When
last we saw our heroes, they’d done the most impulsive thing of their lives:
they’d give up a sure thing, a steady—if dangerous and uncertain—job and take
up with this itinerant preacher. James and John had even left their father with
their nets beside the Sea of Galilee. And I think we could forgive the boys if
they’d gotten cold feet in the meantime, if they’d started to wonder just what
they’d gotten themselves into, following this Jesus guy like they’d done. I
mean, “I will make you fishers of people” was cute and all—Andrew thought it’d
make a great song one day—but cute doesn’t pay the bills, doesn’t bring in any
money, honey, get ‘em any bread, Fred, or any other cliché you can think of . .
.
They
are, in short, beginning to wonder how they were going to get by, grumbling to
one another while shuffling along after Jesus, when he makes a bee-line to the
nearest synagogue—it was the Sabbath, no less—and begins to teach, and Simon—who
one day would be called Peter—Simon, for one, thought “uh oh, here we go . . .
We’re gonna get thrown out of the first place we enter” And sure enough,
there’s the Rabbi over there, in his Sabbath best, not a hair out of place,
looking like he’d a had a bath recently, even, and he’s staring daggers at
them.
But
then Jesus begins to talk, and it’s like every eye in the place becomes riveted
to him, like thy can’t tear them away, they’re so fascinated. Even the Rabbi
feels it, his eyes going from little, angry slits to big, round saucers . . .
Have you ever seen that happen? I did, one time, back when I was in seminary.
Walter Breuggemann, Old Testament professor at Columbia while I was there, had
done kinda the same thing, actually, he’d accepted a gig teaching the book of
Joshua at First Baptist Church of Decatur, Georgia. And you gotta know that at
the time, Walter was the number one Old Testament scholar in the Christian
world, and he wasn’t known for his . . . orthodox views, and First Baptist, though
not conservative by Southern Baptist standards, was nevertheless where all the
monied people went, and the night Pam and I were there Walter was in full
Walter mode, pacing around—no pulpit to tie him down—growling about a topic was
just as radical as what Jesus must’ve taught in that long-ago synagogue, and
have any of you ever seen Breuggemann in action? He lives here in Cincinnati
now, so you could . . . but when he gets going, he puts his hands on either
side of his head and stalks around, and that night he was likening the bad guys
in Joshua to the money-men of the time, the bankers and lawyers—it was vintage
Walter—and I swear the well-appointed ladies in the audience were shaking in
their Manolo’s and clutching their leather-clad bibles, and even though they
should’ve been offended—he was kinda
talking about them—they
were like mongooses—or is it mongeese?—with a cobra, they couldn’t take their
eyes off him, because he was the number one Old Testament scholar in the world,
and he spoke as one with authority.
And
Jesus isn’t known for his orthodox views either, as our heroes are about to
discover, but nobody can take their eyes off him, because he too speaks as one
with authority, and they’re all astonished to see this grubby wanderer speaking
this way, speaking with even more authority, much more panache than the local
scribes, the local religious authorities, who after all could put a
caffeined-up barista to sleep, Jesus just oozed confidence and authority and
all that jazz. After all, the disciples had to see something in him to cause them to up and
abandon their livelihoods . . .
Well.
If the disciples could see that something, so could the forces of evil,
personified in our story by some demons. Now, they were going about their
business, doing their demon-y thing, possessing some poor slob right there in
the synagogue . . . and how sacred a place could that be, letting some demons
in like that? Anyway, the demons spoke through the mouth of the possessed guy
and said “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to
destroy us?” Now, I don’t know if the possessed guy’s head was spinning around
or he was throwing up pea soup or anything, but I bet those synagogue goers
were plenty scared nevertheless. Those unclean spirits might have been hiding
in plain sight, in a guy they knew well . . .
And
maybe this is a good place to give the standard, modernist disclaimer, that 1st
century Christians believed in demons, believed that mental illness was caused
by minions of the devil flapping around, and many Christians still do. But be
that as it may, the author of Mark was a first-century kind of guy, and he
interpreted it that way, and really it’s beside the point: it’s all about
authority, even the forces of darkness can’t resist him, he has so much of it.
