Not As the Scribes

Mark 1:21-28
Epiphany 3
January 21, 2024
William G. Carter

They went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, and he cried out, “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.” But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee.

 

Years ago, when I was on vacation, I visited a church without telling anybody who I was. It is my habit to worship whether I’m working or not, so I slipped in the back and sat down. After a brief prayer to prepare my heart, I opened my eyes and looked around. I observed activities that I never see when I am upfront.

Some slipped in late, others slipped out early. Some paid attention, a teenager spent the hour tapping his phone, and one of the choir members took a nap. A note was passed, a few words whispered. Candy was unwrapped, cough drops were shared. The organist began a hymn at a sprightly tempo, the congregation did their best to slow her down. I do have to say the preacher started with a lot of energy, but twenty minutes later, he was running on fumes. It was quite the education.

So, when I hear today’s account of a worship service in the seaside village of Capernaum, I can’t help but wonder what everybody noticed. It was the first time Mark tells us that Jesus spoke in public. He has been baptized. He’s been tested. He snatched two fishermen out of their boat, and two more after that. When the weekend comes, he stepped into the village synagogue.

Every eye was on him, as he stepped up to the podium. He was in holy space. It was the Sabbath, holy time. Although Mark does not mention it, no doubt Jesus opened the ancient scroll to the text for the day, put it into the air, and then sat in the teacher’s seat. Everybody leaned forward, and he was good. Really good. The audience began to nod in agreement. They were awakened by his insight. Somebody said, “He didn’t download that sermon from the internet.” Another said, “Yes, isn’t it refreshing that he’s not reading us a book report on Leviticus?” Not like the scribes! 

No, the lesson was fresh. The speaker was energized. Since he was new, no doubt he spoke his signature sermon, that God’s kingdom has come close, that God is the rightful ruler over all things, that God rules over our hearts, our minds, our lives, our community, our world. Just then, someone over here stood and started to scream at him. Jesus raised his voice. The man tried to out-shout him. “I know who you are, Jesus of Nazareth. What have you come to do? Have you come to destroy us?”

Suddenly, that pleasant sermon, with all its power and authority, was interrupted. And I am wondering what the people there were thinking, what they were feeling. Has this happened before? Was this man subject to temper tantrums? Was he unstable? Did something set him off? Had something gotten into him? That’s how they would have diagnosed him in the first century: “he had an unclean spirit.” Something got into him. What was it? They didn’t wonder about it. They just knew. Something possessed him. For the moment, maybe longer, it held the rest of them hostage.

It can happen. It does happen. Maybe there is a person who gets too big for their britches, and the rest of the congregation allows it to happen. Power is lodged unofficially in someone accustomed to calling the shots. Then the new preacher comes to town and there is a showdown. It can happen.

It happened not far from here. The new preacher came, got the lay of the land, peeked into all the locked closets, mapped out the territory. Then, one Sunday, she stood to say, “There’s no way we will ever balance our budget by selling Welsh cookies.” It got very quiet. Then the murmurs ensued. Threats were uttered. Ultimatums were made. A line was drawn in the sand. The preacher stuck to her guns. The treasurer quit, in a most public display of anger. The murmurs got louder. The preacher moved on. The Sunday after she left, the treasurer came back and was re-elected. Cookies were sold again. And it came to pass that the church ran out of money, shut down operations, and sold the building. Nobody thanked the preacher for telling the truth.

There are unseen forces that can infect any of us, especially when we are a group or a community. Mark calls it “an unclean spirit.” Please understand that is a first century diagnosis. And it is a little spooky: the man with the unclean spirit knows the preacher’s name. “I know who you are, Jesus of Nazareth.” Who told him that? And he perceives a deep threat: “Have you come out to destroy us?” Who’s the “us”? The empire of demons? The congregation? The status quo? All three, probably. It is often easy to identify the troublemaker. It is a lot harder to identify those who are enabling the situation, saying nothing, or putting up with the trouble or quietly acquiescing to the way things have always been.

