The Way of the Cross

Perhaps the most anticipated moment in our recent trip to the Holy Land was our trek down the Via Dolorosa, the "Way of Sorrow." This well established route through Jerusalem seeks to retrace the footsteps of Jesus as he carried his cross from the trial before Pilate to the place of his crucifixion, burial, and resurrection.

Our journey began at one of the gates into the Old City. This gate is called St. Stephen's gate, being the traditional site of the stoning of the first Christin martyr. Of course whatever gate may have existed at the time of Stephen is now well below ground, perhaps awaiting future excavation. The gate we now pass through is "new," dating to the 1400's.

Just about a block inside the gate is St Anne's church. Anne is the name traditionally given to the mother of Mary, mother of Jesus. The same tradition holds that Mary was born on the site of this church. Like many other Holy Land traditions, this one is strictly extra-Biblical. The present site was not identified in any particular way until the time of the Crusaders, who were known to warp geography a bit to place extra bits of holy history within the walls of Jerusalem.

Still, Mary had to born somewhere, and this spot probably serves as well as any to celebrate the human lineage of Jesus. On a more authentic note, St. Anne's is also the custodian of an ancient archeological site believed to be the Pool of Bethesda.

This site exemplifies what greets the modern visitor to the Holy Land in general, and especially within the walls of Jerusalem. One is confronted constantly with a half-dozen, intertwined layers of history presented in a single site.

The area on which the pool was built had been recognized as a place of healing for generations before Jesus. The Greeks erected a shrine to Aesculapius here, perhaps because of a natural mineral spring. Later, the Pool occupied this site near the "Sheep Gate." Sheep were brought to the pool for bathing before they were used in the sacrifices at the Temple. This ancient reputation as a place for healing and its new association with the Holy Temple made the Pool an ideal location for local superstitions to crop up. In John's golspel, we read of a beggar who, lame from birth, awaited the "stirring of the waters" in hopes of being healed. Somewhere along the edge of this pool, he received his healing at the hands of Jesus.

Conseqequently, later genrations built churches over the spot. As one looks over the site today, it is almost impossible to divine where the ancient Greek gives way to the first century Roman. The pool from the time of Jesus is difficult to discern from the foundations of the later Byzantine era and early Crusader churches. One is alwys straining to find remnants of Jesus' passing beneath and between the layers.

Another example stands a few yards away. Roman ruins mark a spot that Crusaders assumed must have been the palace of Pilate, and thus the "pavement" on which Christ was tried by Pilate and presented to the crowds(See the photo of the "Ecco Homo" arch.) We now know that the Roman remains date to the time of Hadrian, well after the time of Jesus, even though many of the stones used in constructing his edifice may have been part of the original Antonia Fortress.

Nor are these "layers" limited to the archeology. The Via Dolorosa itself takes a course through the city on streets that, at the time of Jesus, probably didn't even exist yet. It stops at stations that celebrate events found nowhere in the Biblical narratives. The very idea of walking the Via Dolorosa is relatively new, dating only to about five hundred years ago.

But people do walk it. By the hundreds. It is one of the most travelled of walking routes in the world. As such, it has also become a great commercial location. Merchants along the Via Dolorosa inhabit prime real estate and compete heavily for the dollars in the pockets of visiting pilgrims. The closer one draws to the traditional site of Golgotha, the more intense the commercialism becomes. It actually becomes difficult to thread one's way between the clamoring merchants which line the narrow streets.

Finally, the Via Dolorosa empyes into the courtyrd of the church of the Holy Sepulchre, for many Christians, the holiest site on the face of the Earth.


The current church embraces both the traditional site of the crucifixion and the traditional site of the burial and resurrection of Jesus. Pilgrims stand in line to bow at the altars placed over these sacred spots, to reach through small gilded openings in the floor and actually touch Calvary or the temporary resting place of Jesus' body.

Most scholars believe the site is authentic. Christian worship on these sites dates back to eras in which Christianity was illegal, and to gather on these spots was life-threatening. Both the weight of tradition and the archeology of the place support its high claims.

