One of the highest privileges I’ve received is that of serving as Pastor for the community of The First U.P. Church of Crafton Heights for the past 26 years. In 2010, this group granted me a four-month Sabbatical from my ministry for a time of recharging and renewal. In 2019, they extended that offer again – so I’ve got three months to wander, wonder, and join in life in a different way. These entries will help to describe that experience – the sermons return in September.
I started thinking about the idea of a Sabbatical experience two years ago. I began the work of planning it about 11 months ago. I got really serious about six months ago, and designed our route, signed the contracts for our RV and began to book campsites. One of the interesting features about our travel schedule is that it requires us to cross the Continental Divide at least two times. A continental divide is a line of demarcation indicating where water will flow across a continent – it’s a division where the precipitation that falls on one side of the line winds up in one ocean (say, the Pacific Ocean) or another (say, the Atlantic Ocean). For most of the United States, that divide runs along the crest of the Rocky Mountains.
Which means that back in November when I was planning this route, I drew up a route that would have us ascending the mountains at least twice as we began and will end this sojourn in Salt Lake City, Utah. I consulted all the best guides; I did my research, and the itinerary I drew up called for us to leave the eastern side of Rocky Mountain National Park on the morning of June 26 and drive up and over the crest of the divide and exit the western gate of the park. It made sense. It was a lot of driving to get from the eastern gate of the Rocky Mountains to Dinosaur National Monument in Utah in one day, but it was only about 300 miles. I could do it.
Except for the fact that it snowed like crazy in the Rocky Mountains the weekend prior to our arrival. We showed up at the east gate and were informed that the Trail Ridge Road – the only road connecting east and west in the park – was impassable due to a heavy snow accumulation. This route, rising to 12,183 feet (3713 meters), is the highest continuous paved highway in the USA.
The Trail Ridge Road as it looked on days 1 and 2 of our Rocky Mountain Adventure…
Well, doesn’t that just beat all? I’m in the tail end of a well-planned and meticulously organized travel plan, and the ONE ROAD I absolutely need is closed. I stood in line at the Park Ranger’s desk and asked about the likelihood of the road opening up in time for me to make the rest of my journey. Believe it or not, he seemed unimpressed with my meticulous planning. Even after I explained that I was The Reverend Dave Carver and I had a tight program to keep, he pretty much said, “Well, let’s keep your eyes on the sign boards and hope.”
All of my plans for this trip had boiled down to whether the weather would clear and the crews would be able to dig out the road. There was nothing I could do but to watch and hope.
As I did, I thought about a dear friend of mine who is engaged in the fight of her life with a deadly illness. She could tell me something about having plans interrupted by icy blasts and drifts that make progress seem unattainable. I thought about another friend, whose dreams for the future seemed to disappear when her child died. I remembered my own condition in the months leading up to this journey – some of the situations over which I have felt powerless to change and yet over which I worried a great deal. As I considered the foolishness of my complaining about the weather, I was driven to prayer for those whose only options all day are to watch, and hope, and pray.
It was not the spiritual discipline I’d planned for myself this week of Sabbatical, but it was an important and holy work nonetheless. We stayed in the area of the park that was accessible to us, and then less than 24 hours before I “needed it”, the road was indeed opened. As silly as that may sound, it gave me hope for those situations that I named above. I want to sing to my friends, “There is a way through!” It may seem impassible or impossible now, but sometimes watching and hoping and praying lead us to a new experience of, and gratitude for, the journey.
Some of the drifts seemed to be fifteen feet high – on June 26th!!
Don’t get me wrong – I’m not equating my ability to drive a powerful vehicle on a mountain road with someone else’s battle with a deadly illness or the depths of grief. I’m saying that my circumstances led me to a deeper awareness of the situations in which my friends have found themselves, and for that I’m most grateful.
I made it to the top of the Rockies this morning – it was hard to breathe, and the snow was deep. As we wandered into a section of tundra atop the mountain, I recalled a poem that has meant a great deal to me in times where I wondered whether my plans were all shot to hell. It’s called “Resurrection”, and it’s written by Mary Ann Bernard. It reads as follows:
Long, long, long ago; Way before this winter’s snow First fell upon these weathered fields; I used to sit and watch and feel And dream of how the spring would be, When through the winter’s stormy sea She’d raise her green and growing head, Her warmth would resurrect the dead.
Long before this winter’s snow I dreamt of this day’s sunny glow And thought somehow my pain would pass With winter’s pain, and peace like grass Would simply grow. The pain’s not gone. It’s still as cold and hard and long As lonely pain has ever been, It cuts so deep and far within.
Long before this winter’s snow I ran from pain, looked high and low For some fast way to get around Its hurt and cold. I’d have found, If I had looked at what was there, That things don’t follow fast or fair. That life goes on, and times do change, And grass does grow despite life’s pains.
Long before this winter’s snow I thought that this day’s sunny glow, The smiling children and growing things And flowers bright were brought by spring. Now, I know the sun does shine, That children smile, and from the dark, cold, grime A flower comes. It groans, yet sings, And through its pain, its peace begins.
Flowers of many types were already bursting through the tundra atop the mountains…
Most of you are reading this in the summertime. I invite you to think about those of your friends who are snowed under today, and find a way to watch, hope, and pray for them.
I’m not the only one who felt good about making it to the top of the Continental Divide today!
Mule Deer are plentiful in the Rocky Mountain National Park.
We saw a number of moose today, including this cow and calf.
The pika is a small mammal about the size of a large chipmunk – it’s called “the farmer of the tundra” for its habit of storing seeds under rocks.
Adams Falls, on the west side of the park.
At Bear Lake, on the eastern side.
After we had made it over the mountains and down the other side, there was still one threat to my plans: this five foot Prairie Rattlesnake. Now, to be fair, I had a 4,000 pound vehicle, and all he had was a really snazzy rattle and a little venom. We called it a draw and let each other pass…
This week marks the official beginning of a wonderful opportunity for me: I have been granted a period of sabbatical leave from the work I’ve been doing as the Pastor of the First U.P. Church of Crafton Heights. From Memorial Day through Labor Day, 2019, I am not only excused from my regular duties but positively immersed in a wave of new experiences and opportunities. All of this in the hope and expectation that time away will provide both me and the congregation with renewal and refreshment in order that the next season of ministry will be marked by vitality and joy.
If you’ve been following this blog in the hopes of reading or hearing sermons, well, you’ll want to take a break for a few months. I hope you’ll come back in September! However, I invite you all to come with me as I wander into some new – and familiar – places in the hopes of engaging the Holy and the Wonder in these experiences.
This sabbatical experience will be framed by a couple of long weekends in the community in which I was primarily raised: Wilmington DE. Memorial Day and Labor Day will find us in the place where I used to live. My folks moved here when I was 3 years old, and for the next 15 years this was the place where I learned to ride bikes, play baseball and the trombone, make friends, grow in faith and community, drive, lead, fish, and so much more. I graduated from Concord High School in 1978, went to college in Western PA, and have not really lived here since then.
