Category: 4 Minutes in Mark

When forgiveness gets offensive (Mark 2:1–12)

Jesus doesn’t mind offending people. Each one of the gospel writers includes a first incident where he begins to tick off some of the people who have liked him up to that point. In every case, it comes fairly early in his ministry. In Luke, this happens when he preaches at his hometown of Nazareth, explaining that the Gentiles will accept him before his fellow villagers will (4:16–30). In John, people get angry at Jesus when he brandishes a whip in the temple courtyard and drives out a group of merchants and money-changers (2:13–22). However, in Matthew and Mark, the pivotal incident takes place inside a little house in the Galilean village of Capernaum.

Up till now, Jesus has been doing all the right things. He’s been teaching with a unique authority; he’s cast out demons; he’s healed people who are sick. These are great credentials for a Messiah figure. Now, however, Jesus is going to make the religious leaders of the day really uncomfortable really fast. He’s going to begin claiming authority for himself that doesn’t fit into their ideas of what the Messiah ought to be like.

» Read Mark 2:1–12

The day begins innocently enough, with Jesus returning to Capernaum and stays at a nice, spacious house. Someone rats him out, and before long the crowd descends on him, filling up the house to the point where no one can get in anymore. Then, four men arrive, carrying their paralyzed friend on a cot; they believe Jesus can heal their friend. Since they can’t get in through the door, they take the stairs up top and proceed to “de-roof” the roof. No doubt this created quite the scene inside the house; amid all the dust and chaos and falling chunks of roof, a paralyzed man descends on a cot, lowered by ropes.

Jesus is impressed. These men (and presumably their paralyzed friend) have a lot of faith that Jesus can help them. They trust Jesus so much that they are willing to try something totally crazy in order to get to him. Jesus really likes people with creative, daring, and disruptive faith. So he announces to the man, “My son, your sins are forgiven.”

In the words of Keanu Reeves:  Whoa.

I’m sure that’s pretty much the last thing that anyone standing there expected to hear. It’s not obvious why Jesus says this; did the man’s sins contribute to his paralysis? In any case, the first priority to Jesus is that this man be made right with God. What really ticks off the religious teachers standing nearby is that Jesus thinks he has the authority to pronounce God’s forgiveness. “He is blaspheming!” they think. “Who can forgive sins but God alone?” And they’re right about that second part. In every sin, God is ultimately the offended party; every sin is an act of insurrection against him. He is the King, so he makes the laws; when we break those laws, we reject him as King. And here we have Jesus thinking that he gets to forgive those sins. No mere man can do that—not even a man as great as the Messiah!

I love Jesus’ response. He doesn’t back down. Instead, he turns on his X-ray vision and reads their minds. Yeah, he can do that. Then, he poses a bit of a riddle for them. “Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise, take up your bed and walk’?” What a clever set-up! On the one hand, it’s easier to say, “Your sins are forgiven,” because it’s not something that can be tested; if you say, “Rise, take up your bed and walk,” people are going to figure out pretty fast whether you have that sort of authority or not. On the other hand, fixing a paralyzed man’s legs is small beans compared to forgiving his immense, grave sins against a colossal, holy God.

So Jesus plays the trump card and does both! He heals the paralyzed man, telling the religious teachers that he’s doing it “that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins.” This is the first time in Mark that Jesus identifies himself as the Son of Man—a veiled reference to the messianic figure of Daniel 7:13–14. The Son of Man has been granted authority by God to set up an eternal, universal, indestructible kingdom. And now, Jesus just proved that you can’t underestimate the authority of the Son of Man. He can do things that only God can do. So it’s only natural that the people in the crowd “were all amazed and glorified God, saying, ‘We never saw anything like this!’” No, I’ll bet you haven’t. It’s not every day that the King of all the universe shows up in your town.

We don’t know yet how the religious teachers are going to respond to this smack down. But one thing is clear—Jesus isn’t afraid to claim immense authority for himself. He isn’t afraid to wield that authority by forgiving people who trust him. He isn’t afraid to humble anyone who challenges him. He isn’t afraid to flex his muscles. And this won’t be the last time he does.

Posted on by Dave 1

An unwilling celebrity (Mark 1:32–45)

Here in the U.S. of A., we love our celebrities. Since our nation was founded on the rejection of any sort of monarchy, we don’t have any royal family to obsess over. Fortunately, in an act of supreme benevolence, a parade of actors, actresses, musicians, and models has filled this gap in the American psyche. Ah, the superior lives of the beautiful people!

