John Mark Hicks

During the first three hours of his execution, Jesus was beaten and then despoiled by Roman soldiers as they cast lots for his clothes, mocked by Jewish bystanders and the Temple authorities for his apparent inability to destroy the Temple or save himself, and scorned by those crucified with him as a naive pretender to political revolution. The public humiliation was complete.

The last three hours, however, are apocalyptic and triumphal. The distinction between the first three hours (which began at 9:00 AM–the third hour) and the last three hours (which began at 12:00 PM–the sixth hour) is significant. The storyline swings like a hinge from public humiliation to a triumphal death. In this moment the “strong man” (Mark 3:27), whose triumph within the narrative seems so complete at noon, is bound when Jesus breathed his last. The death of Jesus is a judgment against the powers (both imperial and Temple); it is the defeat of the “strong man.”

One way to see this is to note the apocalyptic language that begins and ends this section: darkness covers the land and the curtain of the Temple is rent asunder. This darkness has been variously understood. Many think it pictures divine sorrow as in Amos 8:9-10. However, given the Passover context, it seems more likely that the darkness mimics the darkness that covered Egypt. In that moment, Yahweh was doing battle with the gods of Egypt (and Pharoah). The war would determine which G(g)od reigned. Yahweh was triumphant. The darkness of the cross is an apocalyptic judgment against the powers just as the plague of darkness over Egypt (cf. Isaiah 60:2; Jeremiah 13:16; Joel 2:2, 31; Amos 5:20; Zephaniah 1:15). It is a moment when God creates calamity for the powers (cf. Isaiah 45:7).

This apocalyptic judgment is also pictured in the ripping of the veil in the temple. Most probably, though uncertain, this is the veil which covered the entrance to the Holy Place (rather than the Holy of Holies) as this would have been visible to the public. The mockers had taunted Jesus with his predictions about the destruction of the Temple at the cross and in the moment of his death the Temple is symbolically destroyed. This anticipates the total destruction of the Temple (as predicted in Mark 13:2). The death of Jesus is a triumph; it effects, in principle, the destruction of the Temple. The Temple authorities, as are all powers, are judged by the execution of Jesus.

Between these two apocalyptic judgments, Jesus cries out twice. Mark quotes the first and merely notes the second. The first quotes Psalm 22, the great lament Psalm to which Mark has alluded several times in this crucifixion narrative. The second cry reminds us of the opening verses of Mark’s Gospel as Jesus and John the Baptist are described as “criers.”

The first cy is the most well-known (and well-worn) of the two cries. Many see a crisis within the Trinity at this moment as if the unity of the Triune God is disrupted as the Son becomes “sin” (literally) for the sake of humanity. It is sometimes pictured as if the Father has turned his back on the Son. This Godforsakenness goes to the depths of the Triune relationship and separates the Father from the Son.

I find this unconvincing in several ways. First, there is nothing in the text of Mark that indicates that this is its meaning. Interpreters must draw on some language in Paul make this case, and that language is often misunderstood. Second, the unity of the Trinity is inviolable and nothing in this text implies that that unity was destroyed. Third, exegetically, Mark has interpreted the humiliation of the Son through the lens of Psalm 22–the whole Psalm and not just the first verse.     When Jesus quotes Psalm 22:1 he invokes the whole Psalm and not simply a single verse. He is testifying that he identifies with the Psalmist. While Psalm 22 begins with the cries of lament and rehearses the humiliation of the sufferer, it also ends triumphantly. The Psalmist praises God, entrusts himself to Yahweh, and anticipates deliverance.  Psalm 22 moves from lament to a cry of triumph. Jesus, on the cross, does the same.

What, then, does the quotation of Psalm 22:1 mean?  Did the Father abandon the Son? Did the Son feel abandoned? I think the answer is yes–the Father did abandon the Son and the Son felt it. But it was not a spiritual or relational abandonment. Rather, the Father abandoned the Son to death though he did not abandon him in death. The Father did not save the Son from death; the Son was crucified. But, as we will learn in the Markan narrative, the Father did not abandon the Son in the grave. And the Father, ever present, judged the powers through darkness and ripping the veil of the Temple.

The second cry is a cry of triumph.  This is evidenced in two ways. First,  in the next verse the Temple curtain rips apart. The death of the Son symbolically judges the Temple complex. Second, the narrative link with the beginning of Mark’s Gospel is crucial.  Jesus’ life ends as John the Baptist’s began (Mark 1:3). They shout out the reality of the coming of God. They both declare the kingdom of God and shout in the wilderness the triumphal truth of God’s victory.  Third, another narrative link is the “great voice” (or, loud cry) is exactly the language that describes the conquest of the demons in Mark 1:26 and 5:7. Fourth, it is the “voice” of triumph and delight that Jesus heard at his baptism (1:11) and Transfiguration (9:7). These are the only occurrences of “voice” (phone; Mark 1:3, 11, 26; 5:7; 9:7; 15:34, 37). This “voice” proclaims the identity and reality of the kingdom of God. That kingdom triumphs through the death of Jesus. His death is no failure, no lack of power. On the contrary, it arises out of his obedience to the will of the Father and it is the triumph of his kingdom.

At the center of these rings of judgments and cries is the invocation of Elijah. In what is perhaps another allusion to Psalm 22, one of the bystanders (or soldiers?) offered Jesus a sedative drink. It appears that this is a hostile act intended either to prolong the crucifixion to extend the suffering so that they might see if Elijah shows up to help Jesus.

The allusions to Elijah are further mockings–daring in the light of the apocalyptic darkness. Elijah invokes Messianic images of the coming Kingdom.  Will God finally deliver this suffering one? Will God triumph in this moment? Will the kingdom come to help this suffering one?

The reader knows that their mockery is a mockery. Elijah has already come, and he suffered the same fate that his cousin now suffers. The powers executed both Elijah (John the Baptist) and Jesus. There is no last-minute rescue. The heavenly hosts do not show up. God’s prophets–Elijah and Jesus–die.

Jesus is abandoned to his death but this death is his triumph. His death is the triumph of the kingdom of God. His death judges the powers and binds the “strong man.”

Disciples don’t expect “last-minute” rescues in kingdom ministry. They, too, are often abandoned to death but in that death they are triumphant!  Anyone ever read Revelation?

Humans have amazing potential. We were created to partner with God in the dynamic development of creation itself. Our dignity far exceeds our finitude and fallibility. We are God’s royal entourage crowned with glory and honor (Psalm 8).

This potential for dynamic partnership with God, alas, also has the potential to frustrate, grieve and tire God.

Malachi approaches post-exilic Judah with a startling message: “You have wearied Yahweh with your words.” Judah responds by throwing the same word back to Malachi: “How have we wearied him?” The key term is “wearied” (yaga’). Its fundamental meaning is to work oneself to exhaustion, or–as we might say in an English idiom–“to work oneself to death.” Consequently, “weariness” is the result of toil, labor or effort.

In Malachi the tone is negative. Yahweh is wearied, that is, Yahweh is frustrated with the fruits of his efforts in the life of Judah. He tires of how Judah responds to him. His patience is gone.

Malachi may use this term against the backdrop of one of Isaiah’s great polemics against Israel in Isaiah 43. Though Israel was created and nurtured by Yahweh through the Exodus and his gifts to them in the wilderness, Israel grew “weary” of Yahweh (43:22) and thereby they “wearied” Yahweh (43:24). Specifically, Yahweh announces through the mouth of Isaiah:  “You have burdened me with your sins; you have wearied me with your iniquities.” God was wearied by the sins of his people.

Malachi has the same message but he specifically links God’s frustration with Judah’s “words.” What words? Malachi is specific.

