Luke 24:1-12: Easter is Seeing the Unseen

When we celebrate Easter, we celebrate the reason for our hope.  Despite the yearly reminder of Jesus resurrection, we are often tempted to look for hope elsewhere.  Easter forces us to ask the question anew, with each passing year, where is our hope found? 

Sometimes upon asking the question, we realize that our hope is placed in things other than God.  We are tempted sometimes to look for hope in our rulers; kings, prime ministers, presidents, rulers of nations and shapers of our world.  It makes sense, at least according to how the world thinks.  After all, rulers have power.  They can conquer other lands, defend us from our enemies, build the roads, schools, and hospitals we need, and create laws to govern our society.  If we have a problem, surely they can find the solution.  This is sound logic until we realize that even good rulers are mere human beings.  To put it plainly, they die before they finish their work.  Alexander the Great conquered much of the known world, only to die before he could reign over his consolidated empire.  Our own history provides its own examples.  Abraham Lincoln was assassinated before he could bring the Civil War to an end, and guide us through Reconstruction.  FDR died before the war in the Pacific was concluded, leaving Truman with the decision whether or not to use “the bomb”.  We can even find examples in our Bible.  Think about how much the early church leaned on the apostles for a direct line to Jesus teaching.  The Gideons’ were not on the street-corners passing out Bibles in those days, so the first Christians relied on the apostles, those who walked with Jesus, to pass on his teaching.  It must have been terrifying for them to think of life without these leaders, as the church witnessed one after the other suffer martyrdom.  Even in the church we tend to put too much stock in our leaders.  We would be wise to consider the words of the psalmist, “Put not your trust in princes, in a son of man, in whom there is no salvation.  When his breath departs, he returns to the earth; on that very day his plans perish.” (Psalm 146:3-4)

Maybe we have witnessed enough politics, both in Washington and in the church, that we no longer put a lot of trust in our leaders.  That does not mean that we don’t have other idols in which we seek hope.  How many of us place our wealth above all else?  If we simply see wealth as the ultimate source of security, that is enough for it to supplant God as the center of our universe.  On one level it makes sense.  After all, money buys us food, clothing, shelter, and helps provide the medicines many of us rely on for good health.  But Jesus warns us in that most famous of sermons, the Sermon on the Mount, that when we trust in riches, we trust on something that is temporal.  He reminds us, “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”  (Matthew 6:19-21)  And it is not just that money is temporary, but that it also seeks to control us if we allow it, by making it too much of a focus in our lives.  Paul would write to his young disciple Timothy, “But godliness with contentment is great gain, for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world. But if we have food and clothing, with these we will be content. But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils. It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pangs.” (I Timothy 6:6-10)  If our hope is in our wealth, then sooner or later we will be worshiping our wealth as the god of our life. 

Maybe we don’t trust in our leaders, or in our wealth.  Maybe we trust in our own power, whether it is ours individually or collectively.  Power does have a way of making us seem less vulnerable.  In Jesus’ day, there was something referred to as the Pax Romana, or “Roman Peace”.  In essence, it was a way of referring to the internal stability, and security from external threats that was a result of Roman military might.  In a post-Cold War, pre-9/11 world, American citizens had much the same feeling of peace and security.  However, a group of determined terrorists showed that no matter a nation’s military might, no country is invincible.  There are other issues with seeking hope in our own strength.  For instance, what happens when power is in the hands of the unrighteous?  Right does not make might, and often it is the righteous who lack the power.  Even if power is in the hands of the righteous, if such a group exists is highly debatable, power is never permanent.  There was a time when no one envisioned a world without the Roman Empire.  There was a time when the “sun never set on the British Empire.”  History tells us that if the Lord tarries, there will almost certainly come a day when America is no longer the world’s super-power.  If we live to see that day, will all hope be lost? 

David writes that “Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.” (Psalm 20:7)  Chariots and horses were the tanks and fighter jets of ancient times.  It would be easy to try to amass as many as possible as a source of strength.  And yet, David reminds us that the Lord our God is the only one capable to giving us hope.  He is the only one in whom we should trust. 