The problem is, just like any European royal family, many of these celebrities have done little to earn the adulation they receive. For some, their only ticket to stardom has been their good looks. Somehow, they have drawn to themselves crowds of followers, to the point where they are unable to go out in public without attracting far too much attention.

So it seems odd and irreverent to say this, but Jesus was a genuine first-century celebrity—at least at the beginning of his ministry. He generated incredible interest and attracted many followers, but unlike many modern celebrities, he actually deserved the attention. In Mark 1:32–45, we find the beginning of Jesus’ position as a Galilean celebrity, but we also see Jesus’ unusual response to all this attention.

Not a day has passed at Capernaum since Jesus drove an unclean spirit out of a man in the synagogue. Between this and his healing of Simon’s mother-in-law, Jesus has demonstrated an ability to rescue people from both demons and disease. By the time evening rolls around, practically the entire town has surrounded the house. Hope for healing and freedom has been kindled by this preacher from Nazareth. This flame is stoked into a blazing furnace when Jesus responds to their cries for help by healing those who are sick and casting out the demons. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that news will be spreading very fast about this man. What’s strange, though, is that we’re beginning to get the idea that Jesus doesn’t seem to be embracing this publicity. The demons that he is casting out know who he is—that he is more than just another man—yet he won’t let them tell anyone.

Then, long before the sun rises the next morning, Jesus disappears from Simon’s house. The whole town goes looking for him, and Simon and his friends finally find him out in “a desolate place,” far outside of town. He has been spending hours in prayer to God. “Everyone is looking for you,” they appeal to him. Why did Jesus leave? He’s become incredibly popular in Capernaum! What is he doing out in the wilderness?

In the wilderness, Jesus has been praying, talking with God. Here his mind is free from the noise of the crowds; he can rest, and can spend time with his heavenly Father. However, that is not the only reason he has left Capernaum. He tells his disciples, “Let us go on to the next towns, that I may preach there also, for that is why I came out.” Once again, his preaching ministry is his highest priority; although he is glad to perform miracles, he won’t stay in a town that becomes fixated on his miraculous abilities.

While on a journey between towns, Jesus is approached by a leper pleading to be healed. According to the law of Moses, anyone who had leprosy was pronounced unclean. Since his disease was contagious, he was placed under quarantine for as long as he had leprosy. He had to leave town, live alone in the wilderness, and announce to anyone who came near that he was unclean (Leviticus 13:45–46). This law was necessary to prevent an outbreak of leprosy, but it doomed the leprous person to a cruel and lonely existence. No one wanted to have anything to do with a revolting leper.

For this man, Jesus represents not only a chance to be healed, but a chance to rejoin society again. And Jesus feels such gut-wrenching compassion for him that he reaches out toward him. For the first time since leprosy broke out on his skin, the man feels another human being touch him. And at once, he is healed.

That touch becomes the pivot point of Mark’s account. Up until this time, Jesus could enjoy the company of his followers in town, and he can travel to the wilderness to spend time abiding with God. Not any more. Although he warns the man not to tell anyone how he has been healed, the man is so excited—can you blame him?—that he spreads the news to anyone who will listen. Before long, Jesus can’t enter town anymore, and even the wilderness is no longer a refuge from the crowds. They surround him all the time now, pleading for help. There is no escape from the celebrity status he has been trying to avoid. The irony is that when he touched this leper (an act that should have made him unclean, according to the law), Jesus offered the man a chance to rejoin society again, to leave the wilderness, to live again among other people, to enjoy their company. As for Jesus, he can no longer enjoy the company of his followers but has been driven out into the wilderness by the crowds. He takes the leper’s place.

Mark seems to describe Jesus as being pulled in two directions. On the one hand, he has a mission to accomplish, followers to train, and good news to preach. On the other hand, his compassion for other people is so intense that he feels compelled to help them, even if it means attracting an inconvenient and sometimes dangerous crowd.

I suppose at this point we could turn this story into a moral example for us. We could start feeling ashamed because we don’t love people as much as Jesus did; we could resolve to do a better job of following Jesus’ example. It wouldn’t be inappropriate.

For now, though, let’s not do that. Let’s simply sit for a while and watch Jesus as Mark’s story unfolds. How he longs to spend time alone with his Father; how he wants to pour himself and his teaching into his followers. But he is simply so compassionate that he can’t turn away anyone who pleads with him for help. No one is a nuisance to him. Not even you.