For this reason, the church has become something of a battle ground. Six different ancient denominations have some claim over the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and they coexist within the builing so uneasily that government authorities were forced to intervene in the 1800's and declare an edict of "Status Quo," making it illegal to make any further changes within the church and basicly "freezing" the borders within the building. Different denominations now control different chapels within the building and guard their turf jealously. A ladder stands in the entry to the church which was in place at the time of the edict and has not moved since.

The line which leads toward the Golgotha altar winds past chapels of breathtaking beauty. At last, the pilgrim reaches a marble altar over the spot where tradition holds that the cross was lowered into an indentation in the rock. The chapel is gilded with gold leaf, the altar area adorned with life sized paintings of Jesus, Mary and Mary, decked out in three dimensional siver garb. The ceiling supports enough oil lamps (though on this day they are unlit) to illuminate Wrigley Field.

To approach the spot of the crucifixion, one is forced by the architecture to kneel. There, beneath the altar, a circular opening encased in precious metals affords just enough space for the pilgrim to insert an hand and touch the stone.

The decorum of the altar is guarded by a priest, who also encourages pilgrims to move along if he feels they have lingered for more than their alotted time. Behind cordons, those who have already knelt pause for a moment longer, many praying, a few weeping, but most quite honestly gawking and snapping photos.

Somewhere beneath all of this pious decor is a spot which was touched in a way that changed the history of the world. For some, perhaps, the architecture heightens the sense of holiness. For many, though, it becomes another layer, another obstacle between present day life and somehow enaging the world in which Jesus walked. The challenge of praying in this spot is to strip away the layers until only Golgotha remains beneath the outstretched fingers of faith.

As I passed from the church into the brutal heat of the Palestine sun, I reflected on these layers. I wonder how may layers our own churches place between genuine seekers of truth and a potent, life-changing encounter with Jesus of Nazareth. How much of what we do makes Jesus more real to the world around us, and how much of what we do obfuscates and blurs his countenance? How can we be sure that those who enter our doors touch... and are touched by... Calvary.

And when I squint back through the doorway of the church and see the 150 year old ladder, I can't decide whether to laugh or cry.

The Holy City

Recently, several of us returned from a trip to the holy land. The picture to the left was taken from the Mount of Olives, near a church commemorating the tears of Jesus over Jerusalem.

In Jesus' time, the Mount of Olives was covered with... well... olives. After the fall of Jerusalem in 70 CE, the Romans ordered the olive trees chopped down on the mountainside, as they felt the olive groves provided too much cover for the possible approach of rebel forces. Only a few olive trees remain, now, mostly on the traditional site of the garden of Gethsemane.

Between the mountain and the city lies the Kidron Valley. This valley has traditionally been a burial site for devout Jews. Even in the time of Jesus, the valley was cluttered with graves. This made travel by night through the area somewhat perilous for people unfamiliar with the lay of the land, since straying from the path might cause one to come in contact with a grave, and thus become unclean.

In short, the Mount of Olives made an ideal place for Jesus and his disciples to withdraw from the city and not be disturbed by casual wanderers. We read that Jesus did exactly this on the night of his betrayal, but the gospel writers also tell us that this was a habit Jesus practiced often (SEE Luke 22:39 and John 18:2). Is it possible that Jesus stood on the Mount of Olives for his famous "Night Discourse" with Nicodemus recorded in John chapter 3? If so, the picture above becomes both literally and figuratively a backdrop for that story.

Imagine for a moment that Jesus and Nicodemus are looking out across this valley to the Temple Mount as they speak. It's night, of course, but the city is illuminated by oil lamps and torches as the thousands of visitors that have arrived for Passover move about through the streets. The Temple itself is illuminated by the fire of the altar. It's quite a sight.

This is the same Temple that Jesus has just condemned by driving the animals out of the court. The local authorities have demanded a sign from jesus. They want to know by what authority he has prophesied against the Temple. The only sign he offers on the spot, they misconstrue and reject.