So what does all of this have to do with Easter?  We have looked at a lot of things that claim to provide hope.  Leaders, wealth, and even power are seductive options when considering where to put our trust.  The Resurrection however, reminds us that real hope is in seeing the unseen.  Our hope is found in what the women don’t see in the tomb.  The word find is used twice in the story; once it refers to a stone that has been rolled away, and once it refers to what they did not find- a body.  It was simply referred to as the body of Jesus when Joseph of Arimathea asked for it from Pilate, but when it cannot be found in the tomb, it is suddenly referred to as the body of the Lord Jesus.  Jesus has conquered death, and his lordship is now beyond dispute.  It’s a scene that transforms the women into angels.  The root word for “told” is the same as that of angel, which is from the Greek word for messenger.  While they don’t have wings, harps, or halos, these women return to the disciples to speak a word worthy of announcement by an angelic chorus.  It’s a word that sends Peter running to the tomb to see, or not see, for himself the truth of what he has heard.  Our encounter with the risen Lord must be a personal one.  Our faith cannot be sustained on the testimony of others, so like Peter we run to the tomb each year, to discover all over again that it is indeed empty.  It is true that unlike Peter, we cannot see the scene for ourselves, but then again, that has never been the definition of faith.  We have read our Bible from an early age, and whether it has sunk in or not, we have been told that faith is different from knowledge.  The author of Hebrews would say that “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1)  In some sense this makes it difficult for us, even more difficult than it was for the apostles.  Jesus acknowledges as much when he tells “doubting” Thomas, “You believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” (John 20:29)

The Resurrection invites us to enter the story of God’s goodness and work in our world.  It invites us to find our place in God’s story.  It challenges us to read the Bible, the story of Jesus Christ not as a history book, but as our story.  John Steinbeck provides some insight into how that might be done in a passage from his book The Winter of Our Discontent.  He writes:

“That Saturday morning seemed to have a pattern.  I wonder whether all days have.  It was a withdrawn day.  The little gray whisper of my Aunt Deborah came to me, ‘Of course, Jesus is dead.  This is the only day in the world's days that he is dead.  And all men and women are dead too…But tomorrow.  Just wait until tomorrow.  Then you’ll see something.’

I don’t remember her very clearly, the way you don’t remember someone too close to look at.  But she read the Scripture to me like a daily newspaper and I suppose that’s the way she thought of it, as something going on happening eternally but always exciting and new.  Every Easter, Jesus really rose from the dead, an explosion, expected but nonetheless new.  It wasn’t two thousand years ago to her; it was now.  And she planted something of that in me.”

Easter reminds us that God’s work is something happening eternally, always exciting and new.

The challenge of Easter is to see Jesus’ resurrection not just as an event that happened 2,000 years ago, but as something that is happening now, and to take that way of viewing the world, and to plant it in as many other people as we can through the way we speak, through the way we act, and through the way we love.  

Genesis 6:1-7:24: the ark of grace in the flood of judgment

Noah and the ark is perhaps one of the most well-known stories from the Bible.  If you also take into consideration that many other Ancient Near-Eastern cultures had stories about great floods, it becomes obvious that something happened, with the shared experience of that event being recorded in various ways, by various peoples.  So what does the Bible tell us about the flood, Noah, and the ark?

The flood was not so much an act of destruction by God, as it was an act of self-destruction by humanity.  While it’s true that it was God’s might that drove the flood waters, it was man’s wickedness that made the flood a reality.  Who were the sons that so offended God?  The possibilities include descendants of Seth, angels, or a dynasty of tyrants who succeeded Lamech.  Whatever the answer, the result was the same.  Their actions followed in the footsteps of Adam and Eve’s original sin.  Our Bibles say that they saw something beautiful, and they sought to make it their own.  If you read the passage in the original Hebrew, the phrasing is literally what we find in Genesis 3:6 when Adam and Eve’s sin is described: they “saw” what was “good”, and they “took” it.  This selfish behavior passed down through the generations, has caused God to look down and see not the goodness and beauty that was present in creation, but the wickedness that is the result of human sinfulness and rebellion.  Man’s wickedness has spread from being reactionary, to being of the proactive sort.  The heart, the locus of thought, feeling, volition, and morality has turned to planning methods of carrying out the wickedness found in its inner depths.  After seeing this disastrous turn of events, God responds.  The Spirit of God hovered over the waters during creation, now that same Spirit is about to be withdrawn.  Why doesn’t God act immediately?  Why does God delay 120 years?   The truth is that even when God is prepared to react to human disobedience with vengeance, He withholds His wrath long enough for Noah to build the ark.  The word used to describe God’s intention, “destroy”, is the same word used to describe human actions in Genesis 6:12, though it is often translated “corrupt” instead of “destroy”.  The use of the word “corrupt” or “corrupted” makes plain that what God intends to destroy has actually been self-destroyed already.  Nahum Sarna would say, “The idea is that humankind cannot undermine the moral basis of society without endangering the very existence of its civilization.  In fact, through its corruption, society sets in motion the process of inevitable self-destruction.”

