John Mark Hicks

On November 7, 2011, I met with the Stone-Campbell Dialogue in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Interested persons from the Disciples of Christ, Christian Church/Churches of Christ and Churches of Christ met for some dialogue, fellowship and service in the community. This was the sixteenth time the Dialogue has met. It was the second time I had been invited to present a paper as the focus of discussion.

I presented a paper on the role of the Holy Spirit in the praxis of unity drawing upon Stone-Campbell resources in our common history.  The paper is not intended to be a final statement of any sort but rather a tentative discussion starter.

Spirit and Unity Presentation Stone-Campbell Dialogue 2011

Since the publication of William Young’s book The Shack in the light of my own personal journey into the world of spiritual recovery (which I experienced in 2008).  I found much in Young’s novel that paralleled my own experience.

It is now available on Amazon entitled:  Meeting God at the Shack: A Journey into Spiritual Recovery.

For those who have read my previous material on God, faith and suffering (such as Yet Will I Trust Him or Anchors for the Soul), this book is a continuation of my journey. I think it is more profound and more mature than my previous writings on the subject. It is, nevertheless, still ultimately inadequate as an “answer” to the struggle of life, faith and peace in human hearts, including my own. Nevertheless, God offers peace even when there are no “answers”.

The first part of this book discusses spiritual recovery while the second part addresses some of the theological questions that concern many. But even in the second part I am much more interested in how this parable and the theological questions it raises offer an entrance into the substantial themes of divine love, forgiveness, healing and hope. These are the main concerns of the book.

I think the question the novel addresses is this:  How do wounded people come to believe that God really is “especially fond” of them?

Only after reading the book through this lens are we able to understand how Young uses some rather unconventional metaphors to deepen his point.

My interest is to unfold the story of recovery in The Shack as I experienced it through my own journey. So, I invite you to walk with me through the maze of grief, hurt, and pain as we, through experiencing Mackenzie’s shack, face our own “shacks.”

Jesus’ renown has grown. As he moved his ministry into the Galilean hills rather than simply around the Galilean lake and he sent his disciples in six teams throughout the villages in those hills, his fame increased. Even some political leaders were beginning to take notice. Herod Antipas, the tetrarch of Galilee in the north and Perea in the south, noticed.

Herod Antipas, a son of Herod the Great, ruled from 4 BCE to 39 CE. The narrator calls him a “king,” but officially he was the tetrarch (the ruler of a fourth of his father’s kingdom–the purple area in the map below). Perhaps the title “king” is mocking Herod since he was removed from his position precisely because he requested the title of “king.” Or perhaps it was simply popular usage in Palestine. Whatever the case, for the first time, a political leader has taken an interest in Jesus.

Herod is concerned with the same question the disciples asked, “Who is this?” Some opponents have already called him a blasphemer or an ally of Satan. But others thought he was Elijah, the one who would come before the Messiah. Still others thought he was simply another prophet. But Herod had his own opinion: “This is John the Baptist whom I beheaded and is now risen from the dead.” Wow! Why would he think that?

John was imprisoned in Perea just about the time that Jesus began his ministry in Galilee (Mark 1:14) and it appears that Herod did not become aware of Jesus until after John was already dead. But what Herod heard about Jesus reminded him of John. Perhaps their preaching about the kingdom of God, righteousness, and judgment was so similar. Perhaps Herod thought Jesus’ miracles were evidence of a resurrected John. No doubt this instilled fear in Herod. Had John returned to judge Herod? Herod needed to know who Jesus was because he had killed John.

The Gospel uses this moment in the narrative to tell its readers the rest of John’s story. It is a martyr story–the first of two in the Gospel: first John, then Jesus. Both leading heralds of the kingdom of God within the Gospel are martyred. Both killed by political leaders. Empires oppose the kingdom of God. Mark’s original readers know this all too well as they suffer from Roman persecution.

Herod imprisoned John in response to his preaching–for the sake of his wife, Herodias. Herod had divorced his wife and married his half-brother Philip’s wife (and another half-brother Philip would eventually marry Herodias’daughter, Herod’s step-daughter). Levitical law explicitly forbade this (Leviticus 18:16; 20:21). Herod himself was not Jewish (his mother was Samaritan) but his wife was. John’s rebuke must have deeply offended her. He was imprisoned to silence him but Herodias wanted him dead.

Herod, however, was fascinated with John. He sensed John was a godly man and he enjoyed listening to his preaching. But when he heard him, Herod was disturbed or disquieted. It gnawed at him and worried him. When Herod heard about Jesus, this worry surfaced again. Politically, John had to be silenced, but existentially Herod knew there was more to John than met the eye. He played the middle of the road–he kept him safe in prison.

Herodias, however, wanted him silenced permanently and her opportunity eventually came through her daughter Salome. (We know her name from Josephus, Antiquities, 18.5.4.)

Herod invited his governmental officials and leaders from Galilee and Perea to a birthday banquet at his palace fortress in Machaerus (in Perea on the eastern side of the Dead Sea) where John was imprisoned. Such Roman banquets were lavish and often extended for days.

But this banquet is infamous for the dance of Salome. Unfortunately, we don’t know much about the dance itself. Many have understood it as an erotic dance, but this is unnecessary. In fact, it appears that Salome was between twelve and fourteen (cf. Harold Hoehner, Herod Antipas, 154-156). Even Romans would have viewed an erotic dance by the young daughter of the “king” as unseemly. It is more likely that she was an exceptional talent and enthralled her audience, especially Herod. Her young age is perhaps indicated as well by the fact that she consulted her mother about how she should respond to Herod’s response to her performance.