1. “Everyone who does evil is good in the sight of Yahweh, and he delights in them.”
2. “Where is the God of justice?”

The two statements are deeply interconnected. If Yahweh delights in evil, then Yahweh is unjust. If God is just, why are evildoers apparently treated so benevolently? To affirm that God delights in injustice stands in stark contrast with the prophetic message that God delights (same word as in Malachi) in “steadfast love, justice, and righteousness” (hesed; Jeremiah 9:24; Hosea 6:6; Micah 7:18).

We might wonder what would occasion such thoughts and questions from post-exilic Judah. We have several hints already in Malachi’s oracle. Judah feels unloved in the face of their dire circumstances (1:2). Some, perhaps the powerful, have employed violence against their own community (husbands divorcing wives and others sacrificing animals they obtained through violence).

But I don’t think God minds the oppressed and victims asking questions. Is Yahweh wearied by a divorcee who cries out against the injustice of divorce and wonders where the God of justice is? That does not seem to be the point here. Indeed, Israel’s sages, poets and prophets have as many similar questions such as, “Why do the wicked prosper?” (Psalm 73; Jeremiah 12; Job 21).

The problem  is not so much the question but the attitude that lies behind the question. This attitude is expressed in the complaint that “God delights in evil.” This wearies God. Perhaps it is not so much the victims of injustice who complain but the “sons of Levi” and leaders of Judah who rail against God. They wonder why Judah has not returned to its former glory. They wonder why the Persians reign in splendor and wealth while Judah languishes as a backwater province. They see the riches of the nations who do not worship Yahweh and wonder whether the worship of Yahweh is profitable (cf. 3:13).

We should take our cue from this particular message of Malachi as to the point of the questions. God is interested in justice but the kind of justice he will administer is exactly the kind of justice for which Judah has no heart. Judah’s religious leaders need purifying and the evil in Judah needs judgment.  Malachi identifies the evil in a classic summary of injustice in 3:5.

Then I will draw near to you for judgment. I will be a swift witness against the sorcerers, against the adulterers, against those who swear falsely, against those who oppress the hired worker in his wages, the widow and the fatherless, against those who thrust aside the sojourner, and do not fear me, says the Lord of hosts.

This description bears directly on the social issues of justice within the post-exilic community. These injustices were perpetrated by those in power and their supporters. They failed to pay just wages (cf. Deuteronomy 24:14-15), victimized the helpless (cf. Deuteronomy 24:17-18), arranged for false witnesses in court (Deuteronomy 19:16-21), divorced their wives unjustly (cf. how Jesus interprets the Torah in Matthew 5:27-30) and found solace in sorcerers (Leviticus 20:27) rather than Yahweh. They have not practiced Torah-righteousness.

It would be a mistake to think that this list is eclectic, that is, a disconnected list of sins. It is better to ask to the question: why this list? What holds this list together? How does it reflect the circumstances in which Malachi is prophesying? The particulars in the list function as part of a system which emboldens the powerful and marginalizes the weak. Leaders look to sorcerers as counselors rather than the Torah. Powerful men divorce their wives. The legal system steals from the widow and fatherless as they are supported by perjurers in court. The economic system does not pay a livable wage. The alien is discounted as nothing. The system works for the powerful; they like the status quo though they hunger for more. Malachi is not simply judging isolated sins but confronts the systemic problems within Judah’s society. The system wearies God.

It is not necessarily the victims of this social oppression in Judah who weary God through their lament but the oppressors who lament that God delights in the Persians more than he does in Judah. Malachi, however, identifies the problem in Judah. It is their social oppression; Judah does not practice justice and righteousness.

So, what will God do? “Behold” (as in 1:13 and 2:3) identify Yahweh’s message–“watch this!”  Yahweh will send a messenger to prepare for Yahweh’s coming to the temple. In this coming, God will purify a people for himself, especially the sons of Levi, and will also judge the oppressors. Some will be judged (and thus excluded) and others will be refined for future service. That is the essence of Malachi’s message.

But about whom is Malachi speaking. At one level, I think Malachi is speaking of the whole prophetic tradition (himself included as a primary representative). It is important to remember that Malachi’s name means “my messenger.” The prophets served the function of purifying and  judging the covenant people. They functioned like prosecutors as they announced God’s lawsuits against his people (cf. Micah 6:1-8), and by this purified a people for service to God and the nations. They put the people of God on trial (Malachi 3:5). They prepared the people for God’s “coming” to his temple, which God sometimes does in judgment (Psalm 50) as well as grace.  Malachi, as other prophets, prepared the people for the coming of Yahweh to the temple. In this way, the people would bring “offerings in righteousness to the Lord,” that is, righteous and just people would worship Yahweh in the temple.

At another level, however, there does appear to be something more expected in Malachi than simply just another prophet and continued temple service. This hint is confirmed by the ending of Malachi which expects the coming of Elijah (4:5). Malachi’s language will be “filled full” when Elijah arrives who is another prophet in a long line of prophets that announces judgment against Israel and prepares for the coming of God to his temple (cf. Matthew 11:1-15). I will wait till the exposition of that text to say more about that “fulfilling.”

Despite a future orientation and the expectant, hopeful waiting for Day of the Lord, Malachi assures the people that his own presence (as the presence of prophets before him) is a call from God to practice again Torah-righteousness (cf. Malachi 4:4). God is not insensitive to injustice nor does he delight in evil. To the contrary, Yahweh will judge injustice and refine his people for the practice of righteousness.

That message is a perennial one in prophetic literature (Micah 6:8), in the ministry of Jesus (Luke 4:18-19), and in the proclamation of the early church (cf. James 5:4-6).

Yahweh hates injustice and delights in “steadfast love, justice and righteousness.” The God of Israel, the Father of Jesus, still does.

The movement of Jesus from Praetorium to the cross is known as the Via Dolorosa among the pious. But for the Romans, and in Mark’s story, it is something quite different. It is not only the depths of Christ’s sorrow and humiliation, but it is also imperial triumphalism and an imperial assertion of power.

Crucifixion was reserved for rebellious slaves, insurrectionists and crimes against the state. Crucifixion was a symbol of imperial power. The Empire imposed its will and maintained order through crucifixion. Crucifixion was as much a political testament as it was a criminal punishment. The Romans maintained their imperial power, at least in part, through the use of crucifixion as a deterrent against would-be liberators and, in the case of Palestine, would-be Messiahs.

Jesus was crucified with two “robbers” (lestas). While this term can have a broad meaning such as the “robbers” who assaulted the man on the road to Jericho in the parable of the Good Samaritan, in the context of crucifixion this does not refer to two burglars. Jesus used the term in Mark 14:48 when he questioned why the arrest party came in force with “swords and clubs” as against a “robber.” In the context of the passion story the term probably refers to a well-known feature of Palestinian banditry where a local leader basically lead a small group of armed men for his own purposes. They preyed on the rich and prepared the ground for insurrection. When the revolt came in 66 CE, two well-known social bandits came with their “armies” to defend Jerusalem. The two that hung on the right and left of Jesus were probably more like Pancho Villa than they were two jewel thieves.

The procession that led from Pilate to the cross was a display of imperial triumph. It as a different kind of triumphal procession than what Jesus had experienced earlier the week (Mark 11:1-9). This time Jesus is paraded before Jerusalem as a defeated, humiliated and tortured would-be liberator, a “king of the Jews.” This “king” was mocked by a whole battalion of imperial soldiers as a would-be “Caesar” (Mark 15:1-20) as they dressed him in purple, put a wreath crown on this head, hailed him as king and “worshipped” (paid homage) to him. The path to the cross was paved by imperial mockery and power. It was a demonstration of who was actually king–Caesar is Lord!