In the midst of all the wickedness and God’s plan to destroy the earth, we find obedient faith in the person of Noah.  God has delayed His plan to wipe out mankind because in Noah He sees a glimmer of hope.  Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord, and through him we found grace as well.  It isn’t that Noah is perfect, but he is obedient. When God speaks, Noah listens.  The delayed entrance of Noah in the story opens up a new possibility, that of obedience and faith.   With Noah’s appearance on the stage, the words “righteous” and “blameless” are used for the first time in the Bible.  Righteousness is a combination of piety and ethics, while blamelessness denotes an abstention from sin, even if one is not entirely without fault.  Noah is described as one who “walked with God”, which links him with Enoch.  While Enoch is saved from death, Noah is saved from the flood.  If Noah isn’t perfect, he is a man of action.  He is not a man who professes something, but then fails to validate that profession with his actions.  The simple statement that “Noah did” underscores his living by faith.  It also puts the emphasis on God’s actions, rather than Noah’s, because Noah simply does what God tells him.  Today’s Christian should note that Noah’s fulfillment of God’s plans would have been a life-long endeavor, not one emotion-filled response.  Noah didn’t agree to build the ark after his heart-strings had been plucked by a well-orchestrated combination of emotional appeal and mood-lit praise music.  Noah’s “yes” to God is one that will cost him dearly.  One-hundred and twenty years Noah labored to build the ark.  How much did he have to pay for materials?  Did he have to go chop down every tree with the help of his sons.  What did it cost him in terms of his social standing?  How did people refer to this crazy man whose faith led him to build a huge boat?  A better question is ‘What if we were more like Noah, caring more about God’s plans for our world rather than our popularity with the world?’    

God sees Noah’s faithfulness, and responds in-kind.  No matter how faithful Noah was, that faith could never save him without God’s intervention.  In Noah’s case, God intervenes in three major ways.  First of all, God designs.  Noah receives from God plans for a boat 450 feet long, 75 feet wide and 45 feet high.  In the Babylonian flood epic, the boat used by the hero is a 180 foot cube, hardly a vessel likely to be seaworthy.  Here however, we find a boat that is large, and yet proportioned to sail.  Its plans make it bigger than the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria, and yet with a 20 foot draft it is shallow enough to not ground on the mountains.  Noah’s obedience brings God’s expert design to fruition.  After God designs, God guides.  There are no navigational aids, so that once in the ark the humans are totally reliant on God.  While there is relative safety inside the ark, there is also a degree of helplessness, as Noah and his family rely on God to deliver them safely through the flood.  Even the animals seem to be guided to Noah.  Just as God brought the animals to Noah’s ancestor Adam to be named, so He brings them now to Noah to be saved.  After God designs and guides, we see that God saves.  God shuts them in the ark, showing the grace and salvation of the ark to be a result of divine action rather than Noah’s.  The ark serves not just an immediate purpose, but also a more enduring one as it serves as a prefigure of the salvation that God will deliver to humankind through Jesus Christ.  While in Noah’s day God blots out humanity, when Jesus Christ comes, God blots out our sins.  It’s the same exact verb used in both instances!  The ark, in many ways, foreshadows our own salvation.  God opens the door to the ark and offers to bear us safely through the waters of sin and death, which threaten destruction just as surely as those torrents did so many millennia ago.  Will you, like Noah, have the faith to step inside?

Mark 14:26-31: When our feelings outrun our faith

What happens when our feelings outrun our faith? 

At the conclusion of the Last Supper, Jesus and his disciples would have sung a hymn.  During the course of singing the hymns that night- which would have been centered on Psalm 113-118, the traditional hymns sung at Passover- Jesus would have made several statements. 

He would have pledged to keep his vows in the presence of all the people:

“What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits to me?