His gesture was a typical exaggerated offer from one of higher rank to one of lower rank (cf. 1 Kings 13:8; Esther 5:3, 6; 7:2; Luke 19:8). It was as if I had said to my daughter, “I’ll give you anything you want” but with the pre-understanding that there are limits to that gesture.

She requested, at her mother’s instigation, John’s head on a platter–no doubt an allusion to the banquet setting. Herod reluctantly conceded to the request as he could not deny her given his boast in front of all his officials. He could not lose face in their presence.

John was martyred. He died for the sake of the kingdom of God. He was killed by a political leader. He was killed because, as a righteous person, he proclaimed righteousness.

We might imagine that the disciples of Jesus knew this story. Some of them had followed John before Jesus called them. John’s disciples buried John and the beheading of John was public knowledge; the news may have spread through the officials present. (Josephus, Antiquities, 18.5.2, notes the ministry and execution of John.)

We might imagine that the disciples of Jesus remembered the execution of John when they realized that Jesus, too, was headed to death. The disciples fled in terror before the prospect of such an end. Peter denied Jesus.

Heralds of the Kingdom of God die. Peacemakers are put to death. Disciples of Jesus are persecuted. Jesus was martyred; his disciples were martyred. Announcing the reign of God is often heard with hostility, opposition and ridicule. Jesus’ call to “take up your cross and follow me” perhaps does not sound so easy after all.

That was no place for a child. In the darkest days of Jerusalem’s despair, God told Jeremiah to neither marry nor have children (Jeremiah 16:2). That world—the world of Jerusalem’s destruction—is no place for children. All that would await them was pain, horror, gloom, dislocation, and destruction. Even now it may sometimes seem that the world is too horrible for children, especially if you are living in parts of the developing world like the Sudan.

When Isaiah confronted Ahaz in Isaiah 7-12, it was no place for children. The future was dark. And, yet, the hopeful promise is that a “child is born” (Isaiah 9:6). The birth of a child will signal the rise of hope and secure a future filled with righteousness, justice and peace.

At time of Isaiah 9, Judah was in national decline. Its king, Ahaz, had made an alliance with the foreign power Assyria but that alliance eventually enslaved him and the nation as they suffered under their oppressive yoke. Ahaz empowered foreign gods as he sacrificed his own children in the fires of Molech and honored the gods on their high places. He replaced the Yahwehist bronze temple altar with an Assyrian style altar (2 Kings 16). Judah lived in darkness, gloom and eventually under the yoke of Assyrian power. Ahaz trusted the empire of his day rather than Yahweh (Isaiah 7).

Judah, living under that yoke, fought alongside Assyria against Israel (the northern kingdom and Syria [Aram]). They put on their warrior boots and blood stained their clothes. They became complicit in Assyria’s imperial agenda. Instead of trusting in God’s deliverance, they took up the sword and sided with the imperial power. [The Hebrew word for “boots” is an Assyrian loanword—the uniform of the empire.] But this brought them nothing but oppression as the imperial power ruled them as well. It rendered Judah a mere vassal.

Judah lacked hope. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. They yearned for a Midian-like liberation. The “day of Midian” lived long in the memory of Israel. They remembered how God delivered Israel from the hands of the Midianites through Gideon and three hundred non-combatants (Judges 7). The Lord fought for Israel that day; God won the battle as the Midianites self-destructed.

Isaiah announced hope. He says to Judah that a day will come when they will see light at the end of the tunnel. Moreover, they will bask in the light of God’s liberation. They will rejoice like at the harvest, like on a day when they divide the spoils of battle.  They will rejoice because they will burn their GI boots and uniforms.

How can Judah rid themselves of their warrior posture? Are they not still in danger of the empire? Do not enemies surround them? How can fear let go and Judah simply trust Yahweh?

Isaiah provides the reason:  a child is born. A new king will take his seat on the throne of David. His reign is described. It is a vision of the future; a future where peace, justice and righteousness are permanent—not only permanent but eternal.  This king is named or—as some think—the God of the king is named. Either way, the reign of God is described.

These names are probably royal titles—titles that perhaps Hezekiah himself might wear as the one through whom God delivers Judah from Assyrian power. But I think we must also lift our horizon to the distant future to a time when light came to the regions of Galilee in the person of Jesus (Matthew 4:12-17).  Hezekiah typified the coming reality of the kingdom of God in Jesus—a child who was born in Nazareth of Galilee where the light first dawned just as it was the place where the darkness first descended. The child of Isaiah 9 is the same as the one named “Immanuel” in Isaiah 7

• Wonderful Counselor!   A king whose wisdom, counsel and plans produce wonder among the people. They are amazed by the king’s guidance and direction (cf. Isaiah 28:9).
• Mighty God!  A king whose power and strength comes from God. He reigns with divine right and by divine power (cf. Isaiah 10:21).
• Father Forever!  A king who rules like a benevolent father—a father who will never abandon or forsake his people (cf. Isaiah 63:16).
• Prince of Peace!  A king who will reign with peace; he will ensure peace and bring peace to his reign (Isaiah 11:6-9).

A child is born! A king reigns! In Jesus, God has come to reign. He comes to bring justice, righteousness and peace. Fear dissipates; darkness is lifted. Light has dawned.

How do we let go of fear? Fear drives us to places where we never imagined we would go. Fear leads us into addictions where we hope to escape our fears and pains. Fear creates worry and worry drives us to do things we would not normally do. Fear drives us to self-interestedness; it drives us to violence. Fear motivates us to violate our own moral and ethical boundaries as we try to create our own stability.

We are now entering a new political season. In less than one year we will elect a President. Fear fills the air as we accuse and excuse political leaders. We become consumed with the idea that the fate of the nation is in the hands of whoever we elect to the Presidency. We worry and we argue. We are afraid—afraid of who might get elected or who might not be reelected. We fear that the world is falling apart and that darkness—whether economic gloom or terror/war—reigns. Fear puts trust in princes and empires but faith trusts God.