Jesus, perhaps due to two previous beatings (14:65; 15:15), was apparently unable to carry the crossbeam through the streets of Jerusalem to the place of execution. Simon of Cyrene was forced “to carry his cross.” From Cyrene in modern Libya, North Africa, he was probably a Jewish pilgrim to the Passover who happened to be present as Jesus passed by.

Why does Mark note this incidental detail? It is not incidental to Mark as he makes a significant theological point by including it. It seems clear that Alexander and Rufus were well-known to the community for whom Mark was written. They were disciples whose father carried the cross of Jesus. And there is the theological rub. Mark uses the same language here, “carry his cross” as he used in Mark 8:34. This Simon, rather than the Simon who denied Jesus three times, carried the cross of Jesus. Mark’s narrative book ends its story with the Simon who was the first discipled called (Mark 1:16) and the Simon who actually played the role of a disciple in the passion narrative (Mark 15:21). Discipleship entails cross-bearing.

Mark, without identifying it, follows a theological script. It is one of lament. The one described here shares the fate of the sufferer in Psalm 22. Three times Mark alludes to Psalm 22: (1) they cast lots for his garments (Psalm 22:18 /Mark 15:24); (2) Jesus is mocked by those who witness his humiliation (Psalm 22:7-8 / Mark 15:29-32); and Jesus quotes the opening line of the lament Psalm (Psalm 22:1 / Mark 15:34). Reading Mark 15 through the lens of Psalm 22 locates the mood of this section–it is one of rejection, humiliation, and abandonment. Mark does not describe the physical suffering of Jesus as much as he concentrates on public degradation of Jesus.

After describing how the imperial power has lifted Jesus upon a cross, Mark turns to his emphasis on degradation by paralleling the previous mocking by Rome (Mark 15:15-2o) with the mocking he receives at the hands of his own nation through the social bandits, the bystanders and the temple authorities. Mark uses the same word for “mocking” in 15:20 (Romans) that he uses in 15:31 (temple authorities).

Almost deliciously and yet ominously, Mark utilizes language that reminds readers of what it means to be a disciple of Jesus. The very status that James and John had requested, that is, “to be on the right and left hand” of Jesus (Mark 10:40) is the exactly the position the “robbers” take (Mark 15:28). Disciples not only take up their cross (like Simon did for Jesus) but they go to the cross with Jesus. But instead of disciples dying with him–in Mark’s narrative–mockers die with him. These mockers had pursued a different sort of kingdom than Jesus proclaimed; they used violent means. They mocked a king who refused their agenda even as they died the same death.

Just as Jesus died with those who pursued a kingdom for Israel through violence, so he was also mocked by those who maintained their kingdom for Israel through institutional and “temple” power. It is the voice of the temple authorities (chief priests) who name the language:  “Christ, King of Israel.” They know his claim but reject it because the empire has defeated him. They had collaborated with that empire in order to maintain their own secure position. Even the bystanders recall the judicial witness against Jesus–he said he would build a temple. The chief priests and the bystanders (who were privy in some way to the court’s judgment and the testimony given) identify why Jesus is executed–it is about temple, messianic pretensions, and the power structure of the present Jewish authority.

Jesus announced salvation but what he now received was condemnation. He was condemned by the empire and he was condemned by his own nation. Rome executed him because he rivaled Caesar. The temple authorities executed him because he threatened the status quo. The “robbers” mocked him because he was a naive prophet who thought the power of Rome could be toppled through non-violence.

The first three hours of the cross are dark in mood though the sun shines in the sky. There is no hope. There is no comfort. There are no friends. All is lost. Nothing remains.

But….what happens next turns the tables…on the Romans, on the principalities and powers….it turns the cosmos right side up.  More next week.

“Faithless” is the word that dominates this section of Malachi. It occurs five times in Malachi 2:10-16 (10, 11, 14, 15, 16) and only here in Malachi. “Faithless” comes from the root bagad that means to deal with another treacherously. This word characterizes Israel’s covenantal relations and thus epitomizes what is broken in the life of post-exilic Judah.

“One” (‘ehad) is another key word. It is used four times in this brief section–twice in 2:10 and twice in 2:15. The one God makes one community, one family, one marriage. This oneness, a unity in community, is rooted in the oneness of God. Israel, as God’s child, is to exhibit this fundamental unity.

But the intended oneness is marred and subverted by the faithlessness of God’s people.

This answers the question which Malachi’s prophetic word raised for the people.  Malachi (2:13) noted that Judah covers the altar of God with tears and sighs. They bring their sacrifices but there is no joy because God does not accept their offerings.  This allusion reminds us of the previous section in Malachi–two addresses to the priests–which describes how God has rejected the sacrifices of the people.

The people, however, ask, “Why does he not?” Malachi’s answer is two-fold:  (1) faithlessness in their relations with each other whereby they profaned the sanctuary (2:10-11a) and (2) faithlessness in their relations to their spouses (2:11b-12, 14-16). The latter receives the emphasis but it is set against the broad backdrop of the first.

The meaning of “faithless” (bagad) is related to the use of “garment” (beged). The verb is probably related to the noun such that the meaning of the verb has the sense of “garmenting” others or “covering up” others. To “cover up” another is to treat them in ways that reflect inequity; it is to dishonor another through fraud, cheating or swindling. It is a failure to act in good faith with another person. This has application both to the wider community and particularly to marriage. We see the fruit of this in Malachi 3:5 where such faithless acts are listed.

The unity of the community is assumed because Israel has “one Father” and “one God” who created or begat this community. This communal consciousness should be a barrier to treacherous activity toward another community member, but, alas, Malachi complains that “we are faithless to one another” (or, more literally, a man is faithless to his brother). This, in effect, “profanes the covenant of our fathers” and even “profanes the sanctuary” of Yahweh (2:10-11).

Malachi had used this word to describe how the priests had profaned or defiled the sacrifices by their words and actions (1:12). The faithlessness of Judah has dishonored the divine presence (sanctuary) and disrupted the covenant relationship with God. Covenant and sanctuary are at the heart of Israel’s way of life and faithlessness subverts both of them.

Malachi, in this section, focuses attention on a significant post-exilic problem. His attention is squarely set on the faithless act of marrying “the daughter of a foreign god.” Ezra and Nehemiah dealt decisively with this problem in Ezra 9-10 and Nehemiah 13:25-27. The language of Nehemiah parallels Malachi’s accusation. Nehemiah asked, “Shall we then listen to you and do all this great evil and act treacherously against our God by marrying foreign women?” Marriage to a foreign wife was itself an act of faithlessness which violated the covenant between Yahweh and Israel as it opened the covenant community to potential, if not de facto, idolatry.

Malachi does not pass over this pervasive post-exilic problem with just a few words. He confronts Judah with the circumstances of their faithlessness (2:14-16).  In this Malachi makes several claims about marriage within Israel’s covenant community.

• Yahweh was a witness (as in legal testimony) between “you and the wife of your youth.”
• “Your wife” is your “companion” (connected!) by “covenant” (cf. Proverbs 2:17; Ezekiel 16:8).
• Yahweh made them “one” (literally, “did-he-not-make-one?”).
• Yahweh seeks “godly offspring” (or, literally, “seed”).

These function as four pillars for the meaning of the covenantal relationship between a husband and wife. God is a witness who actively joins the two for the purpose, at least in part, of “godly seed.” Husbands enter into this relationship by a covenantal commitment, and that covenant commitment mirrors God’s own covenantal relationship with Israel. Within the covenant of Israel, God joins men and women who covenant together as marriage partners.