Posted on by Dave 0

Teaching with authority (Mark 1:16–31)

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” “You can’t push your morality on me.” “You have no right to order me around.”

We just don’t like authority here in the West. In an increasingly cynical and postmodern culture, people in authority are eyed with suspicion. Authority threatens our sense of autonomy. Even in the church, the role of authority has been questioned—to the point where the bestselling Christian novel, The Shack, has denounced authority as inherently evil. We just don’t like the idea that someone can waltz into our lives and demand that we drop everything and do what he commands.

Maybe that’s part of the reason we have such a big problem following Jesus. He is not afraid to insist on his own authority.

Take a look at today’s passage in Mark. The first scene opens with Jesus walking along the shore of the Sea of Galilee, a deep lake known for its excellent fishing. He sees two sets of fishermen working the family business, calls to them and commands them to follow him, and they obey. Mark doesn’t really get into the backstory of these men (though John’s gospel explains that they already knew who Jesus was). Mark simply offers us a scene so abrupt, so startling, that we are left wondering, “What man possesses authority so great that he simply asks a handful of fisherman to leave their lifelong family business in order to follow him around?” Jewish Rabbis didn’t seek out followers; their followers sought them. Yet here is Jesus, walking up to these men and staking his claim on their lives. As far as he was concerned, they belonged to him. He owned them.

Do you find that last sentence a little threatening? I’m an American citizen, and odds are that you are as well. We like to think we’re free; we like to think that nobody has the right to order us around. The problem is, Jesus has that right. “Follow me,” he insists, “and I will make you become fishers of men.” There is a threatening beauty to Jesus’ statement: it is a command followed by a promise. To men who have no greater ambition than to make money and pass on the family occupation, Jesus offers something far greater. “You won’t be fishing for fish anymore. No, I will turn you into someone who fishes for people. The gospel of the kingdom that you’ve heard me proclaim is the gospel that you will proclaim.” Jesus gives them a new destiny, providing a sense of meaning and purpose to their lives that they have never had before.

So what do Simon, Andrew, James, and John do? Jesus says, “Follow,” so they follow. They leave their jobs and their families and obey him at once. That’s the sort of authority Jesus has.

With his disciples in tow, Jesus shows up in the town of Capernaum along the seashore. He arrives in the local synagogue on the Sabbath day and is invited to teach. When he does, he astonishes everyone there because he teaches them with authority, “and not as the scribes.” The scribes were the local teachers of the law, who would simply parrot what other teachers had said about the Old Testament. Not Jesus! He steps up and teaches his own ideas, and he teaches them with the air of someone who is perfectly within his rights to order you around.

However, there is someone in attendance who doesn’t want to be ordered around. A man with an “unclean spirit”—a demon—tries to shout Jesus down. He wants to shut down Jesus’ teaching, so he instigates a confrontation, shrieking, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are—the Holy One of God.” The unclean spirit is attempting to wrest control of the situation from Jesus. He goes on the offensive with three statements. First, he demands that Jesus leave him and his demonic comrades alone. Second, he announces that he knows Jesus’ plan—to destroy him and his fellow spirits, who have been harassing the people of Galilee. Third, he knows Jesus’ secret identity. He is “the Holy One of God”—someone with a special relationship with God, if not the Messiah himself! The unclean spirit pulls out all the stops to gain control over Jesus.

Jesus will have none of it. “Be silent, and come out of him!” he demands. Jesus had been teaching, the spirit had tried to shout him down, and now Jesus shuts up the spirit. This demon leaves the man with one final act of defiance, “crying out with a loud voice.” And then—silence. Jesus has the stage to himself. The crowd is astounded—this is a man of impossible authority! And notice the emphasis in the text: “a new teaching with authority”! Jesus’ victory over the unclean spirit demonstrates that his teaching really does have authority. Jesus really does have the right to tell you and me what to do. He’s not afraid to use that right. He owns us.

But the next scene shows the beauty of this authority. After that day’s incredible encounter in the synagogue, Jesus spends the afternoon at Simon’s house. While he is there, his disciples tell him that Simon’s mother-in-law is sick with a fever. Here, we find the first act of faith in Mark’s gospel. The disciples see that Jesus had the authority to drive out an unclean spirit. Maybe he has enough authority to heal her from this dangerous fever! They ask Jesus if he will do something about it.