And this is a frustrating thing: I am from here. I know – or, more precisely, I knew these roads. And yet as I am invited to visit with and chauffeur people around this place, I am irritated and disappointed…because the roads are not as I remember them. There are new buildings, and the landscape has changed. I am frustrated with myself, because as I feel lost I think, “I ought to know this. I’ve been here. I used to live here, for crying out loud.” And I am irked by those who have come in and changed this place that was a comfortable and predictable environment.
And if you were to speak with me rationally, you would say, “Oh, give it a break, Dave. It’s not 1978 anymore. The world changes. Life happens. Get with the times.” And, of course, you’d be right.
And yet, as I so often do, I wonder if there is a deeper application to this feeling.
I have a friend who is very ill. Her body – once a dear friend, comfortable and hospitable and useful – now seems to be betraying her. It’s not doing what it used to; it’s not behaving as it should. And so in addition to the discomfort of the symptoms she is feeling, she is disquieted at finding herself in a place where she’d prefer not to be.
We are staying with my mother-in-law, a widow of less than a year. On a July day last year, her landscape was bulldozed in an unimaginably (to me, right now) painful way. Her house looks the same, but her home is irrevocably changed. And it’s frustrating in painful ways.
I know a man who was once full of rich faith in God. He practiced this in church, and engaged in regular worship. And then, for a number of reasons, he found himself away from the church (and, if he were truly honest, away from the faith) for a season. And he’d like to be back now. Except that while the congregation that he formerly attended is still standing, and still open, and even has a number of the same members – it’s not the same church. It seems to him that maybe even God has changed. Certainly his perspective of God has changed. Maybe that’s a good thing. But it’s surely a confusing thing, on some days. He has to find his way along a path that is different from the one that he knew.
I used to live here. But the first word of that sentence – I – is not the same as he was in 1978. Mostly, that’s a blessing. And there are other people who live here now. And that’s a fine thing.
And the final word of the sentence – here – is different as well, for a million reasons. Again, mostly good. I live somewhere else now, and I love it there. But it’s not here.
In between the first and last words of the sentence is the verb – live. One of the great things about time away from my regular life is the ability to catch up with folks who are in other places. It has been a great joy to visit places that have been formative for me and share stories with those whose lives have been intertwined with mine.
Movie Night at Cokesbury Village! “On the Basis of Sex” is a great film.
Had a great visit with my brother, Tom, and his family!
So proud of my nieces Bethany and Rachel!
Putting in the annuals…
Coaching Sharon through the gardening thing… Sabbatical is about everyone learning new things!
We are blessed to be able to do this with Mom!
Breakfast with my niece Sarah – crab benedict!
This room provided some of my most meaningful encounters of the Holy… confirmation, ordination, marriage, the baptism of our daughter, funerals…
“The Burning Bush” at Trinity Presbyterian Church in Delaware
And as I near the end of my 58th year I am aware of the fact that as my dad used to say, “Nobody gets out of this place alive.” I’m not usually a “go to the cemetery” person, but it was an honor and a privilege to visit the graves of some of the most amazing folks I’ve known. As I mentioned, Sharon’s dad died in July 2018. My own father died about ten years prior to that, and my mother in 1990. We also were able to see the marker for my nephew, Ben, who died in 2017. Taking this time to reflect on the meaning of their lives helped me to frame the expectations for my own.
My hope for the days, weeks, and months to come is that the practice of sabbatical will invite me to consider what it means to be an “I” who finds himself “here” – wherever here is. And I am deeply grateful for the ways that I have been launched on this journey; for those who gave me advice as I was starting and along the way; and for those who are present to me as I seek to be faithful in the walk of today and share in the hope that is to come.
One most best frameworks for this hope is in a song called “Be With You”. I invite you to wander in that now.
The first Sunday after Easter (April 28, 2019) provided the saints at the First United Presbyterian Church of Crafton Heights with the opportunity to consider what happened to the disciples in the weeks and months after the resurrection. We saw them as people whose minds had changed – for the better… and we wondered whether we, too, have seen signs of such change and growth in our own lives. Our texts included Luke 24:45-49 and Acts 5:27-32.
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Portrait of a Bearded Man as an Apostle (St. Peter), Pier Francesco Mola Coldrerio c. 1612-1666
Well, well, well. Get a load of this guy! Can you believe it? Who does he think he is? Did you catch what Ronald said in the reading from the Book of Acts? Evidently, the followers of Jesus have been arrested, for what is apparently not the first time. They have been hauled in front of the Council – the Sanhedrin – and the High Priest, because they keep talking about Jesus of Nazareth and preaching in his name.
And did you catch the name of the ringleader, the spokesperson, the only apostle named? Peter. Yes, that Peter. The last time we saw him in this room was just the other day, when we read from Mark 14, the night that Jesus himself was arrested. Peter was close to the Council and the High Priest on that night, too. Do you remember?
Only on that night, he tried to hide. When he couldn’t hide, he lied. When he was found out in his lie, he ran away weeping into the darkness. That’s the last we’ve heard from Peter in this room. And you will recall that it was not, by any means, Peter’s best day. And yet it was Peter. The same Peter who we heard speaking confidently and even defiantly to the religious hierarchy a moment ago.
What’s happening? What’s gotten into him?
Some of you know my friend, Sophie, in Malawi. She and her husband lived with us for several months many years ago, and she had a habit that confused me. She often began a story by saying, “the other day…” Now, I imagine that you’ve used this phrase yourself. You’ve said something like, “You’ll never believe who I saw in the market the other day!” Perhaps you’ve asked me when my last dental exam was, and I responded, “Oh, it was the other day. I’m good.” When we use those words, we understand “the other day” to mean a date in the fairly recent past.
But for Sophie, “the other day” meant simply any day that is not “today”. She would start to tell me about the other day when she was learning to drive, and it would take me a while to catch on that we were talking about an event that took place decades ago. As you know, the passage of time adds a lot to the meaning of a story.
So when I said that we saw Peter “the other day” as he was fleeing the courtyard of the High Priest’s home on the night of Jesus’ arrest… which “other day” was it? How much time has elapsed between Peter’s running away in shame and his standing before the Council in such boldness.
This is a tricky thing for those of us who want to read the Bible. I mean, we’ve just finished a study of Mark’s Gospel, which takes 240 verses to narrate the events of one week. Conversely, the book of Exodus sums up 400+ years in fewer than 8 verses. So what is the relationship between the stories we’ve heard from Mark in recent weeks and those in today’s reading from Luke and Acts?
Jesus’ ascended into heaven about six weeks after his resurrection. That’s the conversation that Carly shared with you from Luke. The events described in Acts chapter 5 could be from the same year; if not, they are from the following year. In other words, the amount of time that has elapsed between Peter’s denial and his sermon here is to be measured in weeks or months, and certainly not in decades.
St. Peter Preaching, Masolina (c. 1400)
So I’ll ask again: what gives? Who is this guy? What has gotten into Peter and the other apostles that they should be so bold and brash only weeks or months after having failed so miserably?
My hunch is that if we had the opportunity to ask the apostles themselves, they might point to Luke’s account, and say something like, “Well, things really began to change for us – to take shape – as we met with the risen Christ. Our minds were opened. We understood that he was calling us to be witnessesto his resurrection, witnesses to his presence.