Maybe Nicodemus was there when this conversation took place. He is identified as a mover and shaker in Jerusalem, after all. Maybe he only heard about it, but he is clearly aware. He has threaded his way through the Kidron burial ground to present himself to Jesus. Perhaps he is alone, but he speaks on behalf of others, using the word "we."

"Rabbi, we know you are a teacher who has come from God. For no one could perform the miraculous signs you are doing if God were not with him."

This amounts to a confession of sorts. Nicodemus and a few others have seen enough to know that what Jesus has said and implied about the Temple must be true. He wants to hear what Jesus has to say. Together, Jesus and Nicodemus look out at the awesome spectacle of the Temple of Yaweh, the thousands who have gathered there to worship, the burning flames upon the altar.

"I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again."

For many modern Christians, the idea of God's kingdom is a metaphysical thing, usually consigned to some era after the physical world has ceased to exist. This picture wouldn't have anything to do with what Nicodemus believed about the Kingdom. Nicodemus will have expected that the Kingdom would have something to do with what was going on in Jerusalem... who sat on the throne, who presided as priest, how the people of God presented themselves to the world. In some way, as he gazes across the Kidron Valley, Nicodemus believes he is looking at the Kingdom of God, or at the very least, he is looking at where the Kingdom of God ought to be happening. Jesus tells him that he cannot see the Kingdom of God from where he is standing beacause somebody (or something.. the greek here is ambigous) needs to be "...born again..." The language Jesus uses to describe this "born again" experience will be familiar to Nicodemus, as it is borrowed directly from the Hebrew Scriptures. Specifically, Jesus is evoking imagery from Ezekiel 36 and 37.

In so doing, Jesus is displaying a fairly high regard for Nicodemus. Ezekiel was considered by the ancient rabbis to be among the most difficult of scriptures to read and understand. In some traditions, students were not permitted to read Ezekiel untli they had reached the age of 30 years, the age at which one became eligible to interpret scriptures for others. Jesus not only assumes that Nicodemus has read this book, but that he is familiar enough with it to recognize its themes and images without citation.

Ezkiel 36 speaks of the rebirth of israel. She will be delivered from her enemies and reestablished as a kingdom by an act of God's sovereign grace. She is unworthy of such an honor, because she has made herself unclean, like a woman during her menstrual cycle. In other words, she has failed to bring forth life. What God intended her to bear has been stillborn. God promises, though, to cleanse her by the sprinkling of water, to take away her heart of stone and to give her a heart of flesh. All of this, God does by the power of the Spirit.

Likewise, Jesus says that the Kingdom of God must be born from above, by water and spirit, by spirit and flesh. Naturally, Nicodemus wants to know how we can make such a thing happen. The form of his question is silly, of course, to our ears. He is, however, following the classroom protocol of the day. He uses a "Socratic question" to invite Jesus to tell him more.

They gaze again across the Kidron Valley, a valley filled with graves.

Jewish burial customs in Jesus day are foreign to us today. Especially in and around Jerusalem, Jews practiced what we call "secondary burial." The body was not embalmed, but laid in a cool, dry place for a period of time to decompose. After perhaps as much as a year, when the flesh had all deteriorated, the bones of the deceased were collected and buried in a very small stone coffin called an "ossuary." As Jesus and Nicodemus looked across the Kidron Valley, then, they gazed across a valley of "dry bones."

How does this new birth from above happen?

"You should not be surprised at my saying, 'You must be born again.' The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit."

It's totally appropriate that Jesus uses language of the Spirit, of course. But once again, it is language he has borrowed. Ezekiel 37 tells of Ezekiel's vision of the valley of dry bones and the great wind that reanimated them, the very breath of God. This vision is explained to Ezekiel as a sign that God will revive Israel as if from the dead. Jesus tells Nicodemus that the rebirth of Israel will happen as all life happens... when God's spirit moves.

Is there a barb in this observation? Does Jesus invite Nicodemus to ask himself where the spirit of God may be moving as they speak? Does he ask Nicodemus to put two and two together... the miraculous signs and prophetic ministry of Jesus and Israel's need for a new movement of God's spirit?