Think about this. Here is a man with an authority they have never witnessed before. They have no right to demand him to perform a miracle of healing. He is perfectly within his rights to refuse them. Yet Jesus approaches the bed, takes the woman by the hand, and lifts her up. The fever leaves her, and she is finally able to show hospitality to her guests. Jesus wasn’t forced to heal her—he chose to heal her. He uses his authority for our good. He wants to heal us; he wants to free us; he wants to give us a new destiny.

Yes, his authority threatens us. And it’s a lovely sort of threat.

Posted on by Dave 2

The King appears (Mark 1:14–15)

I just checked to make sure, and it turns out that there has never been a President from West Virginia. By saying that, I probably didn’t shock anyone. West Virginia is one of the states in the Union that has a reputation—deserving or not—for being a backwater region. If it’s political power you’re looking for, you travel to Washington, D.C.; if it’s economic success, you go to New York City; if it’s cultural clout, you make your way to Hollywood. You don’t go to West Virginia.

Not unless you’re trying to pull a Jesus.

Jesus doesn’t begin his earthly ministry in an advantageous place. “Now after John was arrested,” Mark relates, “Jesus came into Galilee, proclaiming the gospel of God” (1:14). Galilee was sort of the West Virginia of Jesus’ day. If you were a Jew, and you wanted to make something of yourself, you didn’t go to Galilee; you went to Jerusalem. To the Jews, Jerusalem was New York City, Hollywood, and Washington, D.C. all rolled up into one. It was the political, cultural, economic, and religious capital of Judea. That’s where people would have been looking for a Messiah—not in Galilee. (Though they should have been.)

So, right from the outset, we see that Jesus is rather unconventional. He’s not what the Jews are looking for in a divinely anointed king. In fact, he’s not what anyone is looking for in a king. It’s horribly disconcerting when our expectations are set on a Savior whose first public move is to reject those expectations. Jesus is an unconventional man with an unconventional message, summarized by these words: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel” (v 15).

Just like John, Jesus calls everyone to repent—to reject the old way of thinking and living and to accept the new kingdom that is about to break into the world. When he says, “The time is fulfilled,” he’s declaring that his arrival is the fulfillment of history. All of human history has been building to this point; it all has meaning, and that meaning is found in Jesus. Each and every event, no matter how small, has driven the world toward the arrival of this man. Century by century and minute by minute, his appearance has been orchestrated by the Lord of history. Yes, every moment of our lives is infused with careful intent by our Creator, as we wait for the full glory of his kingdom to appear. Even now, everything finds its purpose in Jesus (Romans 11:36).

Jesus declares that a paradigm shift is about to take place, and the world will never be the same; God’s kingdom has drawn near. But what is this kingdom? Who is its king? Certainly, the Jews of Jesus’ day have expectations that the Messiah would drive out the Roman empire and set up a new Jewish kingdom, following in the footsteps of David his ancestor. Perhaps the unconventional arrival of this Galilean preacher is the first clue that God may have different plans. The Jews are right in believing that the Messiah will be their king, but how can this man be their king? Is this how God has chosen to intervene when his people are suffering? Jesus seems to think so—he believes that his appearance has brought God’s new kingdom near. The whole world order is about to be turned upside down; the old kingdom is about to wither away. Things are about to change—fast—and Jesus presents his audience with a choice. Either keep living like you’ve always lived, or change your life immediately in response to this new reality! Jesus isn’t concerned whether his gospel is relevant to his listeners; he pleads for his listeners to be relevant to his gospel.

This question of relevance is one you will have to face today. God’s kingdom has not fully arrived yet, but his triumph is inevitable. For far too long, we have focused ourselves on understanding and manipulating and growing comfortable in the way our society works. We have looked for success as defined by American values and ideals; we have placed our hope in our self-invented dreams and ambitions; we have knotted ourselves into the fabric of the American culture. But all of this will be swept away when the new kingdom is fully and finally established. This is bad news for those who cling to the old kingdom, and the greatest news possible for those who have let it go. All of history is bent toward its King, and when he appears, he will sweep away every illusion of control that we cling to. Jesus is not conventional, and he loves his people too much to befriend their conventional ambitions.

Posted on by Dave 0

Mightier than I (Mark 1:2–13)

It’s been a cold winter here in Indiana. After last winter, in which the windchill dropped to around –30° F at times, I figured we were due for something a little warmer this time around. It’s true that November and December were unseasonably warm, and it’s true that temperatures have not dropped as low as last winter. However, early this January, the weather stayed cold for long periods of time with no respite. I’m just grateful for a warm house to come home to every day.