In the time between the burial of Jesus and this trial in Acts, these followers of Jesus came to see themselves as witnesses. I’m here to suggest that this is a new understanding. Think back to the day of Jesus’ Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem. On that day, they saw themselves as managersor maybe cheerleaders. Jesus was coming in and was loudly proclaimed as the coming Messiah – it was unmistakable. And so it fell to the disciples to help facilitate the crowds and maybe even get themselves positioned as a kind of a “transition team” between the current religious and political establishment and that new order which Jesus would bring.
However, as the situation in Jerusalem devolved during Holy Week, things changed. Jesus was betrayed, and then arrested. If the dream of the Messianic Kingdom with Jesus as its head was going to come to pass, then those who were with him would have to take quick action. We saw that in the Garden at least some of the disciples were ready to fight for Jesus, and for this new Kingdom, and to defend him. That’s not the first time that these folks saw themselves in that way – the Gospels are full of occasions when those who were closest to Jesus sought to protect him from others whom they deemed to be unworthy: children and foreigners, mostly.
When we interpret the disciples acting as protectors or defenders, then perhaps we can construe the running away in the Garden of Gethsemane and even the denials by the High Priest’s home not as acts of cowardice but rather as strategies for buying time. After all, in this view, the arrest of Jesus is a horrible thing – but if everyone gets taken in there will be nobody to save him. If all of them run away now, the disciples could have thought, they can break him out of jail and get back to plan “A” – Jesus coming in, bringing his Kingdom, and a new world order! Here we go!
But then, of course, came the crucifixion, death, and burial of Jesus. At that point it must have seemed to the followers of Jesus (and they said as much to the “stranger” on the road to Emmaus) that they were sadly mistaken. He was evidently not the Messiah. He had evidently notcome to liberate the people of God.
And now we move ahead a few months or a year into the Book of Acts and we are re-introduced to these Christ-followers as men of purpose and vision. They’ve got multiple arrest records already for bearing witness to the presence and resurrection of Jesus.
And listen to what Peter says about his old friend and mentor, Jesus. He says that God has raised up Jesus as Israel’s “Leader”. The Greek word there is archegos, and it means one who goes before, or is an example, or a pioneer, or a predecessor. Jesus is the first of many – Jesus is the archetype of that which God intends for all humanity.
Not only is he “Leader”, but he is “Savior”. Again, the Greek helps us understand: soter is a word that refers to a title that the Greeks gave to leaders who had conferred significant benefits on their country. It was used to describe a military or political leader who had really brought about true and significant benefit or advantage for his people. It is worth noting, too, that this is the first time in the New Testament that a Jewish person uses this word to refer to Jesus. In recognizing him as archegos and soter– Leader and Savior – the disciples are acclaiming Jesus as one with supreme power and authority; one who can be relied on to get stuff done; Jesus can be trusted to do as he says he’s gonna do.
Appearance on the Mountain in Galilee, Duccio di Buoninsegna (c. 1310)
And if Jesus is in fact that kindof leader and savior, then the disciples’ understanding of themselves must also change. If that’swho Jesus is, then they don’t need to be his agents, handlers, or managers. If that’s the kind of person and presence that Jesus is, then he surely doesn’t need the kinds of protection that people like the disciples are likely to be able to provide. And so instead of being any of those things, the apostles say plainly, “we are witnesses of these things – we are here to tell you about our experiences of these things, and to invite you to consider the Holy Spirit who is also here as a witness.”
This morning I’d like to reflect on Christ-followers who see themselves as witnesses – as persons who have seen, observed, or participated in an event and then testify to what they saw, heard, and felt. I’m afraid that in the Church of Jesus Christ today, there are not enough witnesses.
I’m afraid that in the church of Jesus Christ today I know too many people who have abdicated the role of “witness” so that they could go back to being Jesus’ protectors. I know too many people who seem to believe that the God whom they say created heaven and earth and the vastness of the cosmos – that thatGod somehow needs folks like me or you to protect God’s self.
We have friends who act as if Jesus needs us to stand between him and those who would harm him – he needs us to point out and call out and tear down the people that could somehow hurt Jesus or his cause – and so these folks lash out self-righteously against Muslims or atheists or feminists or gays. Jesus needs us to have his back when it comes to outrages like the holiday cups used at Starbucks or the chicken sandwiches served by Chick Fil-A. Some people act as though the one who turned water into wine and used a few loaves and fishes to feed 5000 people has now had a change of heart and turns to his followers and says, “Whoa, whoa, whoa… be careful. Don’t be trying to feed or clothe everybody now. You’ve got to take care of yourselves. I’m not sure you can think about letting people like them get too close to your neighborhood…” As if Jesus was somehow less ableor less sufficientor less powerfulnow than he was when Luke and Acts were written.
If he is truly Leader and Savior – then he retains his power and authority, and he continues to expect that we are his witnesses, and not his handlers, agents, protection squad, or defense attorneys.
And that leads me to another question that is raised by this morning’s text. Clearly Peter and the other followers of Jesus grew in their understandings of who Jesus was and who they were called to be. Their minds were changed, and that led them to new understandings of themselves and their Lord. So I wonder, has that happened to you? Where are you growing? How long has it been since you’ve seen Jesus in a new way? Are there things about which you’ve experienced a change of mind or heart?
Careful now… In so many parts of our culture, a changed mind is seen as a sign of weakness. In discussions I’ve had recently of both a political and religious nature, I’ve heard comments like, “Her? Seriously? You know, I’ve heard that she has become really soft on ________ (fill in the blank with some doctrine, cause, or political viewpoint). I’m not sure she’s one of us anymore…” When a politician changes their mind, they are accused of waffling or flip-flopping. And if you didn’t know it, friends, that’s bad. That is very bad for your political career – and, as friends of mine discovered it can hurt your theological career as well.
When someone engages you in conversation by asking you how your mind has changed, or how you see things differently… there’s a temptation to see that as an admission of having somehow departed from orthodoxy or having left the “true faith”, whatever that is.
But listen: we are called to growth! We are built for growth! We long for and anticipate growth in our physical selves, our mental selves, and therefore why not our spiritual selves as well?
There’s not a person in this room who thinks, looks, or acts exactly the same as you did five or ten or twenty years ago. Heck, if you want a laugh, walk into my study with some of the children as they scope out your wedding and baptismal photos and say, “Hey… is that my mom and dad?”, or “Who is that guy with all the hair?” Because you’ve changed, beloved. You’re not the same.
So I’ll ask again: Where are you growing? How are you seeing Jesus these days? And how are you bearing witness to that presence in your daily life?
Today, may we join Peter and the other apostles in looking back at where we were, and who we were, on the other day– and praying for growth, wisdom, discernment, and freedom to find Christ in new places on this day. And as we find and experience the Christ, may we, too, fulfill our roles and thereby be witnesses to these things. Thanks be to God! Amen.
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. At the later service on Easter Sunday (April 21, 2019), we concluded that study by looking at Mark 16:9-20, a passage missing from the earliest versions of this Gospel. The first reading came from Isaiah 65:17-25,
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I hope that not all of you have been in this situation before, but I’m sure that everyone can imagine it. Let’s say that you’re driving along, minding your own business, and another car suddenly swerves into your lane, cutting you off, and you wind up hitting the telephone pole. The ambulance comes, you’re taken to the hospital where they set your broken leg, and then your family comes in to see you just as the doctor arrives to tell you how things look.
