Sermon, First Lutheran Church of the Trinity, Chicago
June 10, 2018
Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect. - Romans 12:2
And the crowd came together again, so that they could not even eat. When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, "He has gone out of his mind." And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, "He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons." - Mark 3:20-22
And looking at those who sat around him, he said, "Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother." - Mark 3:34-35
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| "Jesus' Family," A photo I took a nativity set by Delfim Dias de Sá, Santo Tirso, Portugal. It is housed at the St. Fancis/Capela de Ossos in Évora, Portugal. |
There were a lot of fat people there,
and a lot of people who were considered mentally ill, I think.
And there were ex-convicts, and future convicts,
and a ton of non-citizens of Rome.
There were people who had been bullied and abused and mistreated, here and there, in schools, at home;
as well as those who still were.
There were those who wanted a way out.
A new heavens and a new earth.
The poor. Of course.
And the sex workers.
The tax collectors were there.
More or less everyone who was counted as notorious among the morality police—that is, those who only did in private those things they decried in the pulpits and in the public square.
The aged were there too. The old people.
and all those whose bodies used to work,
(that’s a strange word we use, isn’t it?)
but had been worn by their masters’ labor,
and by time,
down to the bone.
All of these people were there, gathered around Jesus, eating up Jesus’ every word.
The misfits, the left-outs,
those for whom fitting in
was less of given thing,
and more of a task,
something to work at,
yet something that was not ever quite entirely achievable.
These were the crowds that gathered around Jesus:
The maladjusted ones, not quite conformed to the world,
and suffering because of it.
The maladjusted ones, looking for someone like Jesus,
And for a place they might belong.
Around this agitating savior they found comfort in a promise.
A comfort lost, not comprehended or felt, by the rest.
A comfort that, for some of the others, felt like affliction.
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This year, according to the church calendar,
we’re going through the book of Mark.
And today we find ourselves in the third chapter of Mark’s Gospel.
Now you might remember that Mark’s gospel...
[remember: gospels are stories about Jesus, right?]
You might remember that Mark’s gospel
doesn’t start with a Christmas story, or any story about Jesus’ origin, or where he came from, as you might expect.
But, on the contrary, Mark’s gospel simply begins with a statement:
This is the beginning of the Good News of the Jesus, the Christ, the Son of the God. (Mark 1:1)
This is how the gospel starts. And immediately, it’s off to the races.
John the baptist shows up. Jesus is baptized. The heavens are opened up.
A voice from heaven speaks.
And it says “this is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
Now, if any of this sounds mundane to you, don’t let it fool you.
Because let me tell you:
when the 1st century communities who collected these stories
and wrote them down and shared them with each other
first read (and even wrote) this gospel, they knew exactly what it was trying to say.
You might remember that the word gospel, or good news, and specifically this phrase, This is the beginning of the good news of SO AND SO, the Son of the gods…
You might remember that that phrase was specifically a phrase used in Rome, in Jesus’ time, to announce Rome’s victory in battle over enemy forces—and not just enemies, anyone they decided to attack while expanding the Roman territory.
The soldiers would go off. Fight, plunder, whatever, and they’d come back to town, processing, trumpet sounds. They’d have a parade.
And when they arrived at the town center, they’d unroll the scroll, and they’d read the account of the battle that Rome had just won.
They’d unroll the scroll, stand way up high, and begin the speech like this:
This is the beginning of the Good News of the Caesar, the Son of the gods.
This is the beginning of the Good News of the Caesar, the Son of the gods.
The Son of the Gods was Caesar’s title.
The title spoken on to Jesus by a voice from the heavens, was generally assumed (and enforced) by the Roman empire, and by those same soldiers who fought and paraded and shared Lord-Caesar-the-Son-of-the-Gods’ Good News of victory in war, to refer to the emperor.
It’s no wonder that the early Christians were martyred for calling Jesus, “Lord,” and “Son of God.” Amen?
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Jesus baptism (and we might say his commissioning—the start of his ministry) was marked by tension
a tension that would build throughout the gospels between Jesus and the Powers.
From the very beginning, this is how Mark’s community members frame their Gospel:
Jesus’ Good News is different.
Jesus’ Good News is different,
and, in fact, in opposition
to Rome’s Good News.
Jesus’ gospel is different than Rome’s reports of war.
Jesus’ victory is a different kind of victory—a victory that does not sacrifice or marginalize or exclude the left outs
and the weirdos,
and the maladjusted,
and the non-conformed.
But, in contrast, is a victory specifically for those people: the marginalized and the left out and the maladjusted and the non-conformed. Amen?
Jesus’ victory is a victory for those Rome would sacrifice.
And for those for whom, simply, Rome just didn’t work.
From the very beginning of the Good News, there is tension between Jesus and Rome.
And that’s not all.
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After his baptism, and subsequent temptation,
Jesus begins to call his disciples.
This might, once again, seem somewhat mundane.
He calls two brothers:
Simon and Andrew.
And then also two other brothers:
James and John, the sons of a man named Zebedee.
Jesus calls them and they leave to follow Jesus, says the text. They get right out of the boat they’re in.
And they leave the family business.
And they leave their father in the boat with the hired hands.
Amen?
That is to say: long before he made the crack we read today about who his real family is (right?),
Jesus was challenging what it meant to be family and what it meant to be faithful to the human family and to the the One he called his heavenly parent.
Long before his crack today about who his real family was, Jesus was challenging what it meant to be family and what it meant to be faithful to God.
And this all happens before chapter two!
It’s, like one or two pages in Mark’s Gospel, depending on how many footnotes you have.
I won’t recount every story that follows, but there are many healings that Jesus does: demons, fevers, paralysis, helping someone to walk…
Jesus seems to have a cure for everything in Mark’s Gospel.