I believe in personal salvation and rebirth. I've experienced it myself, and I have celebrated again and again in the lives of others. But I'm not really sure that's the conversation Jesus and Nicodemus were having. I think Jesus and nicodemus have in sight a much larger idea... not the rebirth if an individual, but the rebirth of an entire people, a people intended to transform the world that God "so loved," but a people that has fallen radically short and become something else.

I think Nicodemus came to Jesus because he recognized the truth of what Jesus was saying about the Temple. Somehow, all of this has failed to be what God intended. It needs to be made over again. It needs to be "made clean." It needs to surrender its heart of stone and rediscover its heart of flesh. God's people need a resurrection. Their bone have become dry and brittle. They have become something which is a hideous caricature of holiness, and they need to become once again fully His. This can only happen by the life-giving spirit of God.

And that Spirit is moving and acting in the person of Jesus of Nazareth and those who follow him.

Call and Temptation

Mark 1:9-15 contains three events, the Baptism of Jesus, hie temptation, and a summary of his preaching ministry in Galilee. Other gospel writers give each of these events a good deal more room than mark. In his characteristic way, he has summed up a great deal in a handful of words.

This compressed way of telling the story helps us to see the relationship between three events that we all too commonly see only one at a time.

The baptism of Jesus concludes our grand tour (over the last three blogs) of the occasions in the gospels in which God spoke aloud from the heavens. Mark tells us little else, in fact, about the event. It is helpful to compare his version of the words spoken by God here with the versions recorded in Matthew and Luke.

Both Mark and Luke agree that the words "You are my son, with whom I am pleased" are directed at Jesus.

Matthew records the words differently. In Matthew, God speaks not to Jesus, but to the onlookers. Matthew also contains the argument between Jesus and John over whether Jesus should be baptized. Matthew seems to struggle with what's going on here. Why does Jesus need to be baptized? Why does God need to tell him who he is?

In modern circles, we tend to equate baptism with the forgiveness of sin. Why, we wonder, would the Sinless One need baptism?

Over the centuries, however, a fuller bodied approach to baptism has been held. While forgiveness is clearly a part of baptism, it is not the totality of what is going on. Martin Luther, for example, spoke of baptism as our ordination into the Priesthood of Believers. Baptism, in other words, is a celebration of the call God has placed on our life to be ministers of the gospel.

In this sense. the baptism of Jesus makes more sense. Mark and Luke seem both to recognize this event as a highly personal moment in the life of Jesus, in which God affirms his call as "Son of God."

A few verses later, in Mark, Jesus is proclaiming the good news that the Kingdom of God is at hand. He has moved from call to response in an act of obedience.

In each of the gospels, though, something falls between call and response that we have come to call the "Temptation." Jesus goes into the wilderness, where he is confronted by Satan with a variety of tests of his faithfulness. Interestingly, Satan does not try to break Jesus down in the obvious areas of morality. This is not a head on display of brute strength, Good versus Evil. In fact, Mark suggests that something far more profound is going on here.

Satan is present in this moment, to be sure, but he is not in charge. The Holy Spirit has ushered Jesus into this wilderness, and God's angels attend upon him throughout. Something about this confrontation in the wilderness is divinely appointed and guided. Satan is given latitude to tempt Jesus, but the option to destroy him never seems to be present. Instead, Satan subtly challenges the shape of Jesus' calling.

You could become Messiah by feeding the hungry, Satan suggests. People have needs. Meet their needs and they'll follow you anywhere.

You could become Messiah by conforming to the spirit of this world. Bow to the idols of commercialism and empire. Work within the power structure people know and respect.

You could become Messiah by invoking God's protection. After all, wouldn't people rather follow a king of miraculous victories than one who carries a cross?

In short, Satan does not so much attempt to turn Jesus back from his calling as to nudge him aside. The temptation is not to turn away from God's call to Christhood, as to become a different sort of Messiah. In the wilderness, Jesus learns who he is, and who he is not. The shape of his call is fully discovered and established.

None of this, of course, is in Mark's account. The temptations are alluded to without description. Possibly, Mark is not aware of the more extended versions of the story that Matthew and Luke retell.

