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Printer Friendly VersionIf
you look at a map of the United States, you get an unrealistic image of our
coastline. It doesn’t matter if you’re looking at a globe, an
atlas, or a fold-out map from AAA; the image you get of the coastline is the
same. On a map you get the impression that on every coast the brown and green
hues of land have a crisp, distinct boundary, neatly separated from the blue
hues of oceans and gulfs. From a cartographer’s perspective, the ocean
never actually touches the land and the boundaries are never in flux; you
simply step from land, across a thin black line, into sea.
Maps
give pictures of boundaries that are neat and orderly: land here, boundary,
water there. Beaches reveal a much different reality. Instead of neat, thin
lines of separation, you find broad, vast expanses of sand where the boundaries
are constantly changing. A patch of ground that seems clearly on dry land
at nightfall may be covered by sea when dawn approaches. The crisp, clean
lines of a map get washed away by the ebb and flow of the tides down on the
beach.
I.
The Gospel of Mark begins looking very much like a map. As Mark starts his
Gospel, he gives clear lines of demarcation: this is who Jesus is; this is
what Jesus came to do. Mark knows we won’t get the full significance
of the life of Jesus if he just tells us “what happened,” so Mark
assumes the role of a narrator, giving us insider insights, marking the boundaries,
giving us the “lay of the land.”
Jesus
is the Son of God, Mark wants us to know, so he tells us in the very first
verse. There’s no genealogy, no birth narrative, no easing into the
story. Just the stark announcement: “The beginning of the gospel about
Jesus Christ, the Son of God” [1:1]. Mark reinforces the message that
Jesus is the Son of God by letting us overhear the voice from heaven at the
moment of Jesus’ baptism, a voice presumably heard only by Jesus himself:
“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased” [1:11].
What’s Mark doing? He’s drawing a map; he’s setting the
boundaries. This is the gospel of Jesus Christ, who is the Son of God.
Mark
wants us to know that Jesus was dramatically empowered by the Holy Spirit,
so he tells us of a scene that only Jesus saw at His baptism: “As Jesus
was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit
descending on him like a dove” [1:10]. The Spirit, moving above the
surface of the waters, demonstrating God’s presence, bringing life;
it conjures images of Genesis 1. It sets the stage. It marks the boundaries.
Mark tells us that Jesus is empowered by the Spirit of God.
Mark
wants us to know that Jesus clearly proclaimed the coming of the kingdom of
God, so he clearly delineates between John the Baptist and Jesus. John the
Baptist prepared the way, but Jesus is the main character in this drama. John
the Baptist got folks ready for Jesus so Jesus could boldly announce, “The
time has come. The kingdom of God is near” [1:15]. John the Baptist
is significant, but he’s not the main character. So in a few short verses
John is introduced, then moved off the stage, and Mark has mapped out his
Gospel for us: Jesus Christ, the Son of God, empowered by the Spirit of God,
has come to proclaim the kingdom of God. The Gospel begins with crisp, distinct
boundary lines. This is who Jesus is; this is what Jesus has come to do.
II.
But as we’re drawn into the narrative Mark unfolds, the boundary lines
don’t seem to be nearly as crisp or clear. Like moving from a map of
the coast to the beach itself, we find ourselves drawn into an actual experience
that blurs some of our pre-determined boundaries. Take the baptism of Jesus,
for instance. Mark has made it clear that Jesus is the Son of God, with all
we know that involves: blameless, pure, holy. He has also made it clear that
John is baptizing humans, real people, with all we know that involves: sinful,
broken, full of impurities.
So
what in the world is Jesus doing? Why is the holy Son of God being baptized
where sinners are baptized? If Jesus had hired a PR person, they would have
been beside themselves: Jesus, what do you think you’re doing, being
baptized with all those sinners? That’s not the image we want to project,
Jesus! You have no sin; why risk your reputation being baptized just like
they were baptized? Jesus, what are you doing? If a PR person had scripted
the story, we’d have a picture of Jesus, standing on the riverbank,
congratulating the people after they came up out of the water, giving them
a pat on the back, maybe a big “thumbs up” sign from the dry land.
But
that’s not the kind of Savior we have in Jesus Christ. He’s not
a “stand at a distance and cheer us on” kind of Savior. No, we
have a “wade right into the experiences of human existence” kind
of Savior. He didn’t come partway from heaven to where we are. He came
all the way—right into the middle of the lives we live. Experiencing
what we experience, living where we live.
And
as we watch the scene unfold before us, all our preconceived boundary lines
seem artificial. It’s no longer “holy Son of God” over there,
and “sinful humanity” over here. It’s “holy Son of
God” in the midst of, surrounded by, identifying with sinful humanity.
And that’s how it should be in our lives, too: God’s holy people
in the midst of, surrounded by, identifying with sinful humanity. But the
sad truth is, “we spend an awful lot of time in the Christian church
talking about God’s love for sinners, but we sure do go to a lot of
trouble not to be mistaken for one of them. Guilt by association and all of
that. Only Jesus . . . did not seem too concerned about that.” There
He stood, right in the middle of sinful humanity, being fully human. And when
Jesus came, demonstrating that He was fully human, God broke through and declared
He was fully divine.
And
instead of clear boundaries (sinless Son of God over here, sinful humanity
here), instead of clear boundaries, we get Jesus walking on the shoreline,
where the tides ebb and flow endlessly between God’s holy Son and sinful
humanity.
III.
From the baptism of Jesus, Mark leads seamlessly into the 40 days in the wilderness.