Lots of good, laudable, charitable things! Amen? Stuff that makes people happy. Stuff that makes the front page of the Bridgeport News.
But then Jesus does something really stupid.
He begins to go around forgiving people’s sins.
Not only that, he calls (as his disciple) a tax collector!
A despised, hated tax collector!
Nobody likes a tax collector, especially in Rome!
Many of you have heard a ton of sermons on that point, so I won’t unpack that one now.
He calls a tax collector, dirty, disgusting, despised,
to be
his
disciple.
And he profanes himself, and his reputation, according to the rules of religious tradition in his time, by eating with the sex workers that came for dinner there, at Levi’s house (Levi was the name of that tax collector that he called), and eating with other tax-collectors and a whole group of other people back then who were just labeled generally as “sinners.”
This impure rabbi, fraternizing with the least of society, eating and drinking with the lowest of the lost is going around telling people they are forgiven of their sin?! Telling sinners that they now have no sin?
Blasphemy! Unrighteous! Unholy! Unclean! Impure! Freak! Weirdo! Deplorable!
You can hear the televangelists shouting!
Oh how the preachers of holiness would’ve hated Jesus if only they had actually met him.
So it is no surprise that when Jesus and his disciples don’t fast correctly, when they don’t not-eat correctly, (in the story we read about last week),
and then, immediately after Jesus does another unthinkable for the holy ones:
“Working” on the Sabbath (breaking religious rules to heal somebody’s hand)...
It’s no surprise when all of this goes down and builds up
that the authorities,
those who benefit from the world-as-it-is,
and who delight in the status quo,
had finally HAD ENOUGH.
This guy was up to no good.
From Chapter 1 of Mark’s Gospel,
all the way through Chapter 3,
Jesus, to the powers,
is nothing
but
trouble.
He is unpatriotic toward the empire, and even opposed to it.
He doesn’t think right about the well-established institution of family.
And He doesn’t respect the religious rules. Or those in religious authority. God bless his soul.
No wonder we ended last week’s reading with the ominous words after Jesus healed someone’s hand,
that “The Pharisees and the Herodians immediately conspired against him, how to destroy him.”
And it’s no wonder, when we pick up in the gospel today, that we read these words:
“Jesus went home. And a huge crowd gathered. And when his family heard it, they went to restrain him.”
And also: that people were accusing him of having (and even being) a demon!!!
But: his family went to restrain him…
His family knew things were getting tense. Right?
They were smart people.
So they went. And they thought they’d try one last time to talk some sense into their brother, into Mary’s son.
They thought they’d try one last time to talk some sense into him before he kept preaching about an alternative government,
Where the last become first.
Amen?
They thought they’d try one last time
And just invite Jesus back into the family business,
And let Andrew and and Simon and the sons of Zebedee, and Levi, and everyone else just go home where they belonged.
The tax booth. The fishing boat.
Just get back in your place.
They went to try to convince them
to return to the world as it is.
And how it’s always gonna be! they said.
They thought they’d try one more time to ask Jesus and his friends to behave.
To quit their dreaming.
And
just
learn
how
to be conformed to the world.
Please! they pleaded.
Before the Herodians and Caesar and the the defenders of all of the institutions he had shaken
would have their way...
Family! Faith! Country!
God bless Rome! they said with a healthy,
well-conformed-to-the-world dose of fear.
So stop causing a ruckus.
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And while they were going on and on.
And on and on and on again,
Jesus began to pray:
May God’s Reign come, he prayed.
May God’s will be done,
On earth,
because earth is nowhere near the kingdom of the heavens.
May God’s Reign come.
May God’s will be done.
And his family was disappointed.
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And the defenders of traditional families, they hated him more and again.
And the great defenders of the faith plotted to kill him. They called him heretic and blasphemer and devil and demon.
And the patriots, waving flags, conspired how they would put him behind bars, or lynch and hang him.
As they did with all who weren’t able to conform.
All the champions of the norm, and lovers of normalcy,
they all plotted to kill him.
All together in one place.
Make Rome Normal Again.
And so Jesus did what he always did:
he continued to heal and to cast out demons and to preach.
And there were a lot of fat people there,
and a lot of people who were considered mentally ill.
And there were ex-convicts,
and future convicts,
and a ton of non-citizens of Rome.
There were people who had been bullied and abused and mistreated, here and there, in schools, at home;
as well as those who still were.
There were those who wanted a way out,
A new heavens and a new earth.
May God’s Reign come
May God’s will be done...
The poor were there. Of course.
And the sex workers. And the tax collectors.
Phillip and Andrew and the Sons of Zebedee,
and Levi and Martha, Joanne and Mary.
More or less everyone counted as notorious among the morality police—that is, those who did only in private those things they decried in the pulpits and in the public square.
And the aged were there too,
the elderly,
and all those whose bodies used to work,
(that’s a strange word we use, isn’t it?)
but whose bodies had been worn by their masters’ labor, and by time,
down to the bone.
All of these people were there, gathered around Jesus, eating up Jesus’ every word.
The misfits, the left-outs, those for whom fitting in was less of a given thing,
and more of a task,
something to work at, yet something that was never quite entirely achievable.
These were the crowds that gathered around Jesus:
The maladjusted ones. Not quite conformed to the world.
And suffering because of it.
The maladjusted ones. Looking for someone like Jesus.
And for a place they might belong.
Looking for the Reign of God. On earth. And in heaven.
Around this agitating,
impure,
badly-behaved,
ill-conformed savior,
they find comfort.
A comfort lost, by many.
But for those who come,
and for those who come to believe,
it is the beginning of the Good News of Jesus, the Christ,
the Son of the God.
Amen.
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