Or possibly he is aware of these more particularized accounts and simply opts not to include them.

Because for Mark, this handfull of verses is not simply a description of histry... not just something that happened to Jesus. It is also a description of discipleship... a path to be followed by all who would walk in his footsteps. We each are called and affirmed in baptism. We each seek to be ministers of the gospel in the world around us.

But in between, something else must happen. We must discover the particular shape of our own call... who we are, and who we are not.

Before You Cross the Street

An old children's rhyme goes:

Stop, look and listen Before you cross the street. Use your eyes, use your ears, Then use your feet.

Great poetry it's not, bu the little rhyme served its purpose for those of us who learned it as children. It also acts as a sort of outline of the lessons we may be expected to take away from the Transfiguration account we find in Mark 9:2-10.

STOP:
Jesus takes time to be alone with his disciples. When is the last time you set aside time to spend with Jesus?

LOOK:
We often say that "seeing is believing." What do you think the disciples thought when they witnessed the Transfiguration? Do you think this event conviced them that Jesus was who he claimed to be?

In fact, if we backpedal through the text, we realize that the converse is true. The Transfiguration of Jesus happens only after the disciples are able to answer the question "Who do you say that I am?"

Because sometimes, believing is seeing. Sometimes we can only see God at work in our lives through the eyes of faith. The glory of Christ is fully revealed to Peter, James, and John precisely because they believe. This event invites us to keep our eyes open for Christ at work in our own lives as people who have declared who we believe him to be.

LISTEN:
The voice of God (like in last week's text) speaks audibly to the audience of this event. Peter James, and John hear "This my son, whom I love. Listen to him."

The proper response to seeing the glory of God revealed in Jesus is to attend upon his teachings. Adoration and worship are excellent pursuits, but the proper response to the gospel is one of obedience.

CROSS:
The cross is not explicitly mentioned in this passage, but it arguably stands behind the whole event. God commands the disciples to "listen" to Jesus in the wake of an event in which Jesus has spoken of his own death for the first time, as well as teaching that whoever would be his disciple must take up crosses of their own. While we are called to attend upon the full teachings of Jesus, this most recent teaching will still have been ringing in the disciple's ears.

On the way down the mountain, the disciples discuss among themselves what is meant by "rising from the dead." Jesus has made reference to his resurrection, which leaves them understandably puzzled. The idea of a man being raised from the dead presents its difficulties.

For us, the difficulty is in the "rising" part. Our post-enlightenment, modern minds have trouble grasping such a radical reversal of the laws of nature as we understand them. It's easy to assume that the disciples had the same difficulty. Perhaps they did.

But their mindset was likely quite different from our own, especially in light of the event thay find themselves experiencing. Peter, James, and John, according to the gospels, were from the fishing villages around the Sea of Galilee. Our current knowledge of the world in Jesus time suggests that this area was the equivalent of our southern Bible Belt in the United States. This was a region in which the Torah was taught and held in special reverence, where faith reigned supreme.

Among the doctrines prevalent in Jesus' day was the notion that certain of God's servants had never tasted death. Enoch, for example, has no recorded death. He is simply said to "walk with God." Likewise, Elijah is carried off in fiery chariots. Moses ascends Mount Nebo and never comes back down. The text says that he died there, and that God himself buried him, but the body is conspicuously absent, and many Jews in the days of Jesus held that Moses had gone directly to live with God.

This notion stood behind the Jewish expectation that Elijah would return before the Messiah. This was not a belief in resurrection or reincarnation. In their world picture, Elijah had never died. Jesus used similar language (at least in the gospel of John) to describe what would happen to those who believed in him. Just before ascending the mountain, he had insisted that some of his disciples would "not taste death before they see the kingdm of God revealed in power."

When they arrived at the mountain top and found Moses and Elijah, the disciples were suitably impressed, but had an instant understanding of what must be going on: Jesus has come to join Moses and Elijah to live forever in the presence of God. Peter even offers to build houses for the three to live in.