You tell your family what’s happened up to this point, but you don’t need to tell them what the doctor says, because, well, they’re here. They see and know the doctor at this point. You’ve told them what they don’t know, and that’s good enough.
Now, two weeks later you’re at your uncle’s house for a holiday party. Someone asks you about the cast on your leg, and so you start to tell the story about the other driver and the telephone pole and the ambulance. And when you’re finished, your brother-in-law – who wasn’t even there, by the way – adds details to your story: “The other car was an SUV, driven by some kid who was texting, I think. And the city has now changed the traffic pattern on that stretch of the highway, which is a good thing. That’s always been a dangerous road…”
And when that happens, you might be tempted to look at your brother-in-law and say, “Oh, for Pete’s sake, there you go again…” It’s irritating, sometimes, to have people add to or interpret your story. But as you reflect on what he’s said, you also think that maybe his comments could be helpful for those who are a little more removed from the story. They add some useful context to what happened.
Les Saintes Femmes au Tombeau, William-Adolphe Bouguereau, (1890)
So it is with Mark chapter 16. The Gospel writer pretty clearly ends his telling of the Jesus story in verse 8. In the face of the angelic announcement that Jesus has risen from the dead, the first community of Christ-followers were confused and afraid. That first Easter morning, they didn’t know whatto do, and they didn’t know whoto believe. The original ending of the Gospel shows us people running out of the cemetery, scared out of their minds.
And that ending, frankly, worked well enough for Mark’s original audience. Most of the community to whom Mark was written was living there in Rome and knew, or at least knew of, the Apostle Peter. They had access to other witnesses to those early days of the church – and they were familiar with the things that happenedafterthe crucifixion.
But before long, there began to be more and more people who didn’t know all of the same people, and who were not familiar with the events that took place on that first Easter and the days that followed.
At that point, someone else in the community plays the role of Mark’s chatty brother-in-law and picks up the pen to add a few details to the story.
What I’m saying is this: that Mark 16:9-20 is almost certainly not the work of the author of the rest of the Gospel. There are differences in style, vocabulary, and phrasing. Most of the content in these verses is, in fact, simply reflective of other material that we’ve come to know in Matthew, Luke, John, and the book of Acts. Most scholars see this part of the Gospel as an appendix that has been written by another hand, and therefore not so much a part of the second Gospel but rather a reflection on it, or an attestation of the truth to which the Gospel points. It’s as if a new generation of the church found a dog-eared copy of the Gospel and said, “Yes! This! There you go again! This is the truth!”
With that in mind, then, let me invite you to look with me at what this passage has to say. How does this next generation reflect on the Gospel that it’s received?
I’m struck by the church’s characterization of the people to whom the risen Christ appeared. There are no starry-eyed dreamers here, no wistful backward glances at the first followers of Jesus. When the author of these verses remembers those who gathered with the risen Lord, he or she does so with an acknowledgment that Jesus didn’t wait around for a perfect church to appear or be formed. Rather, this is a blunt description of the fact that the group that met with Jesus was comprised of people who struggled with their faith and who were above all else, stubborn. That is to say that while the three days in the tomb and the resurrection may have totally transformed Jesus, his followers were still the same people. This is what they had to say about themselves: we’re not sure what to think, but we can be really obnoxious.
You can’t make this stuff up…
Can you imagine a church with a motto like that today? Some years ago, my wife and I visited a little town in Texas with an unusual name. We were surprised, however, when the congregation in that place took on the town’s name and became known as “The Church of Uncertain.”
I love that sign, and I love this affirmation at the end of Mark’s Gospel: it goes to show me that Jesus is willing to work with what he had – with who I am. The Risen Lord is not hanging around beating the doubt out of his followers, waiting for them to become perfect; there’s no call for you or me to somehow get our acts together beforewe start living like Jesus asks us to. We are called to move forward with who we are and what we have, trusting that Jesus will continue to work on, in, and through us.
The early church remembers that, as recalcitrant and doubtful as they were, they were given two primary charges by the Risen Lord.
First, they are called to preach. That is, to point to God’s intentions for the world and those who live in it. Preach the Gospel to all creation! Celebrate the purposes of God as you live in the world and with others. That community, like you, would be familiar with the descriptions of God’s intentions as described in places like Isaiah 65.
Les malades attendant le passage de Jésus, James Tissot (between 1886-1894).
And secondly, in addition to preaching, or proclaiming, the reign and rule of God, this group of stubborn doubters is called to participate in those intentions by becoming agents of healing in the creation. It’s as if the Savior is saying, “Look, the longer we hang out together, the more you’re going to find that reality can, in fact, change. Be a part of that! Engage your world on God’s terms, and invite your world to be more intentionally and fully aligned with God’s design for that world.
This “appendix” to the Gospel of Mark then ends with a surprising affirmation: “the Lord worked with them and confirmed his word by the signs that accompanied it.” That’s another way of saying, “Hey! Everybody! It worked! Seriously – we did this – and we found that when we lived like Jesus told us to that some amazing things didhappen!”
Back toward the end of 2017, this congregation embarked on a study of the Gospel of Mark. When we did so, we remarked that this second Gospel begins with a different quote from the book of Isaiah. We watched a ragged prophet called John the Baptizer announce the coming of and presence of a new way of life and living, a new understanding of God’s purposes. John pointed us to Jesus of Nazareth, who called this new way of living “The Kingdom of God”, and who went on to say that this Kingdom is at hand – it is present, it is palpable today.
Calling Disciples, He Qi (contemporary)
For the past eighteen months or so we have affirmed that Mark’s Gospel is not centered on a system of belief. Nowhere in this document is a series of intellectual suppositions that we must affirm in order to gain entry into some heavenly club. There is no list of right answers on which followers of Jesus must insist before extending grace, forgiveness, and kindness. No, this little pamphlet is a call to a life of boldness centered on an acknowledgement that this reality that Jesus called the Kingdom of God is present and accessible right now to people like us. It is an encouragement for the people of God to live in a way that points to the reign and rule of God, that demonstrates God’s intentions, and fleshes out God’s hopes for creation.
To be sure, the Gospel is full of stories, including the events of Holy week, that demonstrate that this manner of life is not always easy and that there may be a cost. The original hearers of Mark’s Gospel surely knew and appreciated that.
And yet, when the dust had settled, someone picked up Mark’s pen long after he himself had died. That community recalled with joy that Christ had come, and suffered, and risen to rule the world. Those folk celebrated that this Kingdom of God, this reign and rule of the Holy that echoes the landscape painted by Isaiah and demonstrated in the life of Jesus of Nazareth is in fact ours to live.
There was a certain roller coaster ride at the Kennywood Amusement Park that began with the announcement, “Hold onto your hats, please. No repeat riders.” I’m pretty sure that the mechanized voice that issued that warning hundreds of times a day didn’t think that it was making a theological affirmation, but I’m convinced that is the essence of the Gospel as received and transmitted by Mark’s community. Brace yourselves for adventure – this is a good, good life that we’ve been given. Yes, we will encounter great pain and even death along the way – but pain and death are not the end of the story. The presence of the Risen Lord infuses our lives and all creation.