And here’s the thing: just like the four disciples with Jesus, about whose call
we read last week, who must have seen something in hm, the demons see something
in him too; more than that, they recognize him. ”I know who you are, the Holy
One of God,” they say, and Jesus shuts them up, commanding them to come out,
and they do, giving the poor guy one last shaking on the way out, and at least
they don’t have to go into a herd of pigs. This time, anyway.
Well,
everyone is amazed, just amazed, it’s like they can’t get over it. They keep
saying “What’s this? A new teaching? With authority? He commands even the
unclean, and they obey him.” And notice that they don’t say a new teacher but a
new teaching . . . What he’s said they’ve never heard before, and he’s got so
much authority even the demons can’t resist: they have to do what he says.
And
the point Mark makes is is that Jesus has authority, whatever that means means.
It’s really the point of the whole episode, the first one Mark records
concerning his ministry. Mat least the way Mark tells it. And in eight scant
verses, he shows it by two actions. First, he says Jesus “taught as one having
authority,” but though we’re told he teaches that way—and the scribes
don’t—we’re not told what it is he says, so we don’t know exactly what it is
that see what makes the congregation of the synagogue think it’s authoritative.
In
the second action, Jesus drives the demons out of the possessed guy, and
although there’s a translational difficulty here—the Greek’s not clear about
whether it’s the teaching that’s authoritative or the action itself—what is
clear is that the Jesus has authority over
the minions of darkness. He tells him what to do and they do it, they leave the
poor schmuck alone.
So
this authority in interpreting scripture is manifested in his power over the
demons . . . And in fact, the Greek word we translate here as authority can
also mean power (John’s gospel uses it more in that way, for example). And
points to the relationship between authority and power, which we usually view
as kind of separate . . . Jesus has authority over scripture, which he
demonstrates by how he teaches it, and the way he uses that authority is to
boot out the demons. Sayonara demons.
And
I think Mark is saying something deceptively subtle about authority and the
right way to exercise it. Jesus shows both authority and power
Authority
when he interprets scripture as an expert, as one who knows what he is doing,
and power when he exercises that authority, by driving the demons out. Thus,
knowledge is linked to action . . . his authoritative teaching was expressed in his action.
And
this establishes a pattern we see in all of the gospels . . . Teaching coupled
with action. Jesus and his posse roll into town and head for the synagogue to
where Jesus teaches, and then he demonstrates
that teaching by his actions: healing folks, feeding folks, and driving off
evil spirits. Or, as he puts it over in Luke, bringing good news to the poor,
proclaiming release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, and
letting the oppressed go free. And his action here, in this the first episode
from his ministry, of booting out the demons is right in the middle of that
wheelhouse: he releases the possessed man from his captivity to evil.
Teaching
and action, teaching and action . . . The two poles of his ministry. And of
course, as our model in life, we use the pattern he demonstrates in our own
ministry as a congregation. We establish a place of teaching—scripture
interpretation through preaching and teaching—and then go out demonstrating
that teaching in our actions. Teaching and action. Teaching and action . . .
Well.
There’s one more thing about authority, besides what you do with it, that is,
and that’s where it comes from.
Authority doesn’t just materialize, it doesn’t just appear out of thin air, it
is conferred upon someone. A president’s authority—in a democracy, at least—is
conferred by the people. A dictator’s authority by the army, a teacher’s by the
academy, and etc. and the demons in our story know where Jesus’ authority comes
from, don’t they? They say we know who you are: the Holy One of God. God has
conferred authority on Jesus, he does what he does—teaching and action,
teaching and action—with the authority of God.
And
our authority is from God as well, isn’t it, both our authority as individuals
and as a church. We don’t get it from the electorate, we don’t get it from an
army, we don’t get it from an institution conferring a degree. We get it from
God . . . And I ask you: if folks were to hear what we teach, if they were to
witness what we do, would they be able to tell? Amen.
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