Road Rule (Mark 6:1 - 13)

There are two major, interrelated questions that Mark seeks to answer in his gospel.  First, just who is this fellow named Jesus, whose life and ministry have had such enormous effect upon those who follow him?  Last week, we read a passage that dramatized this.  Remember?  Mark said that “Jesus’ name had become known. Some were saying, ‘John the baptizer has been raised from the dead . . . But others said, ‘It is Elijah.’ And others said, ‘It is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old.’”  Of course, Herod thought he was the former, John the baptizer back from the dead, and this began Mark’s famous flashback that we explored last week.

The second question is a two-parter: what is the nature of Jesus’ authority and what is its source?  Obviously, this question is of vital interest to a faith in the throes of establishing itself: if its leader‘s authority is over a set of Tupperware, nobody’s gonna put much stock in him.  Similarly, if that authority is handed down from some carpenter in a two-bit sheep town, it doesn’t exactly inspire obedience either.

Well. The questions have already had a good workout in the two episodes previous to this one.  In the first, Jesus demonstrates authority over creation, the same creation that God originally made with a puff of divine breath.  We see him sleeping in the boat, unconcerned and nonchalant, and creating order from the sea, that ancient symbol of primordial chaos.  Thus, he has some of the same authority as God the creator, and so, hmmmm . . . where do you suppose it came from?

In the second episode, he demonstrates authority over life, by healing the hemorrhaging woman and raising up Jairus’ daughter, and the law, by making the woman clean.  Further, he demonstrates that this authority prefers the outcast and forgotten, by healing her first, and that it is exercised in relationship, by touching her and calling her daughter. Both of these ways are opposite to the ways of the powers that be.

And so, as this story opens, we’ve seen that Jesus exercises authority over creation, life and the Torah.  And by now, it ought to be obvious from whom Jesus receives that authority: one cannot confer authority one doesn’t have, can one?  And John doesn’t have authority over creation, life  and the law . . . Neither does Herod, nor the Emperor.  Only God has that kind of authority, so that’s where Jesus must have gotten his: from God.

And now, Mark tells us about Jesus coming home, and as is his custom, he sits down in the synagogue and begins to teach.  And that’s when all you-know-what breaks loose among his home-town acquaintances: “Where did this man get all this?” they ask. “What deeds of power are being done by his hands! Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?”  And once again, they are again asking Mark’s primary questions: “what kind of authority is this?  Where did it come from?  Who gave it to him?”  Isn’t this the carpenter, the son of Mary?  We know that he didn’t get it from them . . . We see them every day in the marketplace, watch their kids for them when they need it, we know they don’t have it . . .

They define Jesus, define who he is in their minds, by their relationships to him, by that part of him that they’ve seen.  Some know him as Mary’s son, whom they baby-sat when his parents were busy.  Some know him as James’ big brother, who bossed him around as big brothers are wont to do, or his little sister’s protector, who kept the bullies away.  Each knows him as he relates to her or him, and and since he relates to each one differently, he seems a slightly different person to each.

But Mark makes it clear that they don’t get who he is at his heart, they don’t understand his core identity as son of God, which, in the long run, is the only one that matters.  And so they don’t believe him, they don’t believe he has the authority that he is demonstrating. Further, they take offense at him, and the Greek word use here is skandalon, from which we get the word “scandal;” it’s the same word Paul uses to say that “the cross is a scandal to the Jews,” and it has the connotation of a stumbling block to their faith, that it causes them to somehow lose it, or make it weaker.  And it makes you wonder just how strong their faith was to begin with, if something someone else does causes it to weaken . . .

It reminds me of the people who take offense at something or another and it causes them to leave the church, or maybe just a particular congregation of the church.  Maybe somebody says something to them they don’t like, maybe the pastor walks by them in the hall, maybe she says something in a sermon they don’t like, and they leave the congregation because of it.  Of course, they could’ve chosen to ignore it, they could’ve chalked it up to differing opinion, to the other person having a bad day—it really is all about the other person when that stuff happens, you know—or they could’ve decided that it’s ok for the pastor or anybody else, for that matter, to have a different view, but they don’t, they walk out.

The thing is, our translation of that Greek word—to take offense—is accurate, because it really is an active process, it doesn’t just happen to you, you take offense, it's an action you choose to do, you have a choice.  And that’s exactly what Mark is saying here: Jesus’ homies take offense, they choose to be offended by Jesus’ actions.  And why?  Not because of what he says, not because of what he wears, but of who he is.  Or more accurately, who they think he is, or even more accurately, who they know him to be.  Because he is Mary’s son, he is a carpenter, he is the brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon . . . But he’s more.  And it's the “more” that they do not understand.

They reject him, and does it bruise his very human  feelings?  Is he hurt by the rejection, does he protest in plaintive bewilderment that he’s the same Jesus he ever was, the same carpenter and son and big brother?  If so, Mark doesn’t let on, he just tells how Jesus quotes a proverb about hometown prophets before he leaves his hometown for good.

And does he shake the hometown dust off his feet in protest of his reception, does he model that behavior for his disciples?  It’s clear that Mark wants us to relate these two episodes, Jesus’ visit to Nazareth and his sending of the twelve . . . he sends them two by two, out among the highways and the hedges, to preach the gospel of repentance.  But first, he gives them some of his authority, authority over unclean spirits, that has been passed down from God.  And with this, Mark adds one last kind of authority that Jesus has inherited from his eternal parent.  In the calming of the seas, we saw his authority over creation, in the healing of the two daughters, his authority over life and law, and now over the spirit world.

And as he sends them, he commands them to rely on the kindness of strangers: to take no bread to eat nor even a bag to keep it in, lest they be tempted.  They are to take no money for their belts, wear sandals on their feet, or put on more than one tunic.  I’d say it's lucky it's always warm in Palestine.

All they are allowed is a staff because the rest is to be provided by the locals where they go to preach the gospel: they are to enter a house and stay there for the duration of their visit, thus having a stable base of operations, and, perhaps, the network of friends and introductions provided by their host.

This passage, and versions in Matthew and Luke, was ground-central for Francis of Assisi, who observed that in his time, by the 13^th Century, the church had become bound up in the trappings of the powers that be, ensconced in wealth and power.  He, and his companion Clare, took to the roads, to the highways and hedges, without any support, with no money, no extra clothing, and only a staff and their fellow disciples for company.  And when they hit the road, a funny thing happened: they found places where God was obviously at work, and they joined in, they helped out.  There was none of this not created here syndrome that afflict many congregations, they saw where God was active and became involved.

The thing is, they took the Gospel to the people, they did not expect the people to come to them.  They didn’t sit in a gilded cage, or even an air conditioned box, and wait for folks to show up.  They did what Jesus told them to do, what he commanded and modeled.  Perhaps it's time we modern disciples thought about doing the same.

The good news here is that, even today, Jesus follows his own advice.  Back in the day, he took the Gospel to the people, out in those highways and byways, those towns both big and small, far and near, and he hasn’t stopped yet.  Through his proxy, the Holy Spirit, he comes to us where we are, no matter who we are, as the living, comforting presence of God.  Amen.