The Good News of the Gospel is that you don’t have to have it all figured out. We participate in this Gospel as we engage in grateful and hopeful lives and share that gratitude and hope with those we meet. Along the way, we are given the opportunity – or the responsibility – of looking for, asking for, or waiting for the presence of the One who preached the Kingdom’s truth and then rose from the dead to affirm it’s nearness to the heart of God. So beloved, the call of the Gospel today is this: seek that presence today, and be a sign of it in the world. He has Risen. He has risen indeed. So show someone what that looks like! Thanks be to God! Amen.
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. At the first service on Easter Sunday (April 21, 2019), we read through what most scholars consider to be the ending of this Gospel. Like them, we were confused by the abrupt nature of the conclusion, and wondered how that form might impact the content. The Gospel text was Mark 16:1-8; we also heard from the Apostle Peter in Acts 10:34-43?
To hear the sermon as preached in worship, please use the media player below:
When is an ending not an ending?
The Gospel of Mark is puzzling, to say the least. It’s confusing, at best. Here we are, just a few hours away from the end of our multi-year study of what so far as we know is the first attempt at a written record of the life of Jesus, and it ends in the middle of a sentence. Mark’s account of the life of Jesus ends with the word “for” – in Greek, it’s gar. “They didn’t say anything to anyone, they were afraid for…” Who ends a story with the word “for”? It’s crazy talk, that’s what that is. It can’t be right.
And for centuries, people agreed with that assessment. Obviously, there’s a problem. So if you look in your pew Bibles, you’ll see that the gospel of Mark goes all the way to verse 20. But there’s a footnote saying that “most ancient authorities conclude the Gospel at the end of verse 8.” People have argued for centuries – what happened here? Did the original ending get lost? You have all had old books laying around the house and pages just sort of fall out after a while…Is that the story? Or did Mark somehow mean to walk out on the story so abruptly? If you really want a nice, tidy, ending, you’ll have to come back for the 11:00 service, because at that time we’ll take up the “alternate ending” of the Gospel of Mark.
In the meantime, though, I’ll tell you that most recent scholars, and your pastor, believe that Mark knew exactly what he was doing – and he cut the story short. After all, if you remember the beginning of the Gospel, you’ll recall that Jesus’ entry was pretty abrupt – there’s no infancy, no childhood – he just shows up. Well, here, he just leaves. And then what? It’s a mystery.
What do we know? Well, on Thursday, we read a pretty conclusive passage indicating that Jesus was crucified, died, and was buried. We can know for sure that he was dead – the executioner, the women, Joseph of Arimathea, and even Pilate’s personal intelligence officer all agree that Jesus had died. There was a corpse. And we know that he was buried. A leader of the council put him in his own tomb. The women followed and saw him buried. There are witnesses to these things.
And then, a few days later, the women go back to do things right – they had been too rushed, and perhaps too afraid, on Friday. So Sunday they stop by to visit the grave and take care of things. All of a sudden, things look a little different. The tomb is open. And there’s a young man inside. Matthew tells us that he’s an angel. Luke and John say that he had a friend with him. It doesn’t seem to matter to Mark. The young man gives a message to the women.
Now I want you to pay attention here, because you’re seeing something in the Gospel of Mark that you haven’t seen before. All through the Gospel, the people who follow Jesus seem to bounce around in their ability to be faithful. Mostly, they’re consistent. Sometimes they are able to hold onto the faith, other times they leave it. Even Peter denies Jesus. In the garden, everyone, including the young man we think was Mark, flees. But so far, there has been one group of people who have managed to do, more or less, what is asked of them: the women. No matter how much the other disciples screw things up, the faithful women seem to be there for Jesus. They don’t always ask the right questions, as when the mother of James and John asked if they could sit next to Jesus in the kingdom – but they are consistently present, and invested, and willing.
But what does this young man say to them? “Go, and tell the disciples…” And what do they do? “They fled…they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” Finally, it comes to this. Even the women – the ones who were willing to go to Hell and back for Jesus – bail out. They can’t get their heads around the idea of resurrection. It’s just too improbable, even for them. Even for God. And so they run away, silent and scared.
In Mark’s telling, the first Easter was characterized by confusion. By people running around in the half-light of dawn, sure that something has happened, but not sure what. Someone is lying – is it the Roman Guards, who are accusing the disciples of having stolen the body? Or is it the disciples themselves? What’s going on here?
Remember when we began this study, I mentioned that we think that Mark is the first Gospel to have been written. Think about that, and then think about the ways that the other Gospels end. Matthew has the angel I’ve already mentioned, and then Jesus himself is there. There’s an incredible ending where the risen Christ is worshipped by his disciples, and then he gives them their final orders, and then he is taken into heaven as they watch. And Luke, probably written about the same time as Matthew, ends with the risen Christ showing up on the road to Emmaus, spending quality time with his disciples, engaged in contemplative conversation and even having devotions over dinner with them, for crying out loud. John, writing even later, can’t say enough about the resurrection. We see the empty grave clothes; we walk around inside the empty tomb. John shows us Jesus and Mary in the garden, Thomas and Jesus meeting in the upper room; Jesus is having lunch with Peter and the fellas on the beach…
But Mark? In Mark, we’ve got “a young man” – was he an angel? Maybe? – who says, “Yes, I know, you’re looking for Jesus. Well, good news. He’s not dead anymore. He’s been raised.”
That’s it, Mark? That’s the best you’ve got? An unidentified male of indeterminate ethnicity telling us that Jesus has been raised? Where’s Jesus? Where’s the Lord?
Mark doesn’t show us the risen Christ – he shows us a witness telling us that Jesus is risen…and then he says, “And what do you think? Can you believe this?”
And Mark doesn’t seem particularly eager to convince us himself…because as we’ve said, the women were afraid. Our last hope for faithful witness has apparently failed. They are told to go and tell people, and Mark says that they didn’t say anything.
But of course, eventually, they did, right? I mean, if the only witnesses never said anything, then we’d never know anything about the resurrection, right? Obviously, eventually, they said something to someone. Mark just stops telling his story before the women start telling theirs. Because Mark knewthe story of the resurrection. Mark’s community in Rome knew the story of the resurrection. They probably heard it from the same source as you did a few moments ago: Peter himself vouched for the fact that the story got through.
So that means – follow me here – that somehow, sometime, somewhere, after the women failed to tell, they eventually came around and said something. They testified. In spite of their fear, in spite of their confusion, the first witnesses to the resurrection were able to find it in themselves to regain their courage and composure and to point to the best thing that has ever happened. This morning we can praise God for, and learn from, women whose faith overcame their fear
And that best thing was great news for Mark’s community. Because they were in fear. They were unsure what was going to happen to them. They were afraid of what their faith might cost them…and they, no less than the women, were able to hear the voice of a witness who said, “He has been raised from the dead. Go and tell people about it. And better yet, he is going before you. You will see him – just like he promised.”