How do we let go of this fear? We trust that the zeal of the Lord will accomplish his purposes. God will liberate. God will bring justice. God will bring peace.  We trust the king.

Hear the word of the Lord, my friends:  “a child is born.” This child is our king; this one is our hope. Here is where our allegiance lies.  Our allegiance is primarily to the kingdom of God rather than the kingdom of the United States.  We pledge allegiance to the kingdom of God—we seek first that kingdom of God.

Jesus is the Prince of Peace. This allegiance is primary. It seems to me that this is an exclusive allegiance since to serve the empire (state) with the sword is to prioritize the state over the kingdom of God. It is to side with the empire rather than with the Prince of Peace.

A child is born. Born to transform our lives. Born to change the world. Born to burn uniforms.  If Jesus is the “Prince of Peace,” how can we pursue a warrior agenda?

Jesus leaves the shores of the Galilean lake and enters the Galilean hills east of the lake. Numerous Jewish villages, as well as a few Greco-Roman cities (like Sepphoris), dotted the hills of Galilee. One of those villages was Jesus’ own home town of Nazareth (Mark 1:9, 24). This is not necessarily the first time Jesus returned to his origins, but if this is a separate incident from Luke 4, it had a very similar result. One might imagine that Jesus would visit his mother and family on occasion, especially as he ministered nearby.

The contrasts between Capernaum and Nazareth are significant. Jesus taught in both synagogues on the Sabbath (1:21) and both audiences were “amazed” (1:22). However, that is where the similarities end. While in Capernaum they marveled at this teaching authority, in Nazareth they questioned his audacity. While in Capernaum huge crowds followed him, in Nazareth they were scandalized by his presence and teaching. While in Capernaum Jesus healed all the sick brought to him (1:32), in Nazareth he only healed a few.

The hometown folks are unimpressed. They recognize him as a common carpenter (a wood-worker) and the son of Mary. Perhaps Joseph was already dead at this point and thus Mary is the focus of his parentage. (Another textual tradition in Mark calls him the “carpenter’s son” but the better reading is “Is this not the carpenter, the son of Mary?”) The question, however, is disparaging and demeaning. Jesus is not only a blue-collar laborer but his mother is Mary who conceived Jesus before she was married–we might imagine a stigma might still be attached to her. Jesus is not simply “one of us”—like his brothers and sisters—but his origins are perhaps considered shameful. Jesus is no one special and he certainly does not have the authority to call these hometown folks to “repent and believe” (1:15).

Apparently, the family of Jesus is part of the synagogue audience or at least well-known in the environs. Mary, four brothers (named as James, Joses, Judas and Simon), and an unidentified number of sisters are referenced by the synagogue attendees. In the late fourth century, Jerome suggested that these “brothers and sisters” were actually cousins and Epiphanius at the same time suggested that they were Joseph’s children but not Mary’s. But there is no biblical reason why they could not be the children of Mary and Joseph after the birth of Jesus and thus Jesus’ younger siblings.

Jesus’ response to the reaction of the synagogue’s audience includes his family, most likely his siblings rather than his mother (though we cannot rule out that she thought him a bit “out of his mind” as in Mark 5:21, 31. The proverbial line that a prophet is not without honor except in his own country (city of Nazareth) is extended to include his relatives and his house (where he lives). It seems true everywhere, “you can’t go home.” The memories of childhood and old stereotypes remain, and those hinder any recognition of how a hometown child might have excelled.

Mark characterizes the synagogue’s response as “unbelief.” Whereas Jairus believed and the woman who touched Jesus believed, his hometown does not. Faith was a key ingredient in the Galilean stories in chapter five but is lacking here. Just as many marveled at the witness of the demoniac in Mark 5:20, so Jesus marveled at the unbelief of his hometown folks.

Why does not Jesus conduct a healing ministry here? It would be unwise to read Jesus’ inability here as some sort of metaphysical reality, that is, he did not have the power to heal in this situation. It is perhaps better to read this as a decision by Jesus. Since his message was rejected and he was personally demeaned, Jesus refused to conduct a healing ministry in Nazareth. Jesus is not interested in being a side-show or a crusading miracle-worker which might only solidify their unbelief and harden their hearts in any event. In this sense, he cannot heal in Nazareth. Where there was no receptivity, Jesus moved on (as he counseled his disciples in 6:11); but even this is not absolute here since he did heal a few.

Leaving Nazareth, Jesus becomes a “circuit rider” preacher. He travels around the Galilean villages teaching about the kingdom of God (cf. 1:14, 28), just as he had done in Nazareth. Given the context, Jesus is not only widening his Galilean ministry but is also apprenticing the Twelve which enables him to widen it even more.

Jesus called the Twelve “apostles” (“ones sent”) in Mark 3:14 because he intended to send them into the field in order to participate in his mission. Jesus now widens his ministry by sending the Twelve out in pairs. They will extend the mission of Jesus from village to village. Six pairs can cover more territory in Galilee than one group led by Jesus.

The Twelve fully share in the missional ministry of Jesus—they “herald” the good news of the kingdom in order to turn the people toward repentance. They proclaim the same message as Jesus: the kingdom of God is near; repent and believe the good news (Mark 1:14-15). The Twelve fully share in the missional ministry of Jesus—they demonstrate the presence of the kingdom of God by exorcizing demons and healing the sick (Mark 1:34). The Twelve were given “authority over unclean spirits” just as Jesus had authority over them—Jesus shared the authority of the kingdom of God with the disciples (Mark 1:27; 3:15). The Twelve are full participants in the kingdom ministry of Jesus.