The divine action and presence is highlighted in the text by the use of “one God” and the divine ruach (Spirit). God’s Spirit participates in the union of male and female. As a result, the husband is called upon to “guard” his own spirit (ruach) that he might not treat his wife in a treacherous manner. The text ends with the same admonition:  “guard (or watch) yourselves in your spirit” (2:15, 16).

What is the faithless act? The context, initiated by 2:11, is the marriage of the “daughter of a foreign god.” The specific act in view, it seems to me, is one where a man divorces his wife and marries another woman who stands outside the covenant of Israel. This man is faithless as he has divorced one to marry another and he marries one whom the covenant denies him.

The commonly known translation “I hate divorce” is not a literal translation of the text as it appears in Hebrew. Translators only get that rendering by emending the standard Hebrew text. The Hebrew actually reads: “because he hates sending away.” The ESV renders this, “For the man who does not love his wife but divorces her…”  The LXX reads similarly, “if you hate your wife and put her away…” This would follow the form of Deuteronomy 24:3. Grammatically, the one who hates is the one who sends away (or divorces). In other words, the “he hates” does not refer to God but to the a member of the covenant community who hates his wife and thus divorces her (sends her away). This translation is supported by others as well (cf. NEB, HCB, NIV [2010, 2011] as well as LXX and Luther’s 1545 Bible). The Vulgate renders it:  “if you hate, divorce.” All the early English versions until the King James Bible followed the Hebrew text:  “if thou hatest her, put her away” (Geneva Bible, 1560).

C. John Collins, in Presbyterion (1994, p. 40; and undated version is here), summaries the conclusion in this way (see also David Clyde Jones in JBL, 1990, 683-685):

He tells us what the Lord ¿links of the composite action on the part of some hypothetical member his covenant people, of disliking and consequently divorcing his wife: the resulting “covering the garment with wrongdoing” clearly conveys the Lord’s strong disapproval. He then applies it to all of us who claim a relationship with the Lord: “all of you carefully watch yourselves in your inner man, so that you will not deal treacherously in like manner.” He who is wise will watch for the first stirrings of resentment, which might turn into dislike, and repent of it immediately, lest he deal treacherously with her whom the Lord has given to be a blessing.

Luther himself commented (Minor Prophets, 406, as quoted by Collins):

After all, whoever divorces his wife because he hates her is revealed as a violator, a hurter, a promise-breaker, a violator of his pledge, a man who lacks honesty and honor, one who has not done what he should but what he should not. … This stain covers him like a cloak.

The point is that whoever hates their wife and divorces them covers themselves with “violence.” They have violated the covenant and mistreated the wife of their youth. Divorce is a violent act.

Consequently, twice in 2:14-16 men are called to watch (or guard) themselves in their spirit.  Husbands are to pay attention to the stirrings of their heart–whether it lust, resentment or greed.  Watching these stirrings husbands will hinder the kinds of feelings and emotions that lead to divorce, including hating their wives.

Malachi condemns the sort of divorce that arises from the inner stirrings of a man who seeks another wife and particularly seeks a non-Israelite wife. The problem is not merely social but also internal and syncretistic.

Fundamentally, God, according to Malachi, rejects Israel’s temple offerings because they have treated each other treacherously and because Israel’s sons are divorcing their wives to marry outside the covenant. This violates the oneness of the covenant and provides an opening for idolatry within the post-exilic Israelite community.

God does not receive a faithless community, that is, a community that mistreats each other while at the same time voicing their praise of God. God does not accept those sacrifices.

On many different occasions, and some recently, I have been asked about how I conceive or conduct the Lord’s supper as a home meal. Others who are doing something similar have wanted to compare their practices with my own. I have never explicitly addressed this on my blog but now is an opportune moment.

The Lord’s supper as a meal is not a weekly event for me but it is fairly common.  In my small group, several of my classes and other occasions I have led or participated in group meals as the “Lord’s supper.”

Why do this?  Well, first the Lord’s supper is a supper, that is, it is an evening meal (the meaning of deipnon). Second, I think the supper was intended for smaller groups. The Jerusalem church, though 3000 strong on the day of Pentecost, met to “break bread” in their homes in small groups. Third, the supper as a group meal engenders intimacy among its participants. There we experience fellowship at the most basic level through eating together; there we show hospitality toward each other; and there we experience grace around the table.

When I lead the Lord’s meal, I have a fairly general outline of how the meal will proceed. This is not rigid but I think ritual is important or else the meal will lose focus and degenerate into a generality that cannot carry the weight of the moment. Nevertheless, the meal varies in order, Scripture texts, and meditation. But here is the general order in which I lead the meals (by the way, the food is already on the table as we sit down).

1.  Lighting of candles.  I like two central candles on the table to symbolize the light of creation and the light of new creation.  We give honor and praise to the Father and Son in this way as we remember that the Holy Spirit (the flame of love) illuminates us and brings us into the presence of the Father and Son.

2.  Each participant has a small candle in front of their plate.  I ask each, in turn, to light their candle (the lighter is passed around) and give thanks for something that God is doing in their lives. We begin with our basic response to the light of God, that is, we give thanks.

3.  I offer a meditation on the Lord’s Supper using a text of Scripture. This may range from the traditional texts like 1 Corinthians 11 or Luke 22.  But I don’t limit myself to them. Other texts also come into play such as Psalms of thanksgiving (like Psalm 116, 107, 118) and other texts that carry the meaning of the meal within them or through application.

4.  Breaking of the Bread. I use a whole loaf that is large enough for every person at the table to take a substantial piece (not just a pinch).  I take the bread in my hands and talk about the meaning of the bread.  The bread is from the earth that nourishes our bodies but the bread is also a means of experiencing the new creation through as the raised, living body of Christ. We eat this bread for both physical and spiritual nourishment.  I then break the bread and offer a prayer of thanksgiving, and then distribute it.  I give it to the people on either side of me and they break off a piece and pass it down to those around the table.  As each one gives the bread to the other, they say:  “This is the body of Christ which is given for you.”  We all eat the bread.

5.  We begin eating and drinking what is available on the table.

6.  At some point at the beginning of our eating (after we all have food on our plates), I will remind the participants of the two candles and that by the presence of the Spirit, the living Christ is the host of this table.  If we have some ongoing intimacy as a group (that is, this is not the first time we ever met or a special occasion), I will ask each to share something that is happening in their life in their walk with God (struggles, triumphs, etc.). This is a community meal.  At the end of the sharing, we pray for each other.

7.  Towards the middle of the meal, I will remind the table that this is the communion of the saints, which includes the saints around the world at present but also the communion of the saints who now inhabit the heavens with God. I begin by recalling the presence of Sheila, Dad and Joshua at the table with us, and ask each to remember one who is already in the heavens but present at the table with us even now. We remember that we commune with the saints as well as with God.

8.  In connection with this remembrance, I ask each to share a name for whom we might pray.  Depending on time, they may explain why the name, but usually I just ask for names without explanation.  This is for a time of intercession.  We pray over the names, and I don’t usually list the names again in the prayer but simply acknowledge that God has heard and we call up God to act.

9.  In this context, I will share or ask another to share another scripture.  One of my favorites at this point is Psalm 116.  It is a thanksgiving Psalm that reminds us that we cannot repay God’s goodness except to lift up the cup of thanksgiving and celebrate a meal with God (the Psalm is written in the context of a thanksgiving sacrifice).