In our day, one of the most sinister evils is the spirit of addiction. Starts with pleasure, enjoyment, a little lift to get us through the day. It is not illegal. I have the freedom to decide for myself. Don’t get on my case. I know when to stop. On it goes. Then energy is redirected. Money is reappropriated. A new refrigerator is bought just for the beer. The bourbon’s hidden in the laundry basket. Denials cover up lies. There are irrational outbursts. I can stop tomorrow. And it’s not a “thing.” It’s a spirit. It’s invisible. It takes over. It feeds on its own obsession until somebody has the courage to say stop. They will be confronted by the words, “Have you come out to destroy us?”

Get a sense of what happened in the synagogue of Capernaum? It sounds pleasant when the preacher declares, “God rules over everything and everybody.” Yet when the light goes on, and it really is “everything and everybody,” we should expect some opposition. This forms the plot to the Gospel of Mark. Jesus is the Strong Man of God. He comes to make a constructive difference in the world – and the world strikes back. Jesus keeps going and is met with resistance. Mark wants us to know that, if you announce the love and power of God, somebody will push back and say no.

It reminds me of an unusual tale in the eighth chapter of this book. The people in a village bring a beggar who cannot see. Jesus lays hands on him to heal his sight, then asks, “Can you see anything?” The man says, “I see people. At least I think they are people. They look like trees walking.” So, Jesus must try again. Only then can the man see. (Mark 8:22-26).

Why does he have to give him a double-whammy of a healing? Because all the illnesses of this world are deeply entrenched: not just blindness of every variety, but poverty, hunger, homelessness, trauma, mental illness, abuse, violence, and our addiction to self-destruction. Jesus comes to tackle them all, for he came preaching, “This is God’s beloved world. You are God’s beloved people. God has come to rule over everything and everybody.” Even after the powers of evil conspired to put Jesus on the cross, he came back. And he is still busy.

Mark is the Gospel of God’s Mission. When Jesus is raised from the dead, the angel tells the women, “You will see him back in Galilee.” Where does Galilee begin? In the synagogue in Capernaum, as he commands an evil presence to be muzzled, and throws him out of that community. The congregation responds, “What is this? A new teaching?” Yes. They – and we – are being instructed that God wants this world to be well. God wants all the broken people mended. God wants all the broken systems dismantled and rebuilt. And our mission is to join Christ in his mission.

Now, there’s no assurance this will be easy. The work requires persistence, patience, and prayer. Like the year after some of our teenagers went off to fix homes in a poverty-stricken area. The first year, they went to a mountain hollow. They rebuilt porches, replaced rooftops, dug drainage ditches, cleaned up garbage, and made new friends. When they returned after a week, they said, “We are tired, but it’s a good tired.” We smiled and nodded.

So, when the prospect came of returning the next summer to the same region, they shouted, “Yes! Let’s do it.” They couldn’t wait to return and see what they had done the previous year. Alas, when the vans rolled back into town, some of those porches were broken again, the same rooftops needed repair, the ditches were clogged, and garbage was blowing down the road.

One of the kids said, “I don’t want to come back here again. In fact, I’m not sure I want to do this anymore.” We understand the sentiment, don’t we? But I think we can also understand the need, the ongoing need. And Jesus Christ comes into Galilee to address the need. He keeps working. And he calls us to follow him and join in the work. We cannot fix the world by waving our hands and offering a plastic prayer. Nor should we be enticed to believe that, since we have healed one person, now the work is done.

On the first day that Mark reports, Jesus goes into the holy space of worship. It is the holy day of Sabbath. He speaks the holy word, that God rules over all things – and he is resisted by someone who asks, “Have you come to destroy us?” What is the answer? Jesus comes to muzzle evil, to keep it from speaking and propagating. He comes to throw out whatever destructive force oppresses that poor soul and scares the congregation. He comes to heal, not destroy. To restore, not to ignore. To lift up, not trample down. To love through speech and action. To make a constructive difference, to the glory of God who comes to rule over all.

This will not happen easily or quickly, for him or for us. The Gospel of Mark knows this. This is the world that God has made, and this is the world that pushes God away. We are creatures made in God’s image, too often twisted in upon ourselves. No matter how much we resist our own well-being, Jesus comes to make us well. All of us, and all things. That is God’s will for the world

Do you know why this is? Because Jesus is the Holy One of God. He comes in the power of the kingdom, a power described so well by the Harlem poet Zora Neale Hurston. She put it this way, “Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.” It is the love of Christ that calls all things into God’s healing, restoring light. It is the love of Christ for you. For all.

 

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.