Why does Jesus restrict their travel baggage? They are forbidden to take extra clothing (tunic), food, money (and begging for money, that is, the beggar’s bag is excluded), but they are permitted sandals and a walking staff. In general, we see an emphasis on total dependence. The Twelve are to trust God for their provisions. The disciples are on probation; they are hereby tested.

However, more is going on here. Going out in pairs may reflect the requirement for truthful testimony in the Torah (Deuteronomy 17:6), but the significance of their sending and the restrictions mirrors God’s instructions to Israel as they left Egypt. In Exodus 12:11 Israel is instructed to eat with tunic, sandals and staff in hand for their flight out of Egypt, and then in the wilderness they depend upon God’s provision. The disciples, as new Israel—a remnant of Twelve, go out among the people to herald a new Exodus which is the inbreaking of the kingdom of God.

The Twelve are also given a criterion for staying or leaving in a particular village. If they are welcomed, they stay and practice the kingdom of God by heralding and healing. If they are rejected, they leave for another village. To shake the dust of the feet was a symbolic gesture of disassociation and judgment. If the village rejects God’s missionaries, they heap upon themselves their own judgment.

Jesus himself faced rejection and unbelief. The disciples will face the same. Not everyone will accept the message. If they will not listen to Jesus, they will not listen to the disciples. As we follow Jesus, sometimes we are welcomed and sometimes we are rejected. Nevertheless, we have a mission as Jesus has invited us to participate in his redemptive mission.

Almost comically, Jesus is ferried back to the western side of the lack (presumably near Capernaum) apparently just after he arrived on the eastern shore. He was asked to leave and he left, but he finds himself again in the middle of a “large crowd” on the western shore. It seems as if Jesus can find no respite.

A desperate leader named Jairus emerges from the crowd to beg Jesus for the life of his daughter. He is a prominent person—one of the officials in the local synagogue. He is described in this way four times as if to emphasize his role in the community. Despite his public persona, the ruler prostrated himself before Jesus and begged him “greatly” (excessively or intensely). Jairus fears for his daughter’s life but believes Jesus can reverse her fortunes. Jairus begs Jesus to, literally, “save” her so that she might live. To snatch another from the jars of death is to “save” them—Mark does not use the word for healing, but for salvation. More on this in a moment.

As Jesus walks with him to his home, the huge crowd pressed him on every side. We might imagine the picture of a rock star attempting to move through paparazzi from the car to the hotel. Jesus is surrounded, perhaps jostled, by the crowd. They may want to see what will happen at the house of Jairus. But some, at least one, had another motive. She just wanted to touch Jesus.

Mark slows down the narrative to give us a thorough description of this woman’s situation. She is diseased, impoverished and unclean. Her condition grows worse as her resources and hope diminish. She, too, is desperate. She had exhausted her resources on “many doctors” who could do nothing for her. Her frustration was no doubt great as well as her fear. Her condition involved some kind of constant bleeding which made her continually impure or unclean. Having heard about Jesus, and no doubt having heard that others had been healed by touching him (cf. Mark 3:10), she just wanted to touch Jesus.

And she did, and she was saved (5:28) which is immediate freedom from her suffering (literally, plague or misfortune). She was healed and relieved. She knew it immediately and so did Jesus. He stopped, turned around and asked who touched him–a question the disciples found incredulous.

Why is Jesus so curious about who connected with his “power”? Perhaps he wanted her to witness to the healing for the sake of the crowd. But is it not likely that there were more than just this woman who had been healed by touch? Perhaps there was something particular about this woman that significantly reveals the kingdom of God at work. Perhaps Mark calls attention to this healing because it further illuminates a theme in this section of his Gospel.

She is unclean, just as the demonic spirits were in the previous story. Though healed, she is afraid, just as the disciples were afraid after the calming of the storm and the public was afraid of Jesus after the demons destroyed the pig herd. But in contrast to those two stories, she has faith. She believed that Jesus could heal her and her faith, literally, “saves” her—in both body and soul. Just as Jesus restored peace to the demoniac, so he restored peace to this daughter of Israel.

What is salvation? In this story it is the renewal of peace, the healing of the body—freedom from suffering, and the restoration of human dignity as this woman will no longer live in isolation and fear due to her uncleanness. Salvation is holistic; it is the reversal of all that is broken and the renewal of all that God intends for human beings.

Inviting our hearts to celebrate this healing, the narrative immediately turns desperate again. Messengers announce that Jairus’ daughter has died.

Jesus’ reassurance to Jairus further illuminates the narrative. “Don’t be afraid; only believe.” Faith alone—trust me, Jesus says. Death is no obstacle any more than diseases or demons are. Fear disrupts the peace of the kingdom of God but faith is the means by which the kingdom breaks into the world. While the disciples are learning to trust, learning to believe, the diseased woman and the grieving father exhibit authentic faith. The ruler leads Jesus to his house.

Interestingly, Jesus separates himself from not only the crowd but from the Twelve. He only takes Peter, James and John with him to Jairus’ home. This is the first indication of an inner circle among the disciples; we might call these Jesus’ intimates. These three share experiences with Jesus that the others do not. They not only go to the house but they are also present in the room when Jesus speaks to Jairus’ daughter. Everyone, even Jesus, needs human intimacy in the form of close friendships.

Mourners (perhaps professional mourners?) are already present when they arrive at the house. Mark describes the scene as a “commotion” or uproar (what officials feared in Mark 14:2) filled with wailing and weeping. And yet when Jesus assures them that there is no need for such a scene because the girl is only sleeping, they ridicule him. The contrast between mourning and scornful laughing is stark. But their emotions will soon move to astonishment–a Greek word from which we derive our English word “ecstasy.”

