpret traditional doctrine. That is because the resurrection is a central Christian teaching. In the days of Jesus, it was not. The Sadducees were, in fact, very carefully conservative in their beliefs. For them, the idea of a resurrection was new and quite possibly dangerous. There is something very contemporary about their concerns that the lure of a blessed life in a world beyond death can lead to careless or even destructive living in this world.
Jesus demolishes their argument with brutal directness: ‘you are wrong … you know neither the scriptures nor the power of God’. Directed at liberal or revisionist approaches to biblical faith, you might expect this rebuke – and the traditional faithful, listening in, can nod in agreement, their suspicions confirmed. But Jesus is speaking to one of the respected, theologically conservative groups of his day. Once again, those claiming to see clearly are found to be blind.
One lesson from this story may be that even the most carefully biblical, confident beliefs must always be held humbly, on an open hand.
11. Mark 12.28-34
We have followed Jesus through a series of bruising exchanges marked by deepening hostility. Now comes a brief interlude of unexpected warmth, reverence, theological agreement – and a life that finds itself on the edge of transforming faith.
We may presume that this scribe is breaking ranks with his peers at this point. He has been moved by what he has seen and heard of Jesus before his questioners. The question he now asks invites Jesus to take the whole discussion back to the heart of the faith. What is the one thing necessary?
Jesus replies, quoting the first commandment (and adds the second for good measure – for a true love for God will always lead to love for one’s neighbour). The scribe respectfully agrees with this answer and has clearly understood the implications of it. He now spells out clearly what Jesus’ answer implies. If the command to love sums up all else, then all those elaborate outward expressions of faith – the sacrifices, rituals and offerings – mean nothing, unless love is there first, offered out of the whole of our being.
In the end, there is only one way not to keep the commandments: to have a heart made for love yet not to love.
12. Mark 13.1-13
When were you last near a building of such size and grandeur that it just took your breath away? That is what the disciples felt like in the temple. It was one of the wonders of the world in its day. And its solid permanence had long symbolized the secure presence of God among his people.
But Jesus does not join in the praise of the temple. He never does. Instead, he prophesies its total destruction. The temple will not be the place to find security in the troubles that are coming. He speaks of a time of horrific violence and persecution. These are frightening words. Jesus leaves no one in any doubt about the terror to come – but, in the midst of it all, he says, stand firm and look for a different source of security and guidance. Even as you stand before your enemies, the Holy Spirit will be at work. You will be given the strength and the words, and God will work through you.
So, despite all appearances to the contrary, do not despair. The convulsions that bring such destruction will, in fact, prove to be contractions – for a new age is coming to birth.
13. Mark 13.14-23
A nightmare continues to unfold. In the previous verses, Jesus urges his followers to stand firm and trust that they will be given the words and resources. But now the time has come when it is wiser to flee. In the first stage of these troubles, God was in the midst, by his Spirit, alongside the sufferers. But things will eventually get so bad that God will intervene or else none would survive.
The picture is of total, social breakdown. What Jesus is foretelling describes accurately a period from ad 66 to 70, when the temple was destroyed and Jerusalem was under siege. The historian Josephus described it in harrowing detail. The ‘desolating sacrilege’ seems to refer to an act of desecration in the temple by the invading armies. This is the sign to flee.
This is a world still capable of collapsing into violent chaos. Many nations and communities would recognize only too well the events described here. Many face persecution. They must discern when to stay or flee. They know the vulnerability of the weak and the risk of trusting in guidance and leadership. And, when things look beyond all hope, they too pray that God alone will intervene and spare them. And we must pray for them.
14. Mark 13.24-31
The language has changed. We are looking up. It seems that the tribulations on earth are matched by upheavals in the heavens.
This is a brief glimpse of the awesome turbulence that will mark the end of the age – when the whole cosmos, shuddering and shaking, will be caught up in the coming of the once despised and crucified Lord of glory. This is not a prediction that the end is imminent. The message here is that the struggles of that particular time in Jewish and Christian history are part of a greater story set within a vision of the whole created order – a bigger picture that we have scarcely yet imagined. This vision builds faith rather like the tradition of the ‘spirituals’ in the American slave plantations – singing in hope of an age to come that is barely visible yet. You are not forgotten. You are part of something much bigger. You will be gathered in when the time comes. Keep the faith.
The vision is over. We are back to earthly realities and more immediate history. Jesus has spoken of birth pains. Now he speaks of signs of spring and coming summer. Looking into the darkness of the present troubles, watch for signs of new growth that promise the coming of new life.
14. Mark 13.32-end
There is an awkward tension in this passage. And an age like ours, which assumes its right to all knowledge and is promiscuous in pursuit of it, will find the tension hard to live with.
On the one hand, we are urged to be ready, read the signs, stay awake. Something tremendous is imminent – and that is how the first Christians understood it. But, on the other hand, ‘no one knows’ when this will be, says Jesus – not even me.
Feverishly speculative attempts at predicting the times and signs are actually not faithful at all. They are attempts at controlling what belongs to God alone. ‘No one knows’ means exactly that. But to live indifferently to this tension is just as foolish – for this world and its destiny are in the hands of God.
Our life in this world is to be marked by an intelligent discerning and a reverent scrutiny as to God’s will and purpose within it. We are to live this life in the light of the next. We must let this knowledge determine our priorities, shape our securities, guide our choices and direct our paths.
Do this, says Jesus, and you will not be caught out when the time comes.