10.  Towards the end of the meal, I take the pitcher that is filled with the fruit of the vine and talk about the “cup” we are about to drink.  I remind us that this is the blood of Christ which is poured out for us for the remission of our sins. In this moment we experience reconciliation with God–we are forgiven.  But I also remind us that the “cup” is something we share with Christ, that is, we share the cup of suffering as persons who follow Jesus to the cross.  We are reminded that we are disciples committed to follow Jesus daily, even to a cross.

11.  Pouring the Cup.  I take the pitcher and pour some into a cup (something like a wine class perhaps) for the person sitting next to me.  As I pour, I say, this is the blood of Christ for you and invite them to share the cup of Jesus. In turn, they pour the cup for the person next to them and around the table till all have their cups filled. Someone then prays over the cup, giving thanks for what God has done in Jesus. And we drink together as we say “Thank you, Jesus.” Many times we cling our glasses together in a toast.

11.  As each pours the cup for the other, I ask that they affirm that person for something in their life. In what way do they see Jesus in this person who sits at the table with them? For what do they give thanks for them and acknowledge their communion in Christ?  In this way, we share an intimacy with each other and express our gratitude for each other as we express our gratitude to God.

13.  As we drink and conclude the meal, I don’t want the cup to simply end with a sip. Rather, as we drink and continue to drink (and finish eating as the case may be), I ask each person in turn to share one word (with an explanation) that is prominent in their heart and mind at that moment. What are they experiencing? We share a word that expresses our heart.

14.  Sometimes dessert is offered as a taste of the eschaton–as a present foretaste of coming joy.

15.  As the meal winds down and we conclude eating, I end the meal with some kind of benediction. It could be a prayer, a blessing, a Scripture reading.

This is a method; it is certainly not a standard or the method.  I think the meal can be conducted in any number of ways.  However, I do think several things are important:

• Scripture (the Word) to Open the Meal
• Bread and Fruit of the Vine
• Communion of the Saints
• Intercession for the Saints
• Expressions of Gratitude
• Benediction as Closure

Perhaps some might find this helpful.  For whatever its value, there it is!    🙂

Earlier in the Gospel, Jesus outlined that he would be “handed over” (“betrayed” in NIV) to the temple authorities but that they in turn would “hand him over” to the Romans (Mark 10:33). The Passion narrative has been a series of “hand overs” (paradidomi): Judas to the temple authorities (14:41), the authorities to Pilate (15:1) and, finally, Pilate to the soldiers for crucifixion (15:15). The drama is reaching its climax.

The Roman “trial” comes in three stages. First, Jesus appears before Pilate as the temple authorities accuse him (15:2-5). Second, Jesus appears before the crowds for a decision (15:6-15). Third, the soldiers prepare Jesus for crucifixion (15:16-20).

The temple authorities took Jesus to Pilate at the Praetorium (15:16) in Jerusalem. Pilate was the “prefect” of Palestine from 26-36 CE (an inscription at Caesarea verifies his presence in the region). His main residence was in Caesarea but he would come to Jerusalem during major festivals as those were times when tensions were high and the potential for insurrection was great (especially as Messianic expectations were heightened). When he came to town he could be found either at Herod’s Jerusalem palace or at the Antonia Fortress. Though uncertain, most tend to think that Pilate was at the palace rather than the fortress (the traditional beginning of the Via D0lorosa).

Pilate’s initial question is, “Are you the king of the Jews?” The question is significant for several reasons. It indicates that the charge the temple authorities stressed to Pilate was Jesus’ Messianic standing. This is a political claim since “Messiah,” in the first century, meant revolution and revolt. The Messiah, as king, would end Roman oppression. It was a title that meant violent overthrow of the Roman government, especially as it was heard by Roman ears—including Pilate. Roman authority had put down previous revolts by Messianic pretenders.

Pilate’s language, however, is pejorative and sarcastic. “King of the Jews” is not how rabbis would refer to the Messiah; this is the way Roman overloads refer to rulers within Palestine. They don’t rule an independent state but an ethnic group within the empire. Herod was “king of the Jews” (an ethnicity) but he was not Emperor, and his authority was subordinate to that of Rome. When the children of Abraham spoke of messianic rule, they used the phrase “King of Israel” (cf.15:32) where Israel refers to an independent nation rather than a Roman colony. “King of Jews,” used five times in Mark 15, always comes from the Romans and seems to appear as a sarcastic, demeaning characterization.

Jesus recognizes this sarcasm and returns in kind. “You say” (cf. NRSV) is a good literal translation. The response is terse, accommodative but non-committal. Jesus does not buy into Pilate’s understanding of kingship. And Jesus is silent from that point forward. He will not play the legal game. He makes no defense. This surprises Pilate and his amazement is not so much a determination to release him as it is his wonder about how indefatigable Jesus appears.

Mark does not portray Pilate as a Jewish patsy or an indecisive leader. Instead, Pilate is a shrewd politician who seeks to placate the people. Because he knows the envy of the temple authorities, he decides to leave the choice to the people. This is probably not something the authorities would have desired, but the “crowd” petitioned for it. The “crowd” might already have someone in mind, and it is not Jesus. The chief priests lobby the crowd even as Pilate taunts them—“are you sure you want me to crucify your king?”

Mark tells us that Pilate customarily released a prisoner at the Passover which probably mimics Israel’s release from Egyptian bondage. Pilate chose Barabbas whose name means “son of the father”–or perhaps the crowd was shouting for Barabbas.  Mark’s description identifies him as more than a mere thief but as an insurrectionist. Barabbas is a violent revolutionary who probably participated in guerilla activities against the Romans. That Pilate would even consider the release of Barabbas indicates how seriously  he took the title “King of the Jews” as a threat to Roman order.

Pilate’s offer becomes in Mark’s narrative a choice for the crowd. What kind of revolution do they support? What kind of kingdom do they value? Barabbas is a violent revolutionary but Jesus represents a nonviolent revolution. The crowd gathered is not the same crowd that welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem at his triumphal entry in Mark 11. Rather, this crowd is one that had gathered to seek the release of a prisoner when many would not even be aware that Jesus was one. This “crowd” wants Barabbas; they don’t care about Jesus. The temple authorities encourage their choice.

Why would the “crowd” want Barabbas rather than Jesus? More than likely, this crowd saw Barabbas as a revolutionary hero. He was part of a liberation movement which represented the deepest desires of many in Palestine. Jesus, to this crowd, was a messianic pretender, and if they knew anything about him, they knew he did not have the same goals as Barabbas. The want Barabbas released which meant that Jesus would suffer the crucifixion planned for Barabbas.

Pilate gives the crowd the choice. This is analogous to what happens in the gladiatorial games of the Colosseum (and elsewhere) where the crowd decides who lives and dies at the pleasure of the Emperor. Will the crowd give a “thumbs up” or “down” for Jesus? Pilate, it does not appear, was terribly interested in either result. His sarcastic “King of the Jews” increased their support for Barabbas and enraged them against Jesus (notice how he identifies Jesus with the crowd, that is, “whom you call the King of the Jews”). His question “what evil has he done?” is not so much an attempt to dissuade them as it is to confirm their decision. Just as Peter denied Jesus three times, so Pilate gives the crowd three opportunities to choose Jesus. They chose Barabbas….three times! Pilate played the crowd and ultimately “satisfied” them by giving them the power (an illusory power at that) to decide the fate of these two political prisoners.

The crowd chose violent revolution rather than the nonviolent revolution of Jesus.

Pilate then hands Jesus over to the soldiers who take him to the courtyard of the palace where the whole cohort gathered around him. Jesus becomes the object of their warrior derision. These soldiers, part of an occupying force, treat Jesus with a contempt that arises from their perception that he intended to lead (as a Messiah) a violent revolution. They treat him as defeated enemy.