Jesus, still wringing the water out of His clothes, heads to the desert. Ah,
the desert. We think we know the boundary you cross when you move from river
to desert. Isn’t the river teeming with life, and the desert like “Death
Valley?” Isn’t the river a place of fellowship, and the wilderness
a deserted, desolate place? Isn’t the river like a maternity ward, full
of the promise of new life? And isn’t the wilderness like a cancer ward,
with the threat of death heavy in the air?
We
expect this: that the flowing water and the abundance of the Spirit go hand
in hand, and that the dryness of the desert matches the dryness of life separated
from God. That’s what we expect, but again, the lived experience confounds
our expectations. Oh, in the wilderness there is Satan, and in the wilderness
there are wild animals. The desert does mean dryness. But the desert is also
marked by the Spirit’s presence.
Do
you know what it’s like to experience God’s presence in the most
unexpected places? Vice Admiral James Stockdale survived 2,714 days as a P.O.W.
in Vietnam. “On one occasion, the North Vietnamese handcuffed Stockdale’s
hands behind his back, locked his legs in heavy irons, and dragged him from
his dark prison cell to sit in an unshaded courtyard so other prisoners could
see what happened to anybody who refused to cooperate. According to the Navy’s
official report of the episode, Stockdale remained in that position for three
days. Since he had not been in the sun for a long time, he soon felt weak,
but the guards would not let him sleep. He was beaten repeatedly. After one
beating, Stockdale heard a towel snapping out in prison code the letters GBUJS.
It was a message he would never forget: ‘God Bless You Jim Stockdale.’”
Experiencing the presence of God in the most unexpected places. Mark says
that in the desert you can even hear the rustle of angels’ wings.
To
move from river to desert is not to step across a neat boundary from abundance
into scarcity. Nor is it to move from a zip code where only God is found to
a zip code to where only Satan is found. No, in the desert we find instead,
the Spirit and Satan in the same zip code, battling for the same turf, coming
to bear on the same life. The Son of God himself felt the upward lift of angels
and the downward pull of Satan. In the same place. At the same time. For 40
days Jesus experienced a tug-of-war. Satan tempting Him. Angels serving Him.
Satan putting obstacles in His way; the Spirit—who sent him there—the
Spirit steering Him clear of them. That’s the desert experience Mark
narrates.
IV.
Then, abruptly, Mark narrates another scene. Mark gives not just a change
of venue, but also a change in how time is measured. From the specific, measured
“40 days” of time to what sounds like a vague, lackadaisical accounting:
after. “After” John was arrested, “after” John was
put in prison, the next scene begins. Jesus starts to proclaim the kingdom
of God. Jesus did it at that time because, “the time had come.”
Which is not to say that it was the 41st day, or the 15th of the month, or
half past three, or any other calendar or clock kinds of time. It was just
time; kairos, God’s time.
On
the face of it, it seems like a most unlikely time; a less than favorable
place. The time: John has just been arrested by Herod. The place: Herod’s
kingdom of Galilee. After John is arrested, Jesus comes back to Galilee, preaching.
John had made it clear that someone would be following after him. But you’d
think John’s arrest would encourage the one coming after him not to
follow him so closely. Maybe a little more time in the isolation of the desert
would be prudent. But no.
At
the time and in the place when Herod exerted the force of his power in his
kingdom of Galilee, Jesus came into Herod’s kingdom of Galilee proclaiming
the kingdom of God. And Mark tells it in such a way that the message is unmistakable:
the good news of God’s kingdom is not just proclaimed where it appears
to have no rivals. And God’s kingdom is not just proclaimed when we
might think the time is right. We get our demographic maps that show the best
places, and watch the economic indicators to find the right time, and then
we proclaim the kingdom of God. All across America we find the church chasing
Wal-Mart and Starbucks. If the time and place is right for them to open a
franchise, then the time and place must be right for us to open a franchise
on the opposite corner.
But
listen to Mark. If God’s kingdom was proclaimed in that time and in
that place, then just maybe the time has come for God’s kingdom to be
proclaimed in all times and in all places. In some places, it’s after
the neighborhood has changed. In other places, it’s after the missionaries
have been kicked out. Somewhere else it’s after the plant has been shut
down. After, after, after. After the kingdoms of this world have thrown their
worst at the church and tried their best to silence the message. After all
that, it’s time to announce the Good News of the kingdom of God.
After
John was put in prison, Jesus came preaching, because it was time. Kairos.
God’s time.
So
with the Gospel of Mark, we begin the season of Lent. These three brief scenes
are something of a notice before the journey begins: God will not allow himself
to be confined to the boundaries we have drawn, saying, “God works here
and here, but not there.” This Christ whose steps we’ll trace
will lead us on a journey that will defy our expectations.
God’s
holy Son will not avoid associating with known sinners who submit themselves
to a baptism of repentance. And we’ll be called to do the same.
God’s
Holy Spirit will not allow the godforsaken places of this world to be completely
godforsaken. And we may come to experience His presence in those places where
we are most keenly aware of His absence.
God’s
kingdom will not cower in fear when the kingdoms of this earth exert their
most demonic powers. The message of that good news began when it was the right
time. The time is still right.
“Look ahead,” Mark says. “See that spot on the map, marked by a cross? The one that seems to be the driest, most desolate, godforsaken place on all the earth? Wait and see. The barrenness of that hill may just prove to be a place where God’s Spirit is still at work—where angels dare to tread.”