Jesus, alone with the parents and the three disciples, speaks to the girl in Aramaic which Mark translates for his readers—“Little girl, get up.” Immediately the twelve year old girl obeyed, just as the demons obeyed and just as the winds and the waves obeyed. Jesus reigns over death, demons, diseases and natural chaos. The kingdom of God—the reign of God—is present in Jesus.

Jesus “saves” two daughters of Israel. One is healed of a disease; the other is raised from the dead. Both were unclean and Jesus purified them. Who is this that heals diseases and raises the dead? He is a savior; he is the redemptive presence of Yahweh in the midst of Israel.

Who is this? The disciples asked the question in 4:41. Mark’s narrative answers the question. The God of Israel saves through Jesus. The kingdom of God has come near and it reigns over evil and chaos. The reign of God saves.

Mark’s action-soaked narrative testifies to the identity of Jesus. Who is Jesus? He calms storms, exorcizes demons, heals diseases, and raises the dead. The question the disciples raised after Jesus calms the storm is answered by a demon named “Legion.”

Ferried to the eastern side of the lake, “the region of Gerasenes,” Jesus encountered a demon-possessed man immediately after getting out of the boat. Mark describes the behavior and condition of this demoniac in great detail; in more detail than he does anywhere else. Mark uses this story to say something important about demon possession.

This demon-possessed man lived among tombs, presumably carved from the caves the line the hills that rise up from the shore of the lake. He lived in isolation. He practiced self-mutilation which is a form of self-destruction or self-hatred. He apparently had abnormal strength since he had broken chains with which others had attempted to restrain him. Whether the restraints were merely for his own protection or he was also a threat to the community is open to question. When healed in 5:15, he was calm (sitting), clothed, and in his “right mind” (able to exercise self-control and moderate his passions). This contrast indicates that his conduct previously was just the opposite: hyperactive, naked and disconnected from reality. He lived a self-destructive, isolated and miserable existence.

Demon possession dehumanizes a person. It reverses the dignity of a human being created in the image of God to enjoy life. Isolated, they cannot experience community. Self-destructive, they live with pain and degradation. They hate life and hate themselves rather than loving life. The demoniac power undermines the divine intent for human life; it destroys what it means to be human.

Whether or not actual demon possession is an ongoing reality in our present world (some think it was a measured, divinely permitted expression of Satanic activity for the sake of revealing the kingdom of God in the ministry of Jesus and in the ministry of the early church), any dehumanizing power is ultimately demonic or Satanic in origin. Dehumanization is an expression of the principalities and powers that are hostile to the kingdom of God.

This hostility is evident in the text. Indeed, the word Mark uses to describe the meeting between Jesus and the demoniac is sometimes used to describe the meeting of hostile powers on the battlefield (5:2). Whether it means that here is questionable, but the context underscores the hostile relationship that exists between Jesus and demons. The demoniac shouted at Jesus, “What is it between you and me” (5:7; my translation). The demon fears that Jesus will “torture” him.

The demon knows he is in trouble because he knows the identity of Jesus. The demon answers the disciples’ question in 4:41, “Who is this?” The demon acknowledges: “Jesus, Son of the Most High God!” The answer reminds us how Mark titled his narrative (1:1). This acknowledgement, unconfessed at this point by any disciple or human being, reminds us that the identity of Jesus is more than simply Messiah.

Jesus commands the winds and the waves, and he also commands demons. I say demons because when questioned, this demon sayings his name is “Legion, for we are many.” A Legion is a military grouping that could have four to six thousand men. Whether the many is possessed by literally thousands of demons or whether the name is a hyperbole for “many,” the point is that Jesus is commanding a larger number of demons. He is not simply doing battle with one demon but a “Legion” (or “many”). And the military term “Legion” underscores the hostile nature of the encounter. Jesus defeats demons, even when he is outnumbered.

When demons are exorcised, where do they go? Presumably, they roam the earth to do battle with the kingdom of God. The demons did not want to leave the region where they were but they sensed that the presence of Jesus meant they would have to flee. They beg to stay and go into a herd of pigs feeding “on the nearby hillside.”

“So,” Jesus ruminates, “you don’t want to leave, then, ok, go among the herd of pigs.” So, they did, and 2,000 pigs drowned themselves in the lake. Just as the demoniac pursued self-destructive behavior, so the pigs rushed to self-destruction. Demoniac powers are hostile to God’s kingdom, including God’s creation. They oppose and seek to destroy whatever good exists within God’s creation.

Why did Jesus do that? Some have thought that Jesus, a good Jew, did not like pigs anyway. While the Torah prohibits eating pork, there is no hatred of pigs in the Torah. This is not about Jesus’ Jewishness. Rather, it is about demoniac hostility to God’s creation. It reveals what the hostile powers intend for God’s creation. Jesus permits the demons to show their true colors. Even when unclean spirits go into unclean animals they are destructive. God is always permitting demons (and Satan) to do their work–God could rid the world of demons with a single fiat. But God does not do that; God permits them to pursue their hostile agenda, just as Jesus did here on this occasion.

Of course, the owners of the pigs did not appreciate Jesus’ permission. They saw Jesus as a threat. He healed a demoniac and, as far as they were concerned, he destroyed their pigs. No wonder they were afraid. They had the same fear that the disciples had after Jesus calmed the storm; at least Mark uses the same word to describe both (5:15 with 4:41). They, too, were likely asking the question, “Who is this?” Whoever he is, however, they want nothing to do with him. For all they know he might be a danger to their region. They begged him to leave; using the same word that the “many” used (5:17 with 5:10, 12). The people in the Decapolis (a Gentile region east of the Galilean Sea defined by ten cities) stand in the same relation to Jesus as the demonic “Legion.”

