We have three great texts this week. Isaiah 40:21-31 is the luminous climax to one of the Bible’s greatest chapters, which begins with stunning words of comfort to exiles who’ve given up ever returning to Zion. Even during their desolation, a way is already being prepared in the wilderness – and why? Grass may wither but God’s word stands forever. Rich theological fare indeed.
The final eleven verses need to be set in
the context of these forlorn exiles who’ve lost all hope. Walter Brueggemann has, as well as anyone,
explored the way life in our world is very much exilic – although we do have
more comforts and can fool ourselves more easily into thinking we aren’t in
exile at all. He says “Exile is not primally
geographical, but it is social, moral and cultural.” We’ve lost a sense of a reliable world,
symbols of meaning are hollowed out; hopes are dried up, and we feel helpless.
Political
ideology and consumerism are feeble substitutes for the living God. Just last month we were singing “O Come Emmanuel…
and ransom captive Israel that mourns in lonely exile here.” The preaching task “is to voice the felt
loss, indignation and bewilderment… Extreme imagery is required to cut through
the enormous self-deception.” Many
clergy have been indignant that Trump voiced so much of people’s indignation;
but he only scratched the surface of how all exilic people inevitable feel,
hunkered down and not experiencing the robust richness of God’s kingdom (although they cannot name the real absence and loss accurately).
The preaching Brueggemann dares us to attempt
is a “reimagining,” trying to create a “safe, liminal place” for the
rediscovery of God’s real world, which isn’t any nostalgia for America way back
when, but the sustaining memory of those moments further back when – when Jesus
was born, when fishermen followed, when Israel marched home, when the early
church prayed and served.
The hope though is in this, as Brueggemann
explains: “Exile evoked the most brilliant literature and the most daring
theological articulation.” This unnamed
prophet raises rhetorical questions!
Instead of “I told you!” he says “Have you not heard?” He
points to God’s majestic grandeur, before whom people are like grasshoppers (recalling - and reversing! - the report of the scouts who investigated the promised land?);
the heavens are like a curtain in his room; mighty rulers, such as the
Babylonian emperor right now being dethroned in favor of the Persian emperor
now arriving, as just little tiny people to God.
But then the prophet brings us to the nub
of things: “Why do you say ‘My way is hidden from the Lord?” No one listening to you has not felt
forgotten and disregarded by the Lord.
Their reasons may seem more trivial than the
political/geographic/demographic plight of the entire nation of Israel. But hurts, sensing God’s absence, are all
real, and to be spoken into by a powerful word from the Lord.
The preacher is tempted simply to repeat
the prophet’s eloquence and let it be instead of watering it down or even
ruining it by explanation. Sometimes in
such moments of preaching, I’ll name this situation: Look, listen to what the prophet said, I can’t
expand upon it or improve upon it, this really is God’s word to you, to me, to
the world today. And then I simply,
firmly, peacefully and even slowly read verses 28-31.
Sure, I might dabble a bit on why we are
so weary. I find when, in counseling, I
ask people “Give me one word to describe how you feel deep in your gut,” the
number one answer I get is “I’m tired.”
There is an immense weariness, an intense exhaustion, to life as we know
it in this world, especially as casually distant as we are from the heartbeat
of God. Didn’t Jesus say “Come to me,
you who are weary” (Matthew 11:28)?
And
I might probe what it means to “wait” – which the Bible constantly urges us to
do,
and which we are no good at. We hate waiting, we want to get moving, we can’t be still, we fear what is to come if we are just waiting. Waiting at a traffic light, waiting on biopsy results, waiting for life to get happy, waiting for my prince to come… I can think of no wiser exploration of the meaning of waiting than a wonderful lecture Henri Nouwen gave called “A Spirituality of Waiting.” So worth listening to, soaking in for your own benefit, and then maybe even sharing with your people. Only thing I’d add to Nouwen would be that waiting can also mean serving – as in “I am waiting on your table, sir.” We wait for the Lord; we wait on the Lord and the Lord’s people.
and which we are no good at. We hate waiting, we want to get moving, we can’t be still, we fear what is to come if we are just waiting. Waiting at a traffic light, waiting on biopsy results, waiting for life to get happy, waiting for my prince to come… I can think of no wiser exploration of the meaning of waiting than a wonderful lecture Henri Nouwen gave called “A Spirituality of Waiting.” So worth listening to, soaking in for your own benefit, and then maybe even sharing with your people. Only thing I’d add to Nouwen would be that waiting can also mean serving – as in “I am waiting on your table, sir.” We wait for the Lord; we wait on the Lord and the Lord’s people.