I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord,

I will pay my vows to the Lord in the presence of all his people.

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.

O Lord, I am your servant; I am your servant, the son of your maidservant.

You have loosed my bonds.

I will offer to you the sacrifice of thanksgiving and call on the name of the Lord.

 I will pay my vows to the Lord in the presence of all his people,

in the courts of the house of the Lord, in your midst, O Jerusalem.

Praise the Lord!”

-          Psalm 116:12-19

He would have called upon the Gentiles to join in the praise of God:

“Praise the Lord, all nations!  Extol him, all peoples!

For great is his steadfast love toward us, and the faithfulness of the Lord endures forever.

Praise the Lord!”

-          Psalm 117

And one of the last things he would have said would have been the following words:

 “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.”

-          Psalm 118:17

The boldness of the final statement is especially striking.  In that boldness, we see Jesus’ understanding that the events, events which seemed to have captured him, were really part of God’s plan for redemption.  He quotes from the prophet Zechariah, “Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered…” (Zechariah 13:7), all the while knowing that the context of the passage is the forgiveness of Israel.  Back up to the beginning of Zechariah 13 and we read; “On that day there shall be a fountain opened for the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, to cleanse them from sin and uncleanness.” (Zechariah 13:1)  Jesus isn’t proof-texting, rather he’s showing that his own suffering is part and parcel with God’s plan to redeem mankind.  God’s agency in all these things is even communicated by a subtle change in the text itself, for while Zechariah reads “strike the shepherd”, in Mark Jesus says “I will strike the shepherd”, stressing God’s role in what is about to take place. 

Now that what Jesus is about to endure has become crystal clear, it’s a fair point to ask, “where are Peter, James, and John?”  What has happened to the ones who just a few chapters prior boldly proclaimed their willingness, and their ability, to go to hell and back with Jesus if need be.  While the other disciples remain silent, possibly pondering their fate if they remain with Jesus, Peter maintains his fervor in maintaining that he will show unswerving devotion to Jesus, even to the point of death.  Who among us hasn’t been in Peter’s shoes?  Caught up in the emotion of the moment, feeling that our commitment or character is being questioned, who among us hasn’t boldly proclaimed our feelings in powerful ways, only to realize that our mouth had written a check that our heart couldn’t cash.  So it is when our feelings outrun our faith.  It can be discouraging, and in some circumstance downright humiliating.  It’s hard to even see a bright side to the situation. 

And yet there is one.  There’s a bright side in the fact that God knows of our weaknesses, even if we haven’t realized them yet, and he loves us nonetheless.  In the words of Augustine:

“God knows in us even what we ourselves do not know in ourselves.  For Peter did not know his weakness when he heard from the Lord that he would deny him three times.”

– Augustine, Tractate on John

What God knew in Peter, he also knows in us.  He saw Peter’s enthusiasm, and knew that it often times set him up for failure.  He also saw Peter’s heart, and the potential for Peter to accomplish great things with a little help from the Holy Spirit.  If you find your mouth writing checks that your faith can’t cash, don’t write smaller checks, pray for a larger faith! 

Mark 11:12-14, 20-25: Making faith a verb

Sandwiched around the episode where Jesus comes to the temple, is a curious interaction with a fig tree.  There are a number of difficult questions stemming from the interpretation of this passage.  Why Jesus would chose to express himself in such a way?  What does it mean?  What did the poor fig tree ever do to deserve such a fate?

First of all, Jesus often chose to express himself through symbolic actions, actions that were often miraculous in nature.  The gospel of John refers to them as signs.  In this particular instance, Jesus is using the fig tree, and its cursing, to symbolize the religion of his day.  His critique has less to do with orthodoxy, or right belief, than it does with orthopraxy, or right practice.  What does the cursing of the fig tree mean?  What is it supposed to represent?  Quite simply, it is meant to illustrate a religion that gives false hope.

 

What do I mean when I say that the religion of Jesus’ day gave false hope?  It is true that it is hard to make such a blanket statement.  After all, many found a great deal of hope in not only holding the right beliefs, but in adhering to the right practices.  However, for a great deal of society, the national religion had ceased to provide any hope for the future.  This is why Jesus curses the fig tree, to provide a lesson that gives a visual explanation of how contemporary religion falls short.  When we see the fig tree, we see a tree that has leaves, and yet no fruit.  It is promising from afar, and yet disappointing upon closer examination.  When we consider that Jesus cursed the fig tree on the way to the temple, and that the results became evident on his return from the temple, it becomes evident that the fig tree and Jesus trip to the temple are meant to interpret one another. 