Most significantly for Mark’s narrative, they mockingly treat Jesus as if he is the Emperor (Caesar). “Hail, Caesar” becomes “Hail, King of the Jews.” The imperial purple, Caesar’s wreath (a crown of thorns) and their mock prostration are used to enhance the parody. Mark deliberately draws a contrast between the imperial cult (where the Emperor is honored) and the mocking glory given to Jesus. The soldiers serve Caesar. Mark underscores the fundamental hostility between the Roman Emperor and the kingdom of God.

Jesus experiences violent degradation. He is stripped, flogged, mocked and ridiculed. The Messiah is humiliated. The one who will shortly rise with the clouds to sit at the right hand of the Father is, at this moment, a disgraced, bloodied, and dishonored “pretender.”

He is the acclaimed “King of the Jews” which means nothing to a Roman occupier. The Romans will execute Jesus for his pretensions.

What do we choose? We may choose Jesus but do we also choose to serve a kingdom of this world which employs violence to secure its way in the world? I wonder which revolution we would have preferred in 33 CE. Would we choose Jesus or Barabbas?

Twice, in Malachi 1:6-2:9, the prophet addresses the priests of the Second Temple directly which the NRSV translates as a vocative, that is, “O Priests” (1:6; 2:1). This divides Malachi’s oracle into two obvious sections (1:6-14 and 2:1-9). In a previous post, we noted that Malachi rebukes the priests for their complicity in offering unacceptable sacrifices at the temple (1:6-14). In this second section (2:1-9), he reminds them of their covenantal responsibility to guide the people. In effect, because they have failed in their responsibility to appropriately guide worshippers, they offer sacrifices on the altar that are beneath the dignity and honor due God.

The sacrifices themselves were unacceptable to God not only because they violated Torah prescriptions but, more importantly and more deeply, they were given to God from immoral resources. The people vowed one thing and gave another, and what they gave was not even truly theirs. The priests, due to social pressure perhaps or simply because of their own need for food, offered the sacrifices and the whole thing became wearisome or meaningless to the priests. Judah’s religious leaders, in effect, were not only complicit in this unjust system but they went through the motions for the sake of their own gain. To them the temple had become a matter of economics rather than faith. In this system, the priests showed “partiality” for the sake of their own self-interest (2:9).

So, what is Malachi’s remedy for this situation? In this second address to the priests, he calls them back to their responsibility and their proper role in the community of faith. He calls priests to lead.

The paragraph may be read with the following structure in mind.

Heading (2:1)

The Decree (2:2)

The Judgment (2:3)

The Standard of Judgment (2:4-7)

The Reason for Judgment (2:8)

The Judgment (2:9)

The heading of this paragraph is 2:1 — “And now, O priests, this decree is for you.”  This is a specific address to the priests but it involves a “decree” or “command.” Since there is no command in the text, it is best to render the term here “decree” or a declaration. Yahweh issues a verdict about his priests. It is a judgment.

His verdict is a curse due to their choices. Latent in the “decree,” however, is an option or a choice. If the priests act differently, the continuation of the curse may be avoided.  The priests must “take [this decree] to heart” so as to “give honor” (glory)  to Yahweh’s name. This summarizes the problem addressed in Malachi 1:6-14. It takes the reader back to Yahweh’s initial question:  “where is my honor?” (1:6). The priests had “despised” the “name” of God (1:6). If Yahweh’s decree is to be reversed, then the priests must “take it to heart” to honor God’s name.

“To take it to heart” is used three times in Isaiah (42:25; 57:1, 11). In particular, to “take it to heart” parallels remembering or understanding. The priests must discern and remember who they are; they  must reclaim their identity as representatives of Yahweh. Malachi’s call here is for the priests to renew their vocation and mission.

“Behold” sets off the particulars of the judgment and ties 2:3-9 together in a chiastic structure. The judgment is quite harsh. It is Yahweh’s response to priestly behavior. Just as they have despised the name of God before all the nations (1:6), so the priests are “despised and abased before all the people” (2:9).  Just as the priests “snorted” at their mission before Yahweh (1:13), so God will spread dung on their faces and their offerings as well as remove them from their offices, including their children (2:3). They will be shoveled out of the temple like the dung of the animals. Yahweh will not tolerate this priestly misconduct.

Significantly, God will, as has already happened, curse the priest’s blessings.  Part of the priestly function was to bless the congregation, as in “May the Lord bless you and keep you” (Numbers 6:24-26). However, because of their conduct, the decree is that their blessings will become curses; their blessing has now become ineffectual.

With the verdict (“decree”) rendered, Yahweh verifies (“so shall you know”) it by reminding them of his “covenant with Levi.” Yahweh rebukes his priests because they have irresponsibly jettisoned the covenant. Most likely, what the text recalls the promise to Levi’s clan in Deuteronomy 33:8-10. “Levi” does not refer to the specific son of Jacob but rather to the clan that was chosen by God as the “firstborn” of Israel (Numbers 3:5-13). The language there fits well with Malachi’s description as priests are not only those who officiate the sacrificial offerings but also teach the Torah to the people. They are responsible for guiding the people in the ways of Yahweh.

Malachi’s language describes both the covenant and Levi’s response.  The covenant is characterized by life, peace (shalom; 2x), fear and uprightness (2:5-6). “Life and peace” and “peace and uprightness” are found in pairs as that language is often linked in Israel, and peace contrasts with the “curse” that has been decreed for Judah’s priests because of their actions. God’s covenant with Levi yields shalom rather than chaos.

It also a covenant of “fear” (awe or reverance). The first addressed ended on this note, that is, “my name will be feared among the nations” (1:14). Israel was supposed to be the first of nations to fear the Lord and to lead other nations into that fear.  Levi is the fountainhead of that fear. The basic orientation to which Judah is called is to “fear Yahweh” or “fear his name” (3:5, 16, 20).

Levi’s response to this covenant was obedience. He appeared before the face (presence) of God with fear. He is specified, at least in part, as an authentic teacher of “true Torah”–the priests neither deceived nor obfurscated. Their instruction in the Torah “turned many from iniquity.” This is the priestly (perhaps Levitical) calling. Their vocation is teaching as well as officiating. They are responsible for guiding the people into the righteous life of the Torah where peace is experienced through the fear of Yahweh.

Priests are “messenger[s] of Yahweh” (2:7).  “Messenger” is the meaning of “Malachi” (meaning “my messenger”). Though the priests are the formal, covenantal messengers of Yahweh, yet Malachi (a prophetic messenger) brings a word from Yahweh. Sometimes prophets must rebuke priests. Priests are important and they serve the people well when they represent the righteousness and fear of Yahweh before the people. But when their message becomes corrupted and they have turned from “the way,” then prophets step into the gap to herald the authentic message of God.

These priests are nailed on a few counts here. They have “turned aside from the way,” they have “caused many to stumble by [their] instruction,” and they have shown “partiality in [their] instruction.” While the text, at this point, offers no specifics, from the message of Malachi 1:6-14 and the rest of the book we can see where the priests have failed to guide the people. Those topics include economic justice, divorce and tithing among other particulars. Instead of using the position to promote righteousness, they have used it for their own advantage and have thus “showed partiality” in their teaching.

Consequently, the decree is just. The priests are judged. They must remember their identity and renew their covenant or God will curse their blessed position. When God’s covenantal priests fail, God raises up prophets to rebuke them.

Malachi’s address to the priests is a reminder that leaders within God’s community have a serious responsibility to model and teach God’s covenant, his “way” of peace, righteousness and life. But we will always need prophets because teachers and leaders will continue to falter and fail.