1
Corinthians 9:16-23: Probably much in there about how to fulfill one’s
ministry. It’s not for gain; it involves being weak for those who are weak
(hence my peculiar book on leadership, Weak
Enough to Lead). “Woe to me if I
do not preach the gospel” reminds me of Luther’s hilarious declaration: “If we
don’t preach the Gospel, we should be pelted with manure.” Mind you, this requirement leaves us trying
to balance bold courage with a delicate compassion. I can speak the unvarnished truth frankly and
simply alienate people who aren’t equipped to understand; or I can keep it
palatable and never open up a space for radical growth. This is the dilemma of preaching, isn’t it?
So, Mark
1:29-39. As we pointed out last week (look there for images and more information!), the house where Mark 1:29-39 transpires has been excavated and
can be visited – albeit within a shrine that, to me, looks suspiciously like
the Millennium Falcon… We hear of Peter’s
mother-in-law but not his wife – but it seems Peter was married (1 Cor. 9:5).
We are wise to recall what happened in 1:21-28 - a remarkable healing indeed that raises the most important questions imaginable - as I hope I addressed faithfully and forcefully in last Sunday's sermon, "Mental Illness, Jesus & the Church."
We are wise to recall what happened in 1:21-28 - a remarkable healing indeed that raises the most important questions imaginable - as I hope I addressed faithfully and forcefully in last Sunday's sermon, "Mental Illness, Jesus & the Church."
The four fishermen leave the synagogue and
are immediately
in the house: partly this is Mark’s theological keyword for the urgency of the
unfolding Gospel story, and partly it’s there on the city map – as the synagogue
entrance is about 30 feet from the door to Simon Peter’s home.
Jesus almost effortlessly heals her of a
fever. I think there’s homiletical hay
to be made over this: she is healed, and then right away “she began serving
them.” I mean, one might object to the
patriarchy implied… but the Greek word, diakonein
should strike us as familiar and something men and women who've been touched
and healed by Jesus might do in response.
They brought more people to Jesus “when it
was evening, after the sun had gone down” – which might surprise unless we
recall it was the Sabbath, which ends at sundown, hence only then could they
engage in this loving labor. Jesus would
later contest the notion of healing waiting until after the Sabbath (Mark 3:1-6
and others). I have a slight hunch that
I might attempt something about the growing shadows, the way they seek healing
in the dark, the dark symbolizing their dire need for not just light, but the
light… Mark doesn’t press this, but I
might…
I find myself more intrigued by another
word that may or may not be all that pregnant:
verse 32 says they brought “all” those who were sick; and then verse 34
says he healed “many” – but not all?
Joel Marcus is pretty sure “pollous
in 1:34 is scarcely a smaller group than pantas
in 1:32.” But I wonder if the Holy
Spirit, which not only inspired the composition of the Gospel but also inspires
our understanding of it, might uses this subtle distinction to remind us of the
hard reality of being followers of Jesus.
Some, hey, maybe even many, are healed – but not all.
I am
sure that, whatever Mark intended, the majority of people in Capernaum
continued to suffer whatever they suffered.
The arthritics still hurt, those with dementia were still confused,
tumors grew undetected, tooth decay, gout, deafness and blindness were
unabated. Jesus didn’t walk into town
and heal everybody. In fact, not many
were healed.
And
when Jesus healed, it seems he did so to make a point, not just so a person
could feel better. His point tended to
be a sermon. Jesus healed the blind to
make a point to the theologically cocky who thought they could see and know all
but were unwittingly blind. Jesus healed
to declare his identity, and that the kingdom really was dawning.
Jesus’ love for everyone was real, even
though most who were sick remained sick. Jesus’
saving mission was for everyone, not just the few who were healed. Preachers need to be very careful and
deliberate about how we speak of healing; I prepared this short video a while back exploring a way to approach this problem.
There can be a kind of theological sadism that trumpets God’s healing
power – which then only isolates the sufferer from God in her hour of greatest
need.
I’m
fond of Jürgen Moltmann’s wisdom: “In the context of the new creation, Jesus’ ‘miracles’
are not miracles at all. They are merely the fore-tokens of the
all-comprehensive salvation, the unscathed world, and the glory of God. They
point to the bodily character of salvation and to the God who loves earthly
life… There is a difference between salvation and healing: Healing vanquishes
illness and creates health. Yet it does not vanquish the power of death. But
salvation in its full and completed form is the annihilation of the power of
death and the raising of men and women to eternal life. In this wider sense of
salvation… people are healed not through Jesus’ miracles, but through Jesus’
wounds; that is, they are gathered into the indestructible love of God.” At the same time, it can be thin comfort to someone afflicted by
suffering to pass it off as being something that will be fully cured “when we
all get to heaven.” Better to sit with the sufferer in the dark and simply
weep; or perhaps we read a lament Psalm or two.
*********
My new book, Worshipful: Living Sunday Morning All Week, now has a study guide with videos, making it more useful for small groups!
My new book, Worshipful: Living Sunday Morning All Week, now has a study guide with videos, making it more useful for small groups!
Do you know who, or if anyone, owns the copyrights to the drawings you use of Capernaum? I'd like to use them in a ppt for a church sermon.
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