The people at the First U.P. Church of Crafton Heights have spent many Sundays since late 2017 immersed in an exploration of the Gospel of Mark. On the Fourth Sunday of Lent (March 31, 2019), we were served another “Markan Sandwich”: this one having to do with the trials of Peter (in the courtyard) and Jesus (before the high priest). Our Gospel text was Mark 14:53-72.
To hear this sermon as preached in worship please use the player below:
The teacher was furious. He had found a note in the hallway, and on it was scrawled, “I hate this school so much. It’s filled with idiots!” They had been talking about self-esteem and pride, and the teacher didn’t know what to do. He held the note above his head and said, “Is that what you think? That this building is filled with idiots? I would like to ask everyone who thinks that they’re an idiot to please stand up right now!”
There was a tense silence, and finally little Davie stood. “Really? Davie? You think you’re an idiot?” The student replied, “Well, actually, no sir, I don’t. I just hated to see you standing there all alone, sir.”
As we continue in our study of Mark, we see here in chapter 14 a study of two men who are, fundamentally, alone. I’d like to invite you to consider what it means to be alone, and who is alone in this passage, and why.
Let me encourage you to think of this passage as another “Markan sandwich”. You’ll recall that the author of the second Gospel often begins a story, then interrupts it with another, and finally concludes the first. Most often, this is done because the two events will offer commentary on each other.
In the passage you’ve heard today, we see two very different men who are undergoing two very different types of trial. Peter is out in the crowds, seeking to navigate the court of public opinion, while Jesus is the subject of a formal, albeit illegal or irregular, arraignment. How do we hear God’s word of hope in these stories? What do they say to their original hearers, and to us?
Let’s remember when this Gospel was written – probably about thirty years or so after the incidents it describes. The first audience for this little pamphlet was a young Christian community in Rome, one that had in all likelihood been taught and nurtured by the Apostle Peter himself. This group of believers was facing a significant threat – they were being persecuted, arrested, imprisoned, and even killed by the Empire.
Often when we hear of civil or religious authorities bursting into a room and bringing panic, fear, and even death, we think of someplace far away or long ago. Not so the earliest readers of Mark’s Gospel – for them, this could have been the part of the story that seemed the most accessible. This passage could have literally been snatched from the headlines because it was so close to their own experience.
So what is happening in this text?
Well, Jesus has been dragged from that little debacle in the Garden of Gethsemane into a full-blown arraignment before the leading council of the Jewish people, called the Sanhedrin. If you’d like to check this out, you’ll discover many articles that describe the numerous ways that this trial was, itself, illegal. Jewish law forbad legal proceedings at night; there were many false witnesses; and Jesus was being coerced into testifying against himself.
Again, Mark’s first audience would know all about these instances wherein the “justice system” was used as an instrument of oppression and control, rather than a tool for liberation and vindication. Clearly, Mark intends to present Jesus as a positive role model for his friends and community who are facing such injustice, and that is amplified when Jesus finally does speak. When he is asked “Are you the Christ, the son of the Blessed One?”, he offers two little words in Greek: “Ego eimi”. Translated, of course, that means, “I am.” To most Westerners in the 21stcentury, “I am” is an innocent statement. “Who’s going to the Penguins game today? Who’s ready for ice cream?” “I am!”
Yet when you say “I am” in Hebrew, you say, “Yahweh”. That changes things significantly. And even though Jesus was speaking in Greek or Aramaic, the undertones were clear: here was Jesus, confirming to the Sanhedrin what he had forbidden the disciples to speak about earlier: he is the Messiah. In fact, he doubles down on that by not only saying “I am” but by following that up with a “Son of Man” statement – again, a strong pronouncement in the ears of his Jewish audience.
Jesus, when pressed, speaks nothing but the truth, and he suffers for it. He is condemned by unjust people after an unfair sham of a trial and then treated shamefully. He is cursed by others and led him away to a beating he did not deserve.
Peter, on the other hand, is not compelled to be present by anything other than his own conscience. He had tried to defend Jesus in the Garden, but after dropping his sword and leaving his friends, he skulked along in the shadows behind the procession to the high priest.