Jesus chooses the fig tree to illustrate the fate of the temple, and indeed the old way of doing things, because it was an illustration they would understand.  Indeed, Israelite history is replete with horticultural symbolism pertaining to the health of society and its religious life.  The prophet Hosea would state that “Ephraim is stricken; their root is dried up; they shall bear no fruit.”  (Hosea 9:16)  In speaking of God’s punishment of the wicked Bildad the Shuite says, “His roots dry up beneath, and his branches wither above.”  (Job 18:16)  Just prior to a call for repentance, the prophet Joel says, “the vine dries up; the fig tree languishes.  Pomegranate, palm, and apple, all the trees of the field are dried up, and gladness dries up from the children of man.”  (Joel 1:12)  Jesus is attempting to speak the language of the people, and to describe the illness that pervades their religion in terms that they are familiar with. 

Jesus doesn’t just use the fig tree to illustrate the “state of religion” in Israel, and specifically Jerusalem.  He also uses it as an object lesson in what it means to have faith.  In Luke, the apostles say, “Increase our faith!”, and Jesus replies, “if you had faith like a grain of mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘be uprooted and planted in the sea’, and it would obey you.”  (Luke 17:6)  Jesus’ response here to Peter’s observation that the fig tree has withered is very similar, as he seems to say that there is often a disconnect between our faith that exists in our head, and our actions.  It would be easy to misinterpret what Jesus is trying to say here, and draw the conclusion that unanswered prayers are in some way our fault.   Is it true that if our prayer goes unanswered, it is because we didn’t believe enough?   It’s tempting to follow that train of thought, but when we look at the life of Jesus, we see that is not the case at all.  Jesus prayed in the garden for the cup of suffering to pass from him, and yet he still had to endure the cross. A better interpretation comes if we notice the sequence of faith and believe.  The reference to one who “believes” in v. 23 points back to faith in v. 22, and ahead to the imperative “believe” in v. 24.  In the original Greek, the connection is more obvious as pisteuein (“believes”, in v. 23), pistis (“faith” in v. 22), and pisteuete (believe, in v. 24) are all from the same root.  Regardless of the language, Jesus is teaching us our faith isn’t tied to miracles, or even answered prayers.  We can take a cue from Jesus in the garden, and trust that even when we don’t get the answer we want, in some way God is still working to bring about good.  When the faith in our head becomes so strong that our belief governs our actions, or to say it another way, when our faith goes from being a noun to a verb, that is when the truly miraculous happens.  

Mark 10:46-52: seeing like the blind

The story of blind Bartimeaus is one of the more personal ones in the gospel of Mark.  He is one of only two “minor characters” whose name is actually used (the other being Jairus).  Why is his name remembered?  It’s impossible to say.  Perhaps Bartimeaus, or the son of Timai, was known by those whom Mark was writing for.  Maybe there was no reason, and it’s just a coincidence.  More important than Bartimeaus’ name, and why it’s remembered when so many others are forgotten, is Bartimeaus’ story.  What we learn from his story tells us more about who Jesus’ is, and how in his mission Jesus’ surpasses all of Israel’s, and indeed our messianic expectations. 

It’s interesting to compare Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem to that of his ancestor, David.  We recall that II Samuel shows us that at least metaphorically, the blind and the lame resisted David’s entry into Jebus, the city which would ultimately be named Jerusalem:

“And the king and his men went to Jerusalem against the Jebusites, the inhabitants of the land, who said to David, ‘you will not come in here, but the blind and the lame will ward you off’- thinking ‘David cannot come in here.’  Nevertheless, David took the stronghold of Zion, that is, the city of David.”  – II Samuel 5:6-7

When we then look at Jesus entrance, we see something entirely different.  Instead of being opposed by the blind and the lame, Jesus’ is enthusiastically welcomed by them.  It’s a fulfillment of a prophecy given by the prophet Isaiah:

“Say to those who have an anxious heart, ‘Be strong; fear not! Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God He will come and save you.’ Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped.” – Isaiah 34:4-5

Jesus entrance into Jerusalem is something great, even greater than that of his ancestor David.  David removed the blind who opposed him as he entered the city.  Jesus removes blindness itself.  It’s a sign that Jesus is not here to conquer physical territory, or even people, but rather the evil that manifests itself in sin, death, and disease. 