Mark’s readers didn’t have the luxury of walking around inside the empty tomb, or having dinner with Jesus, or getting all poetic about the good news of resurrection. They were being eaten alive by wild animals or being burnt by the government as they tried to hold onto their faith. All they had was the promise that Jesus will be ahead of them. That they would see him. That he would be waiting for them. Isn’t that good news?
And if they fail to witness – if their fear gets the best of them, or anxiety shuts their mouths – there’s hope for them, just like there’s hope for every single follower of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark. This ending is great news for Mark’s friends.
Les Saintes Femmes au Tombeau, William-Adolphe Bouguereau, (1890)
And to be honest, it’s my favorite Easter story, too. The other Gospels all end with the disciples having figured it out, at least a little bit. Look at Matthew, John, or Luke, and you’ll see that the disciples have found the resurrected Jesus, they have begun to understand something of what resurrection is about. They’ve gotten it together, at least a bit.
My life is not usually like that. I can’t usually identify with Jesus’ disciple, Thomas, who touches Jesus’ hands and side and falls down crying, “My Lord and my God!” I mean, it looks swell in the painting and everything, but I’ve never touched him.
But Mark’s ending? Grief? Fear? Amazement? I mean, I spend half my life asking, “And then what? What am I going to do NOW?” Disciples that are running around scared and confused and uncertain? These are guys that I can relate to!
I don’t know everything about your life, and you sure don’t want to know all about mine. But I know that there have been plenty of days in even the past few months where I’ve found myself scared and confused and uncertain. There have been times when I wasn’t sure who I could trust, with what, and everything I looked at seemed to be blanketed with a thick gray fog. I am certain beyond a doubt that some of you know what that looks like.
And if, for some reason, you find yourself staring at the pastor this morning thinking, “what is that man going on about? Fear? Uncertainty? Anxiety? Here? In Church? Why, never have I ever experienced anything close to that…” – well, all I have to say to you is what Penguins announcer Mike Lange says: “Get in the fast lane, grandma! The Bingo game is ready to roll!” There’s a lot in this world I can’t be sure of, but of this I am completely and utterly convinced: you will be confused and afraid. You will know doubt and anxiety.
The Good News from Mark is that we don’t have to have all the answers. We move forward in the sure and certain knowledge that we don’t have much sure and certain knowledge…only that he is going ahead of us. In the confused and scary places. In the celebratory places. And we will see him. And that will be enough. You can count on that.
My Father-in-Law, V. Eugene McCoy, died very suddenly on Monday, July 16, 2018. From July 7 – 15, he joined the rest of the family in an incredible beach vacation that featured, among other things, our celebration of his 85th birthday. At the end of that trip, as each car prepared to depart and head north, he whispered – as he always did – into the ear of each member of the family, “Remember: Grammy and Gramps love you an awful lot!” He arrived home late in the day on the 15th, and on the morning of the 16th he went to play his regular Monday morning tennis match. After winning the first set convincingly, he collapsed on the court as his earthly life ended. I was privileged to be asked to make a few remarks at his memorial service from the Trinity Presbyterian Church in Wilmington, DE – the entirety of which was recorded and is accessible in the media link below. Since many readers of this blog knew Gene, and since all of us know death, I thought that you might be interested in reading this.
Dad, surrounded by much of the family, getting ready to dig into the cherry pie with which we’ll celebrate his 85th birthday on July 8 2018.
For this reason I kneel before the Father,from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name.I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being,so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love,may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ,and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. (Ephesians 3:14-19, NIV)
I am humbled to stand here on behalf of the family and say a few words about the gift that Gene McCoy has been to us and to our family.
As far as I can figure it, I’ve known Gene for about 55 years. We met here – well not actually “here”, because there was no “here” here when we met. There was an orchard and a farmhouse and a Darley wing and a big old chestnut tree where we could get really cold lemonade on days like this. At that time, I was one of the little rugrats in the nursery and he was a guy who sneaked in during the first hymn and made his way into the side pew over there after his early morning tennis match or golf game.
Our relationship changed rather dramatically about 44 years ago when I fell in love with his daughter. While I was walking on eggshells for a few years, I soon came to appreciate at least his tolerance and eventually his embrace. And like everyone else in the front rows to my right – and probably everyone else in the room – I loved him fiercely. And like each of them, I have grown secure in his love for me.
Before I say too much, I’d like to ask you to pause for just a moment and reflect: what is something that Gene McCoy gave to you? Maybe it was a ride, or a piece of candy; it could’ve been a paper towel that he’d carried in his back pocket just hoping that someone would ask him for it. Maybe it was some good advice, or a book, or a carefully clipped comic strip or bridge column.
I’ll give you a moment, because my hunch is that you can’t think of just one.
Gene McCoy was one of the most amazingly generous people you’ll ever have the privilege to meet. While I bet everyone in the room knows this, my sense is that the people up front have had the most opportunities to witness this. As my brother-in-law Marty said, “Gramps redefined the basic Christmas stocking.” Each Christmas, the sons-in-law and grandchildren would find a giant bag with a tag indicating that it had been left by “the tool guy.” Every time Craftsman had a sale, Dad would go into the store and buy four or more of whatever shiny caught his eye. Do you know how when you go to a store there are special parking places for those with disabilities, and spaces for new or expectant mothers? I’m betting that the Sears store had a reserved spot for Gene McCoy.
In fact, is there anyone here from Craftsman today? If so, please accept my condolences. On behalf of the entire family, we’re deeply sorry for your loss.
Now, if you’re not in our family, you’re probably smiling to yourself and thinking, “Wow, that’s nice. Gene helped his sons-in-law get started. That was kind of him.”
And I’m here to tell you that you don’t get it. I mean, he bought, and we got, TOOLS! So many tools. Listen: every Christmas and every birthday for the past 40 years there has been a bag from Craftsman with my name on it. Some of it was stuff that I really wanted, and I couldn’t afford to buy for myself – like my first Shop-Vac. Lots of the tools were things that I didn’t even know that I needed – such as the band clamps he gave me a few years ago. And, to be honest, there has been a lot of stuff that I had to Google to find out what it was for and if and when I might ever need it.
You might not be surprised to know that as we and Dad aged, the themes of the tool kits changed. Early on, we seemed to find a lot of gadgets that everyone ought to have for their cars: Raise your hand if you ever had a standard-issue Gramps McCoy green tool kit or 12 volt air compressor in the back of your car… For a while he was in a “ratchet” phase. We got ratchet drivers and ratchet wrenches and flexible ratchets and who knows what else. There was a “cordless” phase, where we got battery-operated drills, mini-tools, saws, and – believe it or not – battery-operated hammers. Who knew?
But in spite of the phases, there were some things that were always – and I mean ALWAYS there. For forty years, twice a year, I’ve gotten a bag from Gene that has contained batteries, extension cords, scotch tape, super glue, light bulbs, and, of course, clamps.
This morning I’d like to suggest that Dad’s affinity for these particular gifts was rooted in his view of the world. When you opened your package of light bulbs – whether it was the old fashioned incandescent, or halogen, or fluorescent replacements, or LEDs, you could sense that Dad was saying that there were some dark corners in your home, and surely in our world, that needed a little more light and illumination.