God, thank you for prophets.

Peter followed Jesus, albeit distantly and cautiously.  Nevertheless, unlike other disciples (including the “young man”) in Mark’s narrative, Peter did follow. The weight of his earlier adamant insistence that he would die with Jesus as well as his natural impetuousness emboldens him to warm himself at the same fire where the guards, who arrested Jesus and would shortly torture him, sat.

The Sanhedrin, due to the early morning predawn hours as well as its secrecy, had convened at the high priest’s home.

The setting is important because it shapes the narrative in a dramatic way. Just as Peter followed Jesus into courtyard of the high priest’s house where it would be obvious what was happening, he slowly extricates himself from the situation by movement out of the house.  His three denials are portrayed as three steps away from Jesus. Mark emphasizes that last step by Peter’s own insistent denial.

The accusers identify Peter as a disciple of Jesus. He was “with Jesus” of Nazareth. He was “one of (ek) them” (repeated twice!)—he belonged to the community of disciples that followed Jesus. He was a Galilean rather than a Jerusalemite—he came from the region where the trouble started.

Peter, the most adamant follower of Jesus—perhaps even the one you would most likely say he would never betray him, denied Jesus three times. At first his denial is seemingly a lighthearted dismissal of the accusation: “I do not know or understand what you are talking about.” It is a deflection, but he feels the heat. He backs away from the fire (literally and figuratively) to the gate. Perhaps he thinks he might need to make a quick exit.

At the gate the servant girl renews the accusation with a more specific identifier, but this time she tells others about Peter rather than talking to Peter directly. Peter was not only “with” Jesus (some kind of general association perhaps), but he was “one of them.” He belonged to that group. He is a disciple, a follower! Peter denied it and presumably Mark wants us to think that he denied it in a similar way. Peter is still deflecting. He is struggling to confess his faith but as yet he is not yet in full denial.

The third occasion, however, evokes a tirade from Peter. The bystanders repeat the second accusation of the servant girl and they do so with emphasis.  “Certainly” (truly!), they broadcast, “you are of (ek) them”—you belong to Jesus’ group, his circle of disciples. Peter then curses, swears and emphatically denies. This is different from the first two. There is no deflection here; there is no lawyer-speak. It is an explicit disclaimer with a self-imprecation (he anathematizes himself). His “curse” is not the four-letter variety but a self-condemnation. “If I am lying,” he essentially says, “may God send me to Hell.” He swears that it is true with an anathema. “If I am lying, may I be cursed!”

Then the cock crowed twice.

Then it dawned on Peter what had just happened.

And, falling apart, he wept.

Ever been there with Peter? Ever had a moment, an addiction, an obsession in which you were so caught up as in a vortex that you were not fully conscious of what you were doing and how it undermined everything you held dear? Sin—including compulsive addictions—can be so overwhelming that we act before we think. We act in the moment rather than from the depths of our commitments.  We react rather than respond. We deny when we should have confessed. We sin when we know better.

When it dawns on us that this is what we have done. We weep and feel the depths of a brokenness previously unrecognized. We see ourselves in a new way.

Perhaps we think that God could never use us again. Perhaps we think we are irreparable. Perhaps we imagine that our discipleship was only an illusion.

We are Peter and Peter is us. We often deny what we should confess but God retells the story of redemption through us nonetheless. Mark’s narrative is Peter’s story. Peter told it to him. It is a confession, yes, but it is also redemption.

After struggling through prayer in Gethsemane, Jesus submitted to his arrest at the hands of his betrayer. Strengthened by prayer, Jesus is determined to do the will of the Father. The disciples, however, have scattered….except one, according to Mark, follows the arrest party at a distance. His name is Peter.

Mark 14:53-15:20 is a trial narrative. There are three trials. There are interrogators, witnesses and the defendants. In two trials—one before the Sanhedrin and another before Pilate—Jesus is the defendant. Between these two trials, Peter is the defendant. Peter’s trial is sandwiched between Jesus’ two trials. They are linked but they have radically different outcomes. Peter denies Jesus and lives, but Jesus confesses and dies. This picture must have been particularly momentous for early Christians who faced the same sorts of trials under Roman imperialism.

The narrative parallels Jesus’ trials by utilizing the same rhetorical structure.

This structure, as Myers (Binding the Strong Man, 370) “implicates both parties of the colonial apparatus as equally culpable—indeed collaborative—in the political railroading of Jesus.” Myers further notes that the narrative is ironic on its surface—the trials function as something of a “political cartoon” whose point is to charge each party as guilty.

The Sanhedrin forgoes due process in order to secure a death penalty. Later Mishnah texts regulate capital cases—not only must there be credible witnesses, but the defendant is entitled to an attorney and at least two days of trial (certainly not a brief predawn one!). Mark deliberately accentuates that injustice. At the same time, Pilate uses the crowds to navigate the political pitfalls of the situation. His question, “Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews,” is incendiary. It is designed to rile the crowd and placate the Sanhedrin. Pilate, shrewdly playing a political card, gives the crowd what he provocatively incited. Pilate, a representative of the Emperor, must crucify the “king” of the Jews but at the same time gains the complicity of a Jewish mob in doing so.

It is important to note that it is not Jews who crucify Jesus, but it is the coordinate action of the temple authorities (“chief priests, elders and teachers of the law”) and the Roman prefect. The principalities and powers that rule Palestine try and execute Jesus. The guilt of his death is not racially motivated but politically calculated.

Significantly, the temple is at the heart of their attempt to execute Jesus. The temple authorities bring in witnesses that rehearse Jesus’ opposition to the temple though the witnesses cannot agree. The testimony that Mark highlights is this: “We heard him say, ‘I will destroy this man-made temple and in three days will build another not made with hands” (14:58).

Mark describes this as “false” testimony. But what is “false” about it? Perhaps it is the personal assertion “I (ego) will destroy…” Jesus never said that he would destroy. Rather, the destruction of the temple will eventually come at the hands of the Romans. Perhaps the witnesses assume that Jesus would build another temple like the present one (a physical one) but by some miraculous power as if the present temple would be resurrected in a supernatural fashion within in three days.

The witnesses are confused. They probably heard Jesus oppose the temple authorities and may have even had some sense that Jesus expected the destruction of the temple (though Mark 13 was only said to the disciples). The “three days” is clearly a reference to the resurrection of Jesus as Mark envisions it but the witnesses misinterpret Jesus’ reference. The temple he will rebuild is the temple of his body and not something similar to the Herodian Temple.

Whatever the exact meaning and significance of these witnesses, the troubling point which raises the ire of the Sanhedrin is Jesus’ opposition to the present temple structure and its authorities. The temple is near the heart of their faith, but more importantly the seat of their political power. The Sanhedrin is interested in protecting its power, diverting attention away from the kingdom vision of Jesus, and securing their future in relation to the Romans. They want Jesus executed because he is a danger to their political power.

The easiest way to secure his execution—in a Jewish context—is charge him with a capital heresy. A confession would be nice, but Jesus is silent before the witnesses. He will neither confirm or deny. So, the High Priest asks the direct question: “Are you the Messiah, the son of the Blessed One?” The trial turns on Jesus’ answer which is taken as “blasphemy” and dispels the need for further deliberations or witnesses.

His answer is rather astounding. “Ego eimi,” Jesus says, that is, “I am.” It is an emphatic answer which explodes the “Messianic secret” previously present in Mark. Jesus claims the Messianic mantle. But in addition he confronts the principalities and powers with the reality of his own coming reign.