Recognizing who Jesus’ is, Bartimaeus has a request.  While James and John requested power and prestige from Jesus, Bartimaeus simply asks for health, for the restoration of his sight.  Those who walked with Jesus every day, James and John, failed to understand who Jesus was.  There is great irony in a blind man, Bartimaeus, being the one who sees Jesus for who he truly is.  Indeed, he is the only person other than Peter to use a messianic title for Jesus, referring to him as the Son of David.  Once Bartimaeus’ request is granted, he has to choice to make.  How should he respond?  Bartimaeus response is one motivated by a grateful heart, not by an attempt to earn anything from Jesus.  Unlike the rich young man, he is able to leave his coins behind and follow Jesus.  Maybe it’s because he is sincerely grateful.  Maybe it’s because he is leaving less behind.  I think ultimately it’s because Bartimaeus recognizes that all gifts come from God, while the rich young man still thinks of his wealth as being something he has “earned”.    Bartimaeus’ physical blindness has had the fortunate side-effect of helping him to recognize his total dependence on God. 

So what can we learn from Bartimaeus?  For one, as we just saw, he is aware of his need for God.  How many of us can say that we have truly accepted our dependence on and need for God?  He also persistently calls on Jesus for help, refusing to be deterred or put off.  Perhaps our level of persistence in prayer is a good way of separating our needs from our wants.  Another important lesson to learn from Bartimaeus, and one that we often forget, is that gifts come as signs of God’s grace, not our merit.  James and John on some level think that they have earned places at Jesus’ left and right side, whereas Bartimaeus knows that the granting of any blessing from God is an act of mercy and grace.  “Son of David, have mercy on me!” is his plea, and in it he not only recognizes God as merciful, but recognizes Jesus for who he truly is, the Messiah.  If we learn anything from Bartimaeus, it should be that our eyes are of no use in gaining knowedge of Jesus’ true identity.  As the author of Hebrews states, “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1)  Even in his blindness, Bartimaeus had the ability to see with his heart.  He recognized in Jesus Christ the fulfillment of what he, and Israel, had always hoped for.  This recognition created in him a deep conviction, a conviction that led him to leave everything behind and follow the Messiah.  May we all be blessed with the ability to see as this blind man did, with our hearts rather than with our eyes.       

Mark 9:14-29: The Co-existence of Faith and Doubt

We are often told as Christians that the war for our salvation has already been won, that on Calvary Jesus accomplished our reconciliation.  It's true that God has accomplished through Jesus Christ all that needs to be done to open for us the door to redemption, but that doesn't mean that we as His disciples are left with nothing to do.  

While                    Even though Christ won the victory over sin and death on the cross, there are still battles left to be fought by Jesus' followers.  We see this clearly reflected in this passage from the gospel of Mark.  Jesus isn’t even allowed time to savor the moment of His transfiguration before he descends from the mountain to find a demon-possessed boy and the failures of His disciples.  It's a reminder that while Jesus' glory was revealed on the mountain, that revelation was not universal.  God has twice acknowledged His son, both at His baptism and on the mount of transfiguration, but that same Son must still suffer and die so that God’s victory, our victory will be assured.  It reminds me of the Second Word War.   With the benefit of hindsight, many historians say that Germany and the Axis powers lost World War II the moment the United States entered the conflict.  The United States' industrial and economic might would eventually overwhelm Germany, Japan, and Italy, as powerful as they were.  And yet, when we declared war, those nations didn't throw up their hands and surrender.  Men, women, and children were still exposed to suffering and death as the two sides slugged it out.  I've spoken to men whose memories of horrendous experiences testify to the fact that inevitable victories still have to be won, and in the process there is suffering.  What is true of wars between nations is no less true of the spiritual war being waged between the forces of good and the forces of evil, between the forces of life and the forces of death.  Indeed, there is much work left for us to do, as disciples of Jesus Christ.   