It’s times like this that I’m glad I don’t live in the wilderness. That word—wilderness—implies a harsh environment barely able to sustain human life. A winter like this makes everything a wilderness. The other way to make a wilderness is to cover a land with rocks, sand, and scorching heat. Take away any water, and you’ve got yourself the kind of place where no one would want to live. The only people found there are nomads and outcasts. Those who are rich and powerful stay away from the wilderness.

So what’s Jesus doing there?

» Read Mark 1:2–13

Unlike Matthew and Luke, Mark doesn’t begin his story with the birth of Christ. He has another way of telling the humble beginnings of Jesus. Mark’s “Christmas story” begins in the Judean wilderness—a wasteland of hills, hot sun, dust, and precious little water. It’s not a coincidence that Jesus shows up here; his coming was prophesied in the Old Testament by Isaiah and by Malachi. In verses 2–3, Mark quotes Malachi 3:1 and Isaiah 40:3, which together reveal that a messenger will herald the Messiah’s coming. This messenger will call for a highway to be carved into the impassable hills—a highway broad, flat, and straight, fit for a King. This King will make his entrance into the world through the wilderness. Who is this King? Well, in a clever little trick, Mark adjusts and clarifies Malachi’s prophecy. Malachi quoted God as saying, “I send my messenger and he will prepare the way before me.” In Mark, we read him to say, “I send my messenger before your face.” So is the messenger preparing the way for “me”—for God? Or is he preparing the way for “you”—for Jesus? Or could it be…?

With a sly smile, Mark moves on with his story.

In the wilderness, a place where the powerless live, the messenger John explains that this “highway” is really the repentance of God’s people, signified by baptism. If they repent—if they change their attitude and their behavior—they will be forgiven for their sins. But that is not all. John, dressed like a prophet, announces that this forgiveness is only the beginning. “After me,” he declares, “comes he who is mightier than I.” This mightier man will immerse his people in the Holy Spirit. He will soften their hearts and empower them to follow the Lord faithfully (Ezekiel 36:26–27).

Mark doesn’t leave us waiting. The mightier man comes from Nazareth in Galilee to be baptized. Now, everyone else who had been baptized would confess their sins and repent. Not Jesus. When he comes up from the water, heaven is opened, and the Spirit descends on him “like a dove” (verse 10). Then comes a voice from heaven: “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.”

Imagine, for a moment, if this had not happened. If Jesus’ baptism had gone the way all of John’s other baptisms had gone, people would assume that he was just like everyone else. He would be seen as a fellow sinner looking for a Messiah. But when God speaks from heaven, he identifies him as his special Son, as someone he dearly loves, as someone who has pleased him in every way. Mark doesn’t say it outright, but he once again hints to us, “This man is not looking for the Messiah. He is the Messiah.” Unlike any other man, Jesus is fully pleasing to God; he has not earned God’s wrath for sin.

The greatest outpouring of God’s wrath in the Old Testament was the great Flood of Noah (Genesis 6–8). The heavens were opened, and the whole world was immersed in waters of judgment. At the end of the Flood, Noah sent out a dove three times to see if there was any dry land left. The third time he did this, the dove did not return. The water had subsided, and Noah knew that God’s wrath had come to an end. Here in Mark’s story, Jesus is immersed in water, but he is not condemned. When the heavens open, there is no wrath. The Spirit descends on him in the form of a dove, and God announces that he is fully pleased with this man. In Jesus, and only in Jesus, there is peace with God.

The Holy Spirit descends on Jesus and drives him again into the wilderness. With Jesus, the mightier one, everything takes place on a colossal scale. Almost in passing, Mark mentions that he stays in the wilderness 40 days, is tempted by Satan, that he lives among wild animals, and that he is served by angels. No big deal. Just another event in the life of Jesus. The Spirit drives him to do great things, until even the great things can only be mentioned briefly.

This sort of understated power and authority is so characteristic of Jesus in Mark’s gospel. And it comes with a promise. The last words that John speaks in this gospel are these: “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” Jesus is so mighty that he has authority over the Holy Spirit. He can change people’s hearts; he can take cynical, calloused, bitter people and make them trust him, love him, and worship him. He can take fearful people and make them into heroes of the faith, able to stand against Satan and wild animals, heroes to whom angels minister.

Yes, he can change you.

Posted on by Dave 0