Jesus leaves but he also leaves a witness. The healed man begs (same word in 5:19 as in 5:17) to go “with him” (Jesus). He begs to be with Jesus while the people begged for Jesus to put some distance between him and them. The healed man wants to become a disciple of Jesus. To be “with” Jesus is technical language for intimate discipleship, perhaps becoming one of the Twelve (see 3:14 where Jesus chooses Twelve to be “with him”).

But Jesus denies his request. Rather, Jesus wants him to stay behind in the Decapolis to bear witness to God’s mighty act of healing and the mercy God bestowed. This raises several questions. Why does Jesus direct him to tell the good news of his healing while he asked others to remain quiet? Why does not Jesus say “follow me” to this grateful believer?

The answer probably lies in the geographical and social context of the healing. The Decapolis is a Gentile region. There is no need to keep a Messianic secret here since the danger of a militant, Jewish uprising does not exist. More than likely, the healed man was himself a Gentile and thus could not be one of the Twelve ministering among the people of Israel. His witness was best utilized in his homeland, and his witness was effective. When the people heard it, they were “amazed.”

Jesus sailed to a Gentile land, perhaps to escape the Jewish crowds on the western shores of the lake. He entered an unclean land, encountered an unclean man living in unclean tombs and possessed by an unclean spirit, and sent the unclean spirits into unclean animals. Jesus enacted the kingdom of God as he purified what was unclean and defeated hostile powers. Jesus demonstrateed the kingdom of God among the Gentiles.

Jesus restored the dignity of a human being to whom the good news of the kingdom of God was announced and enacted.

As we read this story, it calls us to place ourselves within it. Perhaps we are the unclean human who needs the good news, or having received healing must bear witness to the mercy of God. Perhaps, however, we are the people of the land who, fearful of the amazing work of God, resist commitment to the kingdom of God. Perhaps, most importantly, we are called to follow Jesus and restore the dignity of human beings whenever we find people mistreated, isolated or marginalized. Perhaps we find a little of all three in ourselves. May God have mercy.

My dear friend, as well as colleague, Lee C. Camp has recently released a new book entitled:  Who Is My Enemy? Questions American Christians Must Face About Islam–and Themselves. Lee is Professor of Theology and Ethics at Lipscomb University in Nashville (TN) where I also teach.  

Lee uses a line from a prayer of St. Francis of Assisi as a hermeneutical principle:  “Grant that we may not so much seek…to be understood as to understand.” He focuses this principle in the light of Mirosalv Volf’s call for “double vision” in his book Exclusion and Embrace, that is, to look at any question from the other’s point of view, especially our enemies. To love our neighbors is to understand their point of view even if we might not agree with it.

Consequently, Lee attempts to understand Islam’s presumed orientation to war-making, and at the same time compare it with the Just War tradition in the history of Christianity. The results are stimulating and disconcerting.

The Jesus story, Lee claims, is nonviolent, and the leading theologians of the early church until the fourth century were also nonviolent. They opposed violence and war-making. Following his teacher and mentor John Howard Yoder, Lee suggests that a Jesus politic generates “a distinctive community that has its own particular, if sometimes peculiar, ways of life together” (p. 32). This community loves its enemies, seeks peace, rejects violence, and pursues justice. The Christian politic is a “politics of suffering, nonretaliatory love” (p. 37).

Interestingly, Lee suggests that Muhammad initially employed a similar hermeneutic. He “counseled nonretaliation” in his early years, but this changed due to excessive persecution in Mecca against his followers and the rise of his power in Medina. Muhammad now permitted his followers to defend themselves and even aggressively attack representatives of the persecuting power. Muhammad, at this time, was an advocate of self-defense.

This is the difference between the Jesus and Muhammad stories. Jesus rejected the use of violence but Muhammad employed violence and “war-making in his administration of justice” (p. 45). Muhammad sought a just society and used force to secure it. Jesus sought a just society and used suffering love to secure it.

Lee suggests that what developed in Islam after Muhammad was a classical tradition of war-making that is similar if not morally equivalent to the Just War tradition within historic Christendom.  The “criteria and limits upon war…paralleled in many ways the Christian Just War tradition” (p. 59). Islam, like Christianity (using Greco-Roman resources), developed the need for a just cause, declared intent, a legitimate authority, and limits for how to conduct war. The formal logic, Camp contends, of historic (e.g., Constantinian and Augustinian) Christian and Islamic war-making criteria is essentially the same.

But war is not always conducted on the basis of what are regarded as “just criteria.” Indeed, war-making in the European Christian tradition seems to arrogate to itself the right to transcend those criteria as needed. Whether it is the Crusades, or Puritan assaults on Native Americans in “New England,” or Sherman’s march to the sea, the Just War tradition failed to hinder unjust war-making. Lee recounts some of these stories; they are horrific. These ventures have at least one thing in common–violence against non-combatants or the redefinition of combatants so that it includes everyone living in the city (Jerusalem), village (Pequot), state (Georgia), or nation (Germany and Japan). As Lee states, the West likes the Just War tradition’s “formal logic–that war can be justified–but [it] does not like its constraints” (p. 95). These stories should be told in the West so that our national narratives might hear and take account of Western abuses of the Just War tradition.

The logic that extends transcends the constraints of just war-making in some situations in the West is the same logic that is utilized by Muslim terrorists. “Total war” in Western practice (whether “Christian” or the Enlightenment politics of liberal Western democracies) is similar to a terrorist “holy war”–they both violate “just war” criteria, particularly the death of non-combatants (including women and children). “Moral equivalency” is the contention and is thus the justification articulated by terrorists (whether some Muslims or some right-wing American militia). The logic that burned crops in Georgia in order to make the South “beg for mercy,” that firebombed German and Japanese cities in order to subvert civilian morale, and that nuked Hiroshima and Nagasaki to force surrender is formally the same logic as Muslim or American (e.g., the Oklahoma City bombing) terrorism (p. 101). That is a chilling conclusion but one that Lee argues convincingly.