His trial comes, not at the hand of any official representative of either the Temple nor from the Imperial government, but from the folks who surround him in the palace courtyard.
And whereas Jesus refused to speak, Peter can’t shut up. And note the progression of his denials: First, he feigns ignorance: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Then, he denies any connection with the community in which he and Jesus were intimately involved: “I’m not one of them!”. And finally, he disavows any personal relationship with Jesus: “I don’t know him!” And rather than being found guilty by some outside party, as was Jesus, Peter brings down curses on himself. The last glimpse we will have in the Gospel of Mark of this beloved disciple is of him weeping at the gate, stumbling into the darkness, regretting his own failures as a disciple and friend. Now, having said that, I should also point out that it’s reasonable to expect that the first readers of Mark, the Christians in the city of Rome, would already be familiar with some other Peter stories; they would, in all probability, recognize that their own community had been shaped by his leadership. Most of them would know about his imprisonment and perhaps even his death at the hands of the Roman Empire – so even though this is the last we read about Peter in Mark, the original audience would know that it’s not the end of his story.
So that’s a little bit about how the first readers of the Gospel might have heard this story in their context. Jesus as one who is unjustly arrested, unjustly imprisoned, unjustly beaten, but who tells the truth and walks through it; Peter as one who fails miserably, who denies who he is and what he has been, yet as they know, who comes around and lives into his best self because of his community. What about us? What are the implications for this passage in our own day? What can we learn from this, and what can we do with it?
There are a lot of directions that we could go, and many possibilities for interpretation here. This morning, though, I’d like to leave most of those ideas behind and focus on the question I asked at the beginning of the message: who is standing alone, and why?
In this text, both Jesus and Peter are fundamentally alone at a crucial moment in their lives. Peter is seeking anonymity as he hides in plain sight by the fire. Can you picture him drawing his cloak up over his head, hiding his face? As he is recognized by others in the crowd in spite of his attempts to conceal his identity, he retreats into further isolation by removing himself from the fire circle and heading into the entryway or outer court. Peter is clearly feeling unsafe and exposed in this environment.
In the same way, Jesus is surrounded by other people but more alone, perhaps, than he has been in his earthly lifetime. As he is dragged into the trial, people come one after another and seek to “other” him. He is diminished and assaulted verbally, physically, mentally, and spiritually by self-important people in the room who are doing everything they can to remind him that he is not like them and he is not welcome and not worthy; that he doesn’t belong and doesn’t know who he is.
I would like to suggest that both Peter and Jesus are in situations that are clearly removed from the Divine intent. The conditions in which they find themselves are filled with evidence of fallenness, brokenness, and the far-off-ness of the Kingdom of God which they both proclaimed not all that long ago.
For some reason, as I read and re-read this scripture throughout the week, I was reminded of a brief passage from Genesis 2. For the entire duration of the amazing creation poems that comprise most of chapters 1 and 2 of Genesis, we are only told of that which has been pronounced “good”. Earth and sky, sun and moon, water and dry land – it’s all “good”. But there near the end of the second chapter, we find that there is a “not good” that is introduced: “Then the Lord God said, ‘It is not good that the human is alone. I will make him a helper that is perfect for him.’” (Genesis 2:18) If you were to scan the various translations of that verse, you’ll see that some versions indicate that God makes a ‘helper’ for the first human, while others call that second human a ‘helpmeet’, a ‘partner’, or a ‘companion’. No matter how the word is translated, the implication is clear: according to the norms set forth at Creation, isolation, loneliness, or being “othered” is not good; this kind of alone-ness is not reflective of God’s best for God’s children.
So here is a word for this day, beloved: If the character in the story that most grabbed you was Peter – if you know how it feels to want to make yourself smaller, to hide, to cringe in the shadows or walk toward the edges of your community in fear… if you understand how it is to cower in shame, or pain, or isolation… then let me please beg you to take a step out of those shadows and let some part of yourself, your story, and your pain be known.