When I carried those extension cords and the giant packages of batteries home, and to church, and to the youth center, it occurred to me that there are times when you just need a little more energy. Gene drank something like 23 cups of coffee each day in order to keep himself going, and he was always encouraging me to find ways to rest, recharge, and then engage with energy and purpose.
Each time I opened a package of tape, glue, or clamps, I was reminded that things – and people – tend to fall apart sometimes. When they do, it doesn’t make sense to just throw them away. Instead, he challenged us all to look for ways to mend, restore, and heal the things in our lives as well as the relationships in which we dwell.
In fact, it occurs to me that one gives tools to those who are able to recognize not only the brokenness of the world, but who also realize that each of us has agency – that is, we can effect change. One gives tools to those who believe that the world can and should be a better place.
In some ways, Gene McCoy is a tool given by God to help you and me to understand more of the Divine intention for this life, and to then use our energy, our intellect, and our time in working to make that intention palpable in the world.
The scripture you’ve heard from Ephesians chapter three is all about knowing what all of the best and most knowledgeable theologians say is unknowable – the love of God that surpasses knowledge. How can you measure the love of God? Where does it start? Where does it end? How in the world can we truly speak of these things that are fundamentally mysterious and supernatural?
And yet Verl Eugene McCoy, Junior, the scientist, sought to study that love. To quantify it. And, most importantly, to demonstrate it – to make it known not by describing it, not by talking about it, not by pointing to it – but by demonstrating it in the best way he could. In his lavish generosity, his insatiable curiosity, his insightful questioning, his corny jokes, his love for puzzles of all kinds, his efforts to push himself and challenge you – Gene McCoy was an agent of God seeking to make the purposes of God a little more clear.
As I say this, I am fully aware of the fact that if Dad was in the room right now, he’d be wishing that I would please talk about someone else; he would be uncomfortable with all of the attention being paid to him. To that I would simply respond that this is the first sermon I’m preaching in 30 years that Gene McCoy is not timing, he won’t be asking me to email him a copy, and he won’t be responding to it with some thoughtful questions and helpful feedback. Gene might be uncomfortable with us looking at certain aspects of his life as noteworthy or illustrative for us as we continue to walk this earthly journey, but this is one time I’m not giving him a vote.
Because here’s the deal, beloved: I know for a fact that while Alex, Marty, and I might have received the most white bags from “the tool guy”, each and every person in this room has been given tools of one sort or another – many, perhaps, by Gene himself; more, I’m sure, by others whom God has chosen.
One more thing about Dad and those tools: when he came out to Pittsburgh to visit, he would always find an excuse to go down into our basement. I’d find him looking into my tool cabinet, and he’d ask me, “Whatever happened to the such and such I gave you three years ago?” And if he saw a job at my place that needed to be done, he’d look at me and say, “You know, the ______ I gave you a few years back would be perfect to fix that…” He wasn’t nagging – he was gently reminding me that I had what I needed to get stuff done.
Folks, it’s pretty simple. Someone gives you a gift, and you say “thank you”, and then you USE that gift. In gratitude to God, and in honor of Gene McCoy, I’d like to encourage you to take a few moments at some time today to think about the gifts you have received. Then, make sure that you actually usewhat you’ve been given to make this world a brighter, more peaceful, and less-fractured place. It is what Gene tried to do, and it is surely the will of God for us. Amen.
To hear the entire memorial service, including music, scriptures, and other reflections, please use the audio player below.
The remarks about Gene’s life made by his pastor, the Rev. Brad Martin, begin at approximately the 21:10 mark of the audio recording. My remarks, outlined above, can be heard beginning at the 33:40 mark.
The comments below were made at the committal service, a gathering of our immediate family.
As we gather around the grave and contemplate the gift of Dad’s life and consider the nature of our own mortality, I’d like to share a brief reading from the first epistle of John, chapter 3:
See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. (I John 3:1-2, NIV)
As we think about the great mysteries of life and death, we have to confess that we don’t really know all that much. We know something about what we are, but we realize that we cannot truly be sure of what we will be…
So this day, let us claim what we know: the gift of love.
This past week, as most of you know, I watched more tennis on television than I have in my entire life. For some reason I enjoyed watching Gramps and the rest of you watching Wimbledon.
As I thought about this morning, and the events of this day, it occurred to me that it is easy to focus on what we do not have, and what has been taken away. And then I thought about tennis, where the score is kept in a different way. Nobody has “zero” in tennis. Nobody has “nothing.” When you don’t have anything else, you have “love.” When everything else is gone, there is “love”. And when nobody has anything, it’s called “Love All”.
It seems to me this morning that even when we feel most bereft, we can remember that we have “Love All”. As we walk through the difficult events of this day, let us remember that we have known great love – and if there are times when it feels as though you have nothing – hang onto that love.
The people at the First U.P. Church of Crafton Heights are spending much of 2017-2018 in an exploration of the Gospel of Mark. After a break for Easter and my travel to Malawi, we dove back into this discussion on April 22 as we considered the intertwined stories of Jairus’ family and an unknown woman. Our texts included Mark 5:21-43 as well as the 24th Psalm.
Years ago I was having lunch with a group of pastors down at LaVerne’s Diner in the West End – a place that, sadly, is no more. It was one of the shiny-on-the-outside, Art Deco on the inside places that featured lots of formica, good coffee, and simple food. As LaVerne herself came to take the orders, she asked what I wanted. I said, “LaVerne, it all looks good. You decide. Give me your best sandwich.”
She said, “Well, what do you like? How do I know how to make it?”
I said, “There’s no ingredient on this menu I won’t love. You make me the one you like best.”
So she went back to the kitchen and pushed the cook, John, out of the way. Every now and then she would yell to me through the window separating the counter from the kitchen: “Will you eat onions?…What about cheese?…” and so on. Each time, I simply responded, “LaVerne, make your best sandwich.”
She came out with our four plates and put them down in front of us. I picked up mine, which was essentially a glorified cheeseburger, and took a bite. “Mmmm,” I said, “Outstanding! This is delicious! What do you call it?”
And LaVerne got a little red in the face and looked down and said, “Well, it’s the ‘Big L’.” Because of the look on her face, and the way that she treated me every time I went into the restaurant after that, the “Big L” was my favorite sandwich.
What’s the point of a sandwich, anyway? It’s a simple dish wherein bread serves as a container or wrapper for some different kind of food. Of course, having the bread makes the delivery of the other food a bit easier (can you imagine ordering a grilled cheese and then saying “hold the bread”?). But the best sandwiches rely on an interplay between the bread and the filling. You can’t have, for instance, a Monte Cristo sandwich unless you use French toast. Can you make a gyro if you use a croissant instead of a pita? Of course not…it’s just a lamb sandwich. The bread and the filling go together to make the whole package – which is often more than the sum of its parts.
Our scripture reading for this morning is a peculiar bit of storytelling that the theologians call “a Markan sandwich”. At least eight or ten times in his Gospel, Mark will start off by telling us one story, and then just when that one gets going, he’ll switch his theme. When he’s finished interrupting himself, he’ll get back to the original thought. Now, you know as well as I do from personal experience that when someone does this in conversation, it can be frustrating and difficult to follow. However, when Mark does it, it almost always provides us, as hearers of the gospel, with a chance to look at how the stories connect with each other. In fact, often times the “bread” of the story will serve as a commentary on the “meat”, and vice-versa.