At this point in the book, Lee “takes stock” (chapter 14) and it is important to hear him carefully. First, “the founding narratives of Christianity and Islam are different.”  While Muhammad used the sword to end the conflicts on the Arabian peninsula, Jesus “employed the way of the cross to deal with” conflict (p. 105).

Second, “the mainstream of Christian tradition looks more like the Muhammad story than the Jesus story” as it has rejected the basic narrative of peace-making in the Jesus narrative.  He states this clearly: “I simply mean that the formal shape, the basic logic, of the church’s understanding of the employment of force on behalf of justice was more like the subsequent teaching of Muhammad than the teaching of Jesus” (p. 106).

Do we believe the peace-making ethic of Jesus is realistic? Jesus lived it; he is our model. He is a peacemaker, and they killed him. That is realistic. When we advocate peace-making, it will upset some…especially when we advocate it on Veterans Day. But it is, as Lee argues and I believe, the ethic of the Sermon on the Mount, the ethic of Jesus.

Mark’s action-oriented story paused for a few kingdom parables. Those parables painted a dramatic picture of the kingdom of God. They offer some perspective on the ministry of Jesus. The kingdom ministry of Jesus is sowing seed of the kingdom for an assured future harvest.

As Mark returns to the dramatic acts of Jesus and the dramatic events of his life–acts and events that reveal the presence of the kingdom of God in the person and ministry of Jesus, Mark begins to focus on the question Jesus’ identity in the next several pericopes (4:35-5:43). This first story ends with the question, “Who is this?” Jesus demonstrates his power over the sea, the demons, sickness and death. These events clarify the identity of Jesus.

The first story is the calming of the sea. The Sea of Galilee lies in a basin about 700 feet below sea level with the Jordan River pouring into from the north and flowing out its southern end. It is thirteen miles long and seven miles wide. On the east and west are high ridges (some reaching 2000 feet above sea level) with sharp wadis (gorges) that cut through the mountains from both the east and west (but especially the west). When hot high winds blow off the desert through these wadis and sweep over the ridges to encounter cool air on the lake, white tips quickly appear as the wadis function as funnels and the lake becomes a dangerous place.

This is probably the sort of storm Jesus and his disciples experienced. Avoiding the crowds, Jesus requested transit to the “other side” of the lake. This moved Jesus from the predominately Jewish regions of the lake (around Capernaum presumably) to the predominately Gentile regions of the sea (in the Decapolis). During this evening maneuver a “furious squall” whipped up that frightened even the experienced fishermen in the boat (and other boats with them). The waves were high enough to swamp the boat. It appeared to the disciples that the boats might sink and everyone drown. But Jesus was asleep…at rest…even during the storm.

In 1986, when the lake was low, a wooden structure was discovered in the revealed part of the lake. It was a first century fishing (or ferry) boat–27 feet long and about 8 feet wide. The picture is a reconstruction. The discovered boat now resides in a museum.

The fear of the disciples awoke Jesus. The faith of Jesus calmed the sea. And the disciples wondered in whose presence they found themselves.

Mark’s story is not simply about an isolated incident in the life of Jesus. The historical incident has “mythic” proportions. It is a theological tale as well as a historical one. Sea storm stories conjure up images of the chaotic seas threatening God’s creation and the history of Israel. Yet, God manages the chaos and is sovereign over the waters (cf. Psalm 33:7). The Psalmist praises the God of Israel “who still[s] the roaring of the seas” (Psalm 65:7). The waters obey God (Psalm 77:16).

Psalm 107:23-32, in particular, parallels Mark’s story. On the “mighty waters” the sailors see the “wonderful deeds in the deep” as God whips up a storm at his command: “he spoke and stirred up a tempest.” The “courage” of the sailors “melted away,” and “they cried out to the Yahweh” in their “distress.” God saved them as he “stilled the storm to a whisper” and the “waves of the sea were hushed.” The sailors responded with joy, thanksgiving and praise. They carried that praise to the “assembly of the people” and celebrated their redemption. They moved from fear to faith; from terror to thanksgiving.

The disciples experience the storm and its calming against this backdrop. Throughout their lives they have praised Yahweh who calms the storms and commands the chaos. Now, in their very presence, is one who does the same. “Who is this?” they ask, “Even the wind and the waves obey him?” The praises of Israel provide the answer to that question. It is Yahweh.

Jesus rebukes the wind and waves just as he had earlier rebuked the demons (Mark uses the same word in 4:39 as he did in 1:25). Jesus is sovereign over both chaos and evil, over both “natural evil” and “moral evil” as the philosophers identify the categories. The kingdom of God in the person of Jesus brings peace to chaos and conquers demonic powers.

Fear is perhaps understandable but Jesus questions it. “Why are you afraid?” he asks the disciples. Jesus seems to think that their apprenticeship to this point should have developed their faith. Given their experience of the kingdom of God to this point, they should have trusted God in the storm rather than fearing the storm. This is the kind of faith found in Psalm 46. “Though the waters roar and foam,” the Psalmist confesses, “we will not fear” because “Yahweh Almighty is immanu,” that is “with us” (Psalm 46:2-3, 7, 11).

Jesus is Immanuel, that is, God with us. The disciples were afraid because they did not recognize who was with them. They have not yet come to confess that Jesus is the Son of God, that he is the presence of God among them. As yet they had no faith. Fear hinders faith but faith dispels fear.