After all they had seen and experienced, Peter James and John were probably not really bothered about the idea of Jesus living forever. It wasn't the word "rising" that gave them trouble. It was probably the word "dead."

the empty tomb presented peter, James, and John with fewer questions than the cross. The empty tomb was what was expected. It's what God did for the great heroes of the faith.

The cross, on the other hand, didn't fit with their stalwart belief that this man was the Messiah. If this was God's chosen servant, would he not be spared pain and uncertainty? Would he not be vindicated by a steady, inexorable rise to worldly power?

The message of the cross is the precisely the message that the voice from heaven is calling us to "listen" to.

USE YOUR EYES, USE YOUR EARS,
THEN USE YOUR FEET.

And the message of the cross is not simply what Jesus would do. It was a call for each of us to follow. To place our feet in the footsteps of Jesus. To choose a life of sacrifice and quiet rebellion against the powers of the world over lives of priveledge.

Going to Seed

"This voice was for your benefit, not mine."

These were Jesus' enigmatic words after God spoke in thunder from Heaven in John Chapter 12.

Christians speak often of "hearing God's voice" of "listening to God." What we usually mean by this, though, is a prayerful discernment of what we believe the Spirit may be nudging us to do. Occasionally, we may be given a clear word. Less frequently still, we may actually hear something so clear that we would describe it as audible. In reality, though, we probably wouldn't expect the voice to register on a tape recorder. We understand this speech as being something on the spiritual realm.

Jesus spoke often to God, and presumably received this same sort of guidance. On a handful of occasions in the gospels, though, God spoke aloud in such a way that bystanders could hear. One occasion was at Jesus' baptism.

The gospel writers seem divided on the issue of who God was speaking to in this moment. Look how Mark (1:11) has God addressing Jesus, while Matthew (3:17) has God addressing the bystanders about Jesus.

On another occasion, the testimony is unanimous. At the transfiguration, God spoke almost exactly the same words, but this time the gospels agree that the audience for the remarks are the disciples (or at least Peter, James, and John.) "This is my son. Listen to him."

In John 12, God speaks in a voice that some hear as thunder, and others hear as the voice of an archangel. His pronouncement is that His name has been glorified and will be glorified again. Jesus is clear that this word is for the disciples.

Why this particular pronouncement? Why does God, who remains almost painfully silent at times, choose this moment to make His thunderous proclamation?

This is just one of the riddles that surround this story.

The tale opens with a discreet approach towards Jesus by some "Greeks who were worshiping at the festival. They do not approach Jesus directly, but come to Philip first. Why?

Perhaps they are aware that many devout Jews would refuse to receive them during the festival, for fear of becoming unclean through contact with Gentiles. They wonder if Jesus will receive them or not.

Evidently Philip is confused on the matter himself. He turns to Andrew for advice. Andrew doesn't know what to do either. Together they approach Jesus.

If they expected their rabbi to clear things up, they would be disappointed:

"The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. ²⁴I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. ²⁵The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. ²⁶Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be.

Quite aside from the fact that Jesus has given them no guidance on what answer to give the Greeks, his little speech poses riddle of his own. He is speaking of being glorified at the same time he seems to be speaking of dying.

Given our post-Easter understanding of Jesus, this all makes a certain amount of sense. But given the information the disciples had to work with, it's hard to know how they would have understood Jesus' words. It certainly sounds as if Jesus is saying he's about to die. He seems to suggest that somehow this is a glorious thing.

Even more troubling, though, is his suggestion that his disciples are supposed to follow in his footsteps. Is he asking us to follow him to our death?

None of the disciples could be thrilled about that. In fact, Jesus himself wrestles with his coming fate:

²⁷"Now my heart is troubled, and what shall I say? 'Father, save me from this hour'? No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour. ²⁸Father, glorify your name!"

The presence of the Greeks in the background of this tale serve to tell us that the eyes of the world are on Jesus and what he will do next. This has escalated far beyond the scale of a localized religious dispute. With the eyes of the world upon him, Jesus chooses to follow his destiny to the cross. The parable of the wheat going to seed indicates that he believes this action will result in more people being drawn to God.