So today, we have a typical Markan sandwich for our worship meal. The outer layer is a story about a wealthy, powerful man named Jairus, and his sick daughter. The filling is a story about a poor woman who was herself sick, and who in fact had nobody besides Jesus to whom she could turn.
Do you remember where we were when we last saw Jesus in the gospel of Mark? He had taken us over to the region of the Gerasenes, where we had to spend the night in the graveyard with a demon-possessed madman, surrounded by pigs and pig-farmers. You may recall that we thought that the disciples were not all that happy to be there, so you can imagine their relief when, upon coming home to “our” side of the lake, they are met by Jairus.
What a contrast between the wealthy, respected, learned, distinguished leader of the community and the total loser with whom we had to spend the night among the tombs. I’m sure that the disciples followed this conversation between Jairus and Jesus with great enthusiasm: “OK, Now we’re getting somewhere!” They have to be thinking that this conversation with Jairus is an indication that Jesus is wising up and that things are going to get better for him, his ministry, and for them.
But no sooner had they started off towards Jairus’ home when Jesus stops the procession. In the crush of the crowd, someone has brushed up against him. Jesus stops, and demands to know who it was.
The Woman With the Issue of Blood, James Tissot (c. 1890)
Do you think that the first disciples of Jesus ever snapped – if they ever looked at Jesus and said, “What are you, nuts? Give me a break!” Well, that appears to be what happens in this morning’s reading. “Come on, Jesus, there have to be 200 people around you. How can you even ask a question like that?”
It was more than simply an issue of Jesus feeling as if his personal space was invaded. Virtually every adult Jewish male in that day would have worn a prayer shawl while walking around – and surely a Rabbi such as Jesus would have had his on. The edges of these shawls were woven in such a way that they ended in four tassels, called tzitzit. The prophet Malachi, writing about four hundred years earlier, said that the “sun of righteousness will rise with healing in his wings”. The faithful Jews of Jesus’ day had come to believe that was a prophecy about the coming Messiah – that he would be so Godly that even if one were to touch his “wings” – his tzitzit, that one would receive healing. When this woman reaches out and receives healing in this way, Jesus allows her to confess her faith that he is, in fact, the messiah.
I am unaware of the name or artist for this work. i would appreciate it if someone could teach me those things!
Meanwhile, Jairus has to be thinking, “Look, I’m not opposed to healing or theological conversation, but the fact of the matter is that we’re in a race against time here…” And in fact, while Jesus is still speaking to this un-named woman, they get word that they are too late. The girl has died.
Yet as you have heard, that’s not the end of the story. Jesus takes Jairus and his family home and raises the little girl, much to the amazement of the mourners who had gathered.
So there you have it – the sandwich. Mark could have told us about the healing of Jairus’ daughter, and then said, “and the cool thing was, there was this other healing while Jesus was on the way…” But he doesn’t. He wraps them together, and in so doing, he invites us to compare them. So let’s do that now – let’s take a look at the different healings that comprise this “sandwich”.
Woman who was bleeding
Powerful, wealthy family with many resources
Unknown, unconnected, un-named woman who had “spent all she had”
A public appeal to healing based on status
A secret approach made in fear
12 years of joy-filled living with a beloved daughter
12 years of isolation and shame – living as one “unclean” and unwelcome
She was a precious child
She was nobody’s child (she is never named or acknowledged until Jesus himself calls her “daughter” in v 34)
A public approach results in a private healing
A private approach results in a public healing
Jesus risks being labeled as “unclean” by contacting a dead body
Jesus is rendered “unclean” by being touched by a woman who is bleeding
Note that in both cases Jesus – just as he did with the fellow who roamed amongst the tombs and the pigs – risks “crossing to the other side” to be with folks who matter to God.
When LaVerne made me that “Big L”, she took special care to combine the meat and the condiments and the bread. I learned something about her in the choices she made, and in the way that she made that sandwich and served it to me.
When Mark uses a “sandwich” to tell us about a Jesus who heals both Jairus’ daughter and this sick woman, he tells us something about that Jesus. What can we learn from this passage?
I don’t know about you, but sometimes I need to remember that not every interruption is a negative thing. I get my day all planned out and think that I have all my ducks in a row…and then something else happens. If I’m paying attention to Jesus, I can learn that sometimes some incredibly important things can happen when I least expect them. What would happen if I were to treat each “interruption” in my day as an opportunity to learn more about God’s purposes for the world or for myself?
Planning is a good thing, and I’d encourage you to do it. But I’d warn you to not get so lost in your plans that you miss the chance to see God at work in the unexpected each day.
But more than a lesson about scheduling and planning and interruptions, this is a story that speaks to me about hope. There is hope for everyone, Mark says. Even if you feel as if you have suffered for a lifetime – did you notice that the woman’s illness had lasted as long as the little girl’s life? – there is the possibility that God will make his presence known to you, or through you, in amazing ways.
And this hope is available to everyone – even to “outsiders”. The woman who had been bleeding suffered from more than a flow of blood. The cultural law mandated that for the health of the community, she had to refrain from contact with any other human being as long as she bled. She was in a hell of loneliness and isolation – she was outside of any group you could think of. Yet this is the one that Jesus calls “daughter”. He blesses her. In naming her healing publicly, he restores her to her life and to her community. There is hope for those of us who feel as though we are on the outside looking in.
When we are feeling “on the top of our game”, it’s easy to suffer though a tough time. But when we feel unworthy or unclean, it’s a little easier to feel that anything bad that is happening to us is simply judgment – I’m just getting “what I deserve”. This sandwich reminds me that there is hope for healing and joy in everyone’s life – not only those who are pure, but for those who are struggling and for those who feel like we’ll never be good enough.
And lastly, as Jesus confronts the evil of death in this passage, we learn that it’s never too late for hope. The little girl’s parents must have felt a little foolish when Jesus went in and took the hand of their daughter and spoke to her corpse…yet Jesus restored her to them.
Is there a part of your life where you have given up hope? Is there something in you that you feel is too far gone? Let me encourage you not to laugh at Jesus with the other mourners, but rather to allow him and his disciples to enter into the deepest and most painful part of your grief…to enter into the place that you think might even be dead…and to allow him to speak to that.
The sandwich that Mark fixes us this morning reminds us of the truth of the Psalm: “The earth and everything on itbelong to the Lord; the world and all of its peoplebelong to him.” If the healing and hope of Jesus does not include both the unnamed woman and the rich man’s daughter as well as both the disturbed man who roamed amongst the tombs and the eager disciples who gave their lives to the Lord, then it’s not really hope at all. It’s a reward for people who are in the right group at the right time in the right place. Yet this is a bold claim that in fact, the promises of Christ are open to all, and the presence of Christ is universal. My prayer is that this will nourish you and sustain you and encourage you to move forward in your journey of faith with the one who is the “sun of righteousness, risen with healing in his wings.” Thanks be to God! Amen.