But the disciples are learning; they are asking questions. It is beginning to dawn on them perhaps. Who can rebuke winds and waves? The Psalmists know. The praises of Israel know. And the disciples are beginning to believe that the Holy One of Israel is in their midst which itself creates its own kind of fear. They were afraid (literally, cowards) during the storm and now in the presence of the one who stilled it they are fearful (distressed) for a different reason.

We, too, are ever learning. We often live in fear, especially as the storms of life enwrap us. Learning to live in faith means we do not fear the storms (cf. Psalm 112:7) . Learning to live in faith means we trust in Jesus who commands the storms, calms them, and embodies the peace of God. Though the storms engulf us, we confess in faith; we will not fear. But that is something it take time to learn just as it did for the Twelve.

“The kingdom of God has drawn near” is the basic message of Jesus (Mark 1:14,15). His parables offer a vision that assures us that the kingdom of God is a wondrous and wild reality. The kingdom of God cannot be hidden or silenced; it cannot be hindered or manipulated. The kingdom of God will fill the earth.

The Parable of the Lamp

The literal structure of the parable is clear. No one brings a lamp into a room only to hide its light. We bring light into a room to illuminate it. The surface level of the parable is easy enough but the difficulty comes in the rationale.

The light refers to something that is presently “hid” or “secret,” but intended to come to light or revealed. What is presently hidden? What is to be revealed?  It may refer to the meaning of the parables themselves–hidden to some but known to others (4:34-35). Or, it may refer to the hiddenness of the kingdom of God in the person and ministry of Jesus which is yet to be fully revealed. The light of the kingdom of God is breaking into the world. It is obscured by opposition and by the inability of some to hear, but the light will ultimately shine brightly.

Spiritual discernment sees the presence of the kingdom of God; it heas the message and sees the light, and the kingdom of God illuminates that corner of the world. Eventually, what is now hidden will fill the room; it will fill the cosmos. The kingdom of God will dispel the darkness and light up the world.

The Parable of the Measure

Jesus cautions his disciples to focus their hearing which is a renewed call to spiritual discernment.  This is couched in the language of “measure”–something is measured for distribution. It appears to say something like, the more you listen, the more you will understand. If the disciples pursue the message of the kingdom and embrace it, more will be given to them. The deeper the disciples grow into the life of the kingdom, the more they will receive.  However, those who do not seek the kingdom, who fail to understand the message, and oppose the message of the kingdom, whatever they have will be taken from them. Disciples must lean into the kingdom and bend their ear to hear. Only then will the kingdom of God take root in their lives and bear fruit.

The Parable of the Growing Seed

Jesus returns to the metaphor of sowing the seed of the kingdom. The emphasis here, however, is neither on the act of sowing nor on the hearing of the message. Rather, the emphasis is on the growth of the kingdom.  The sower sows and the harvest comes, but the sower does not know how it happens.

The dynamics of kingdom growth are not quantifiable. The kingdom cannot be manipulated or managed. Rather, the power of growth resides in the seed itself and the power of God’s own creative work. God gives the increase to the kingdom of God. And the harvest will come.

Disciples sow the seed. God grows the crop. The harvest is assured.

The Parable of the Mustard Seed

Sometimes parables are too familiar. We assume an inherited meaning–one handed down to us by tradition. An inherited meaning is not necessarily a bad one but it may not be a full one either. This is the case with the mustard seed.

A traditional reading equates parable with kingdom growth. The kingdom may start small, like a mustard seed, but it will grow to six to ten feet tall. This small seed produces a large plant (about 20,000 black mustard seeds weigh an ounce). Small beginnings, like a discipling ministrybeginning with twelve apostles, will bear fruit in tremendous growth. This is certainlyone aspect of this parable. A small seed produces a large bush. The kingdom of God has small beginnings but it will grow large. But there is more to this parable.

The Misnah, a second century CE document,  forbids planting mustard seeds in Palestinian gardens (though they are cultivated in other places). The reason is that this large shrub takes over wherever it is planted. It grows wild, gets out of control, and attracts unwanted birds who disturb the gardens. (See Crossan, Jesus–A Revolutionary Biography, 64-66). The kingdom of God is not compared to a majestic cedar, but to a wild bush which is difficult to rid from cultivated areas. We might compare it to something like kudzu which takes over wherever it is planted.

So what might be the point here? The kingdom of God cannot be domesticated, controlled or contained. It will grow from something small to something large, but more than that its growth overwhelms whatever else is there. Principalities and powers will not be able to curtail the growth of the kingdom of God. It will grow even where it is not wanted.

Disciples and Others

Mark concludes the parabolic teaching of Jesus with some perspective.  Parables hide as well as reveal. They hide the truth from those who are not ready to hear but they reveal the truth of the kingdom to those who seek it.  Jesus’ parables confront our hearts with the reality of the kingdom of God, but if we are not seeking the kingdom they are nothing other than cute amd curious stories.

However, the disciples at this point in the narrative did not have the capacity to hear well. Jesus called the Twelve to be with him, learn from him, and practice the kingdom of God with him.  They are Jesus’ apprentices and they are learning the “trade;” they are learning to hear so Jesus explains the parables to them though their understanding is meager.  This is part of the story of Mark’s Gospel–the disciples, dull in understanding, grow in their knowledge and experience of the kingdom of God.  And we are learning right along with them.

The kingdom of God begins small but ends huge; it is hidden but then revealed. It overwhelms the world and cannot be contained by its opponnets. Disciples locate themselves within the ministry of the kingdom of God, and we are assured that though opposition rises God will yet reign and the harvest will ultimately be fully realized. Disciples keep on sowing and God keeps on working.