From the perspective of his disciples, this must seem like nonsense. In their experience, dead rabbis don't collect many disciples. How can the convoluted logic of Jesus ever hold up in the light of day? How can a violent, sacrificial death bring glory to anybody?

No wonder God wades in and speaks in thunderous tones. If they are to accept what they are being told by Jesus, they will need some sign.

Then a voice came from heaven, "I have glorified it, and will glorify it again."

In a voice like thunder, God speaks two difficult truths to those who hear:

I have glorified it...

Somehow, the fantastic claims of Jesus must be true. When Jesus eschewed his own will and sought the will of God, when he expressed a willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice in the eyes of the world, God's name was glorified. Somehow, this bizarre act of surrender became a mark of victory.

...and will glorify it again...

The key word here is "again." It takes us back to the troubling fact that Jesus has invited his disciples to follow in his footsteps.

As his sacrifice has glorified God, so too will ours.

How to Build a Set of Bookends

I have been studying some of the agricultural picture Jesus uses in his parables, and find myself studying John 15.

John 15 carries the picture of Jesus as a vine, and his disciples as branches. Simply put, the parable teaches that those who "abide" in Jesus will "bear much fruit." This will earmark them as followers of Jesus and bring glory to God the Father.

The other gospels include similar thematic material. Both Matthew and mark, for example, include a story of Jesus cursing a fig tree for failing to bear fruit. In Matthew's gospel, the story appears immediately after Jesus' famous visit to the Temple in Jerusalem, in which he upturns the tables of the moneychangers and drives out the sellers of doves and lambs.

Mark ties these two stories together even more strongly, actually inserting the tale of Jesus' rant against the Temple into the middle of the story of the fig tree. Both authors, I suspect, saw a strong connection between Jesus displeasure with an unfruitful fig tree and his displeasure with what he found going on in the Temple. The moral to the story, it seems, is that God will judge the unfruitful Temple in the same way that Jesus judged the fig tree.

Combining these two images is not a new idea. The prophet Isaiah (Chapter 5) presents us a poetic picture of a well tended vine that bears no fruit. He invites the reader to judge between the vine and the vinedresser. Of course, the unfruitful vine must go. For Isaiah, the vine is a symbol of Israel, who failed to bear the fruit of justice and righteousness. He foresees the destruction of Jerusalem and the resulting exile as God's judgment against Israel for failing to be fruitful as his people.

Matthew and Mark both see echoes of this in the withered fig tree and in Jesus' word spoken against the priestly authority of the Temple. They see both as prophetic, declaring God's displeasure with Israel for failing to bear the fruit of justice and righteousness.

John also tells the story of Jesus' visit to the Temple, but in his gospel, this story is placed at the very beginning of Jesus' public ministry. The story of the fig tree disappears, reappearing (at least thematically) in Jesus' final words to his disciples before the Passion. We're pretty sure John had access to the gospels of his fellow evangelists before he wrote his own. He will be well aware that he is taking two images that have been seen together in the earlier gospel tradition and splitting them apart. He has, in a sense, taken the prophetic act of judgment against Israel. apart from the prophetic word and placed them at either end of Christ's public ministry... like bookends. In so doing, he places the entire ministry of Jesus into the context of prophecy against the Jews.

We're uncomfortable with this. As modern Christians, most of us have developed a well justified distaste for anti-Semitism in any form. To discover that the gospel writers (especially Matthew and John) are so patently judgemental against the Jews sends us back-pedalling.

Many scholars rush to tell us that the gospels are written aginst a backdrop of conflict between early church and synagogue. The stories of Jesus' life and death are heavily influenced by the tensions between jews and Christians at the time of their writing. They inform us that Jesus probably didn't say any of that anti-Semitic stuff we read in the gospels. The church added it later to justify their own break with their Jewish roots. Jesus was, afters all, they remind us, a Jew himslef.

This last point, though, deserves more careful observation. Jesus was Jewish. So, presumably were Matthew and John. Recent scholarship around the gospel of john has dispelled the once prevalent myth that John is a "Greek" gospel far removed fromjewish roots. We have come to understand that John, in its day, was intensely Jewish. Ditto with Matthew, who quotes the Tanak like a Rabbi.