Here Mark, through the question and answer, combines three titles which have been present throughout his narrative: Messiah (Christ), Son of God (or Blessed One), and Son of Man. These Messianic titles converge in this brief encounter. Jesus is the anointed son of David whose role is to reign at the right hand of God (an allusion to Psalm 110). As Son of Man, he will come with the clouds to his throne in the heavens which the Father gives him at his right hand. This language is derived from Daniel 7:13-14 where the king (Son of Man) comes with the clouds to the Almighty and is given dominion over the nations.

While the temple authorities will advocate and pursue Jesus’ execution because he threatened their power, what they will ultimately “see” is the reign of the Son of Man to whom belongs all dominion and power. This is not a reference to the “second coming” of Jesus (though there is perhaps some extended meaning that might include it) and neither does it mean that the temple authorities will literally (physically as with their eyes) “see” the moment when the Son of Man ascends to the Father to receive authority. Rather, it is an assurance that their political pretensions are an illusion since shortly the Son of Man will reign at the right hand of God. They will come to “see” (learn) this and know the truth about Jesus of Nazareth though they may deny it. The Messiah is the true king and the temple authorities are tenants who have no legitimate power.

This infuriates the Sanhedrin. Jesus is condemned, and then tortured. They spit on him, mock him and beat him. Few doubt that Mark is alluding to Isaiah 50:6 where the suffering servant of Isaiah is beaten (the LXX uses the noun of Mark’s verb), spit upon and mocked. For Mark, once again, Jesus is the suffering servant of God who suffers the violence of the nations for the sake of liberating his people from the nations.

The guards who beat Jesus are the same people among with whom Peter sits in the courtyard. He is listening, watching and, we might expect, in tremendous inner turmoil. Peter himself is undergoing his own trial.

Leaving the upper room of the Last Supper, Jesus leads his disciples across the Kidron Valley onto the Mount of Olives to a place called Gethsemane. Here Jesus will pray and then suffer betrayal and arrest. That is an answer to prayer none would relish.

Several trajectories are at play in this narrative that take the reader from the table to a trial. One thread is the total disintegration of Jesus’ discipled community. Despite their protestations, they all forsake him and scatter. At his trials, Jesus will stand alone. The narrative moves from vehement denials of the disciples (14:31) to “everyone deserted him and fled” (14:50). Another trend is the sense that the story is scripted. I don’t mean that the actors in the drama are puppets, but that the movement of the story is shaped by the Hebrew prophets. “The Scriptures,” Jesus says, “must be fulfilled” (14:49). A third thread is a sense of climatic drama. Jesus endures a night of prayer as he waits for the “hour” to arrive. When Judas arrives with the arrest party, the “hour” has also arrived. These threads are entangled as they weave a narrative that moves us from table to trial, from communal intimacy to abandonment.

Jesus recognizes what is coming. While Zechariah 14 looms large in the hearts of hopeful Jews as they stand on the Mt. Olivet (since that is where the triumphant Messiah is expected to reclaim Jerusalem for God), Jesus takes them to the Mount to pray in darkness and anguish. There is no triumphalism. Even though Jesus has just spoken of the kingdom of God once again at the table, the disciples follow him as he walks into a trap laid by the betrayer.

Rather than Zechariah 14, Jesus quotes Zechariah 13:7. The shepherd will die and the flock will scatter. While they do not believe the latter, no one denies the former. They protest their innocence and loyalty, especially Peter. But his subsequent denial highlights how they all abandoned Jesus in his “hour.”

Reaching Gethsemane (“oil presses”) Jesus left the majority of the disciples behind and took Peter, James and John deeper into the Olive trees. This is Jesus “intimacy group”—it is the three with whom he has shared previous private moments (e.g., the Transfiguration). Jesus shares with them his deepest emotions. He allows the three to look into his soul (“intimacy” is allowing others to “see into me”).

He reveals the depth of his angst. As the “hour” approaches, he becomes “deeply distressed and troubled.” His grief is unbearable. He sees no other option than to spend the evening in prayer. Sometimes praying is more important than sleeping. He asks his intimates to “keep watch” while he prays privately. He hopes they will pray with him, but, alas, they sleep…another abandonment.

Mark has a dual purpose here. On the one hand, the narrator stresses the anxiety of Jesus which is ultimately resolved by a determination to meet the “hour” at hand. On the other hand, the narrator stresses the disloyalty of the disciples. Jesus, determined to do the will of God, moves through the grief to a decision for God. The disciples, blinded by their own interests, sleep.

The very disciples who protested the loudest are the three whom Jesus finds sleeping. James and John, who said that they could drink the “cup” that Jesus drank (Mark 10:32-45), sleep and then scatter with the other disciples. Peter, who protested the loudest that he would die with Jesus, also sleeps and will shortly deny his Lord three times. The “cup of suffering” is something that the disciples refuse to drink while Jesus, after the struggle of prayer, takes the cup from God and drinks it. Mark parallels the three moments of prayer by Jesus with the three denials by Peter. Whereas Jesus pursued God in prayer to drink the cup, Peter (along with the other disciples) were afraid to drink it.

Jesus has given his disciples every indication that this is a serious night: betrayal, the striking of the shepherd, the abandonment by the disciples, the anguish of his soul, his sorrow to the point of death…. And yet the disciples sleep. Three times Jesus approaches them and three times they are asleep.

Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Jesus also had “weak” flesh but the determination of the his spirit meant that he pursued prayer rather than sleep. The spirit of the disciples, weakened by the flesh, faltered.

Even the disciples are dumbfounded by their behavior or befuddled by Jesus’ seriousness this evening. They don’t know what to say in response to Jesus. They have no words. They are not fully aware that Jesus’ “hour” approaches. But the “hour” does come when the “betrayer” comes.

Judas, again identified as “one of the Twelve,” appears with an armed “crowd” sent by the temple authorities. They may have expected some kind of violent encounter. One of the disciples responded with the “sword,” but Jesus immediately rejects any thought of resistance by dismissing the need for an armed party. Was he not in the temple courts where they could have arrested him?

The disciples desert Jesus and flee. Curiously, one of their number is singled out for explicit comment. It is a rather enigmatic reference. Identified simply as a “young man” who followed Jesus, he, too, flees, but he does so naked as some of the crowd attempt to seize him like they did Jesus. Why does Mark highlight this moment? Some think that the young man is Mark himself, though this is highly speculative. Perhaps he is merely a representative disciple–the guards try to arrest him, but he flees “naked.” This notation suggests the shame that comes over all the disciples.

But the significance of this moment is lost on the reader until we reach chapter sixteen when the “garment” (sindona; cf. Mark 15:46) and the “young man” (neaniskos) apparently make another appearance in the narrative. This episode, perhaps, is not simply a specific example of how the disciples fled, but is also a narrative clue for the future that awaits the disciples. A “young man” will appear again in Mark’s narrative but this time sitting in an empty tomb with an announcement that Jesus will meet his disciples in Galilee (16:5). This is the same hopeful expectation that Jesus announced earlier as the disciples come to the Mount of Olives (14:28).

This young man, perhaps a youthful John Mark, also (and more importantly) represents the disciples as a whole. They all run away “naked” because they left their “linen cloth” behind. But Jesus is wrapped in this “linen cloth” and the “young man” appears in the empty tomb. Though the disciples scattered, they will yet meet Jesus again in Galilee as Jesus promised (14:28) and the “young man” in the tomb promised (16:5). The “young man,” then, is a narrative marker of movement from despair to hope, from scattering to gathering.

As we move from the table to trial, Jesus is abandoned to his fate by the disciples. They failed to discern the significance of the night. They failed their friend. But the narrative never loses sight that a new day is about to dawn and the failures of the disciples are transformed into something much more glorious.