If you have been hiding, then let me ask you to come out a little bit. There is no need to create a full-scale PR campaign, to rush the microphone during “Joys and Concerns”, or to open up your own website – but if you have felt that kind of loneliness and isolation, then let me encourage you to take a step toward another person. Maybe it’s me; maybe it’s the person sitting next to you or the one watching your children now – but let me ask you to find someone with whom you can be true. Share a part of your story with someone else, and together with that person, walk toward community and look for some sort of healing, hope, and restoration together. It is not good for you to be alone, or isolated. Allow your community to help make things better.
And some of you looked at Jesus in his time of trial and abuse and you cringed on his behalf. Why was he so alone in this his hour of need? Did you want to scream to his friends, his brothers, his beloved followers, “Where are you now?”
If you noticed the look of isolation and maybe even abandonment in the eyes of your Lord this morning, if you were appalled at the ways in which Jesus was “othered”, then let me implore you to search for that in the faces that surround you this and every day. Someone near you is feeling abandoned or vulnerable or exposed. Someone close to you is hiding in fear, and cringing.
Perhaps a call from the Gospel for us today is to move to stand a little closer to that person. I’m not suggesting that you do this in order to rescue, or fix, or change, or heal anything about that person’s life – because it may be that the reason they’re alone is because something else in our world is so broken that they have become “othered”. Let me encourage you to become a companion, or what I might call a “non-anxious presence” in the room.
One word that has been used with some frequency in discussions like this is “ally”, and I use it guardedly today because I understand that it carries with it some baggage and connotations that may be less than helpful. That said, however, one of the best things about an ally is that neither party in such relationship is called to submit to or even become like the other. When Germany was bombing the daylights out of Britain during World War II, for instance, the US did not, as an ally, scold the British for being British. We didn’t walk into London and teach them a better way to be English, or insist that they call lorries “trucks” or chips “French fries.” We didn’t try to make them become like us – we went and we stood with them and helped them maintain their sense of self and sovereignty at a time when they were feeling very much at risk of being abandoned or even obliterated.
One writer at the University of Kansas has this to say about being an ally:
Sometimes, it’s just reaching out and caring; sometimes it means taking a stand against ethnic, sexist, or other oppressive jokes; sometimes it is thinking about a person and encouraging them to keep trying; it can mean… speaking out publicly against injustice; sometimes it means backing a person’s leadership; sometimes it entails organizing a demonstration against discrimination.
Whatever the circumstances, as community members, we probably have a greater capacity to be effective allies to each other than we realize. We have the ability to think about each other, empower each other, and act on each other’s behalf in our day-to-day lives or in emergency situations.
And like almost anything else, being an ally is a skill. Although being an ally often comes quite naturally, you can learn how to be an ally; and the more you do it the better you get at it.
So here is the call of the Gospel today, beloved: If you feel isolated, or exposed, or insignificant because of who you are, or who you have been told that you are, then let me encourage you to seek an ally here – to reach out for one who can help you feel less vulnerable. And if you know that someone else is in a space that might be unsafe for them because of their race, their religion, their sexuality, or any other part of their lives, then you can let that person know that they are not alone.
Our world and our culture tend to be divisive; we are increasingly polarized, fractured, and divided. Jesus and Peter are great examples this morning of those who were driven, for whatever reason, to a place where they were scapegoated, isolated, or abandoned. I suspect that a significant reason for the writing of this passage in the Gospel of Mark is that Peter had said on more than one occasion, “I wish I’d have been able to do more; I wish I’d have spoken up for him more, or better. I wish I could have been there for him.” Similarly, Peter’s very presence in Rome was proof positive that somehow in the days following the darkest hour of his life, someone he loved and trusted moved closer to him and whispered, “It will get better, my friend. Hold on. I am here. We will get through this.”
That is the Good News of the Gospel, my friends. That you can get through this. And someone here can be with you while you do. Thanks be to God. Amen.
 University of Kansas Center for Community Health and Development (https://ctb.ku.edu/en/table-of-contents/culture/cultural-competence/be-an-ally/main)