What we fail to grasp, I think, was that what Jesus, Matthew, and John are doing in their teaching is the most fundamentally Jewish thing they could do. They are doing what Isaiah and Jeremiah and Elijah all did before them. They are entering into prophetic confession. Jesu' critique of the Temple should not be seen as anti-Semitic, but as prophetic. It is the word of warning offered from one jew to another, the corrective word of the prophet offered to the peple of God.

Read in this light, John's gospel carries a message of confession. It is not "Those evil jews finally got what they had coming." It is "O Lord God, what have we, your people, done?"

The old saying says "Confession is good for the soul." This most certainly true. But the greater role of confession may be to bind people to one another and a common vision.

John, in invoking the image of the vine in chapter 15 is following in the footsteps of Isaiah, sounding a prophetic judgement against the people of Israel who have failed to bear fruit. What he does with the image is also intensely Jewish. He outlines a new hope.

Just as Isaiah promises a "shoot out of the stump of Jesse," Jesus offers a hope for the rebuilding of god's people: "If you abide in me, you will bear much fruit." Jesus life and ministry stand not only as a confession for God's people that they have failed to bear fruit, but shines a light forward. BY choosing to follow the path of Jesus, the people of God can find restoration and fulfill their ultimate destiny as a change force in the world.

Growth Parables

Mark chapter 4 is a central chapter in that gospel.

To begin with, you'll find more red letters here than in the rest of the gospel. Mark has long been recognized as a reporter of Jesus' actions more then his words. What little Mark tells us about what Jesus said is concentrated mostly here.

The chapter is made up almost entirely of parables. In fact, Mark insists: "He did not say anything to them without using a parable. (vs 34)"

In the modern church, we often think of parables as being concrete stories intended to make abstract principles easier to grasp. In fact, Jesus' parables are nothing of the sort. His disciples quickly tumble to the point. They have almost no idea what he's trying to say, or why he's using such strange and obfuscating language.

Jesus' explanation doesn't help much. He basically says, "If you get it, you get it. If you don't you don't." Then he proceeds to illustrate this point with a few more parables.

The key parable in the chapter is the parable of the sower. This one alone is interpreted (at least partly!) for the disciples. Jesus explains that the kingdom of God is like seed scattered over all sorts of soil with varying results. The difference in the results, Jesus tells us, has to do with the depth of our understanding and our willingness to lay other agendas aside. It's a parable about why some people don't understand parables!

In fact, parables should be read more as riddles than as illustrative tales. Jesus' parables don't so much explain the Kingdom of God as they deconstruct our current understandings and challenge us to think "sideways."

Mark's insistence that this was Jesus' primary teaching tool helps us understand some of the other quirky aspects of this gospel. For example, why does Mark focus so much attention on Jesus' actions rather then his words? And why, oh why does Jesus repeatedly forbid his disciples and others to speak the truth about who he is in a public forum?

Mark helps us along a little on the first question. In Chapter Six he tells of the feeding of the five thousand, followed by a story about Jesus walking on water. The tale ends with this statement:

51Then he climbed into the boat with them, and the wind died down. They were completely amazed, 52for they had not understood about the loaves; their hearts were hardened.

Here Mark hints rather baldly that Jesus' miracles are not just flashy events, but are intended to be interpreted and understood. For Mark, Jesus' life is seen as a series of parables, his whole ministry a riddle demanding an answer.

Like all good riddles, "getting it" is half the fun. Just as Jesus lobs his homey little tales about seeds and yeast and buried treasure out into the crowd without explanation, he acts out his role as Messiah in a sort of game of Kingdom Charades. He insists that his disciples not give away the punch line. This is something, he insists, that people will either understand or not understand, depending on their frame of reference.

This very challenging aspect of Jesus' ministry is often overshadowed in the other gospels, where Jesus' spoken word takes a larger role. In these gospels, we are given enough meat that we never really get around to gnawing on the bone. Mark, on the other hand, focuses our attention on the enigmatic mystery surrounding this man named Jesus.