What

What we also see born out in this passage is that our actions as Jesus’ followers reflect on Christ Himself.  This isn’t to say that our failures are Christ’s failures, but that nonetheless people are prone to see it that way.  Speaking to Jesus, the father of the demon-possessed boy asks Him to cast out the demon, “if you are able.”  The failure of the disciples has led the man to question the power of the one who commissioned them.  When they later ask what caused their failure, Jesus attributes it to a lack of prayer.  The disciples made the error of self-reliance when trying to exercise their spiritual gifts.  A few months ago I was experiencing power outages in my house.  One day I went to flip the switch on for the light, and nothing happened.  My response was to continually flip the switch on and off a few times.  You see, sometimes we forget that our flipping a switch isn’t what turns the light on, it simply opens the way for the power to make its way to the light.  The power isn’t coming from me; it’s coming from the wires connected to a source somewhere.  Similarly, the disciples make the mistake of thinking that the power to exorcise demons comes from within themselves, when in reality they are just the ones that open up the line between the afflicted person and God.  When they fail to pray, they lose their connection to the one whose power is at work in the exorcisms.  I wonder if in those times we give the wrong impression about who Christ is, if it isn’t because of a lack of prayer in our own lives.  I wonder if in failing to maintain a line of communication to God through Christ, we sometimes forget who Christ is in the first place. 

A final point related to this passage has to do with the constant struggle within each of us between faith and doubt.  The boy’s father clearly wants to believe, but he needs help.  In words that surely resonate with each one of us, he exclaims “I believe, help my unbelief!”  In an age of science and technological advancement, it is easy to misunderstand the very nature of faith.  You may here religious folk say sometimes, “I’m 100% certain that God exists!”, or “I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is real.”  At the risk of sounding blunt, that isn’t faith.  That’s knowledge.  God calls us to faith knowing full well that there will be times when it is difficult to believe.  If you think of the most iconic pictures of faith, they all contain an element of the absurd.  To walk through the Red Sea took faith, a belief that God would continue to hold back the waters.  To stand in front of Goliath with nothing but a sling was more than courageous, it was nuts.  And yet, David’s faith told him to defy reason and take the risk, trusting in God for ultimate victory.  In the end, we only know faith because of doubt.  Just as we only know and appreciate light because we know of darkness, the absence of light, we can only truly know faith in relation to doubt, or the absence of faith.  We don’t decide to follow Jesus because we are 100% certain that He exists, and is who He claims to be.  We do so because we desperately need His Spirit to grow our faith as we follow Him.  Emily Jane Bronte wrote a poem called Plead for Me, in which she expresses many of the emotions we feel as we struggle with the co-existence of faith and doubt within our spirit.  I leave you with the words from the first and last stanza:

“O thy bright eyes must answer now, when reason, with a scornful brow, is mocking at my overthrow;

O thy sweet tongue must plead for me, and tell why I have chosen thee!

And am I wrong to worship where faith cannot doubt nor hope despair, since my own soul can grant my prayer?

Speak, God of Visions, plead for me, and tell why I have chosen thee!”

Matthew 13:53-58: Are you an atheist?

Are you an atheist?  Of course not!  Or at least, that’s the answer I would expect from many of you.  As you probably know, an atheist is someone who does not believe in the existence of God.  The word actually comes from the Greek- coincidentally, the same language that the New Testament was originally written in- meaning “without God” (a=without, theos=God).  Atheism has grown in acceptability over time, causing more and more people to openly state the fact that they do not believe that God exists.  As troublesome as this trend is, perhaps another less noticed trend is more dangerous, specifically to Christian communities.  When Jesus returned to Nazareth, the people did not have faith in Him.   The Greek word used to describe them is not atheist, but apistia (a=without, pistia=faith).  They believed he existed; after all he was standing right in front of them.  However, they could not explain his wisdom or his power, so they simply chose to reject Him, placing no faith in His claims to be the Messiah, the Son of God. I would argue that this attitude poses a far greater threat to our churches today than atheism.  It is not enough to claim to believe that God exists; we must also place our trust in Him.  If we say that God exists, and yet are “without faith”, we are no different than the people of Nazareth that saw Him standing in front of them, but rejected Him nonetheless.  It is a difficult, and yet necessary question to ask ourselves: is the sum of our faith a mere statement that God exists, or is it evident by the way we our lives that we have put our trust in God?  Are our lives ordered differently because of our conviction that God is alive and among us?