Embodying Mark

Meda A. A. Stamper, Meda Stamper

• Publisher: SPCK Publishing
• Year: 2014
• Print ISBN: 9780281072613
• eBook ISBN: 9780281072620
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Theology & Religion

Embodying Mark invites readers on a journey through the entire Gospel, accompanying Jesus from his baptism to his empty tomb.

Over the course of eight chapters, readers are guided through eight focus passages, each supplemented by related readings and a passage for prayer, along with words for contemplation to remember as they reflect on the theme for each chapter.

The book offers a close reading of each text, drawing attention to key details that throw light on Mark's portrait of Jesus. Each chapter also offers exercises for praying and embodying the text through various forms of creative expression.

1

Into the Wilderness

Focus text	Mark 1.1–15
Reading through Mark	Mark 1—2
Poetry to pray	Isaiah 40.1–5, 27–31
Supplementary passages	Matthew 1—2 Luke 1.1—2.40 John 1.1–18 Isaiah 65.17–25 Luke 4.16–21
Words to take with you	Prepare the way of the Lord.

Thinking about Mark 1.1–15

Beginnings

Beginnings move us. Every beginning we choose to make, however small, every shift of our attention, our energy, our bodies, our hearts towards something new, moves us towards a slightly different future.

Beginnings of stories also do something to us. If the first words can capture our attention long enough to draw us in, then the beginning will set us on our way in a certain direction with a certain sense of where we are and with inklings of where the story might be taking us.

‘In the beginning’, the biblical story opens with God. God speaks the story into being, calling order and life out of formlessness and chaos. Then, when Scripture talks of new beginnings, it is again always a question of what God will do – God creating new heavens and a new earth, God creating a people Israel, God creating a way where there is no way (Isaiah 65.17–25; 43.1–2, 16–21). God’s creativity stirs at the centre of biblical beginnings.

And so the writers of the Gospels, as the stories of Jesus came to be called from the Greek word for ‘good news’,¹ also start there in one way or another, with God doing something new. They situate the good news of Jesus within the eternal love story of God and the world. Then they find ways to entice us into the story too.

The Gospel of John opens ‘in the beginning’ with a burst of glory and shows us the Word–Son before time at the heart of God, speaking insuppressible light into being. Then the Word is made flesh in the first-century person Jesus, heralded by the witness John, already preparing the way from the Gospel’s earliest verses.

Matthew begins with a genealogy that sets Jesus’ story at the summit of the story of Israel. Then the miraculous baby, who is himself God-with-us, is born. And we see the star and visitors from afar, a murderous king and innocent deaths, a flight into Egypt and Joseph’s sacred dreams of angels.

Luke begins with a note to the most excellent reader, then takes us to the temple, where Gabriel foretells the birth of John. The stories of two impossible births made possible by God unfold to the cadences of prophetic poetry, echoing Israel’s sacred stories of God’s surprising abundance, justice and grace. And we see the manger, shepherds with their heavenly host, Mary pondering all these things in her heart.

Mark’s particular telling has elements of all of these and yet, like each of them, is utterly distinctive.

Like John and Genesis, Mark opens with a beginning: ‘The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.’ It could be the title for the next 14 verses, it could be the title of the whole book, or it could be both things. Mark 1.1–15 certainly lays out a beginning, establishes a context, puts things in motion, does all the things a good beginning does. But there is a strong sense in which the whole book is also only a beginning with a future stretching out beyond it, all the way to us and beyond us into God’s for ever.

After the opening pronouncement, Mark reaches back into God’s promises to Israel. Through them, God speaks to the coming anointed Son. Mark calls on Isaiah, and certainly if the church were to choose a single prophetic book that has most helped us find words for what Jesus means and to express our hopes for our future with him, it is that one. Mark 1.3 is drawn from Isaiah 40, which makes an appearance in the early chapters of all four Gospels, while Mark 1.2 has echoes of Exodus 23.20 and Malachi 3.1. So in two verses Mark evokes several memories of Israel’s story and situates Jesus there, addressed by God already in 1.2, promising to send this messenger who will prepare the way. Then the messenger-baptizer John appears.

Along with God, Jesus and John, we ourselves seem to be invited into those first verses. That voice in the wilderness cries out through time: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight’ (Mark 1.3).

And before we know it, we are in the wilderness, hearing John calling us to be made new. If we go out there with the crowds, if we stick with this story, which moves so quickly and with so much urgency that we can hardly stop ourselves, we will be part of Mark’s beginning too.

There is no baby in this beginning. No human parents (although we will catch a glimpse of Mary and of brothers and sisters later). No manger, no star, no farmers from down the road or magi bearing costly gifts, no threatening king (not yet, but a shadow of one will fall over 1.14). Only God, a voice, a river and crowds of people responding to this prophet who brings back memories of Elijah. All of them are coming out with us to the baptizer preaching a turning towards God’s new thing, an awakening for sleeping souls, a straightening of what is twisted, a release from all that binds for those who are willing to go out into the wilderness of new beginnings and meet God.

Then the one stronger than John appears at the Jordan, an adult Galilean emerging from that crowd of Judeans: Jesus, who we already know from Mark’s introductory proclamation of holy goodness is the Anointed One, the Son of God.

The Son himself comes to take part in this mind-changing baptism, and Mark lets us see what the Son sees: the heavens torn apart (Isaiah 64.1). This is not an opening (as in Matthew 3.16 and Luke 3.21) like the opening of a lift door or a vault, where a tidy, complete closing is bound to follow, but an irreparable rending of the bounds of heaven and earth – a visible manifestation of God breaking through with his reign of powerful, heart-rending, heart-healing love that makes new.

Then the Spirit like a dove – perhaps as Gerard Manley Hopkins imagines it with ‘ah! bright wings’ – descends on the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit.

Mark lets us overhear the voice of the heavenly parent speaking eternal love to this adult child: ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased’ (1.11).

The voice will return in 9.7 with a more public declaration of love and a command to disciples through the ages to listen to this beloved, Spirit-bearing Son. Then in 15.38, as Jesus cries out and breathes his last, the tearing of the temple curtain will signal again the heavenly breach, and in that moment a Roman officer will recognize the Son. But here at his beginning only Jesus sees and hears God’s claim on him, as we watch through the window of Mark’s words.

Then a strange thing happens. Mark cuts to the chase. We may not see it as strange any more because we know the story so well, but surely if we didn’t already know it, this is not what we would expect.

After that beautiful, life-altering moment, Jesus doesn’t return straightaway to Galilee trailing clouds of glory. The voice of divine love doesn’t start him on a gentle way through life. Rather, God’s love prepares him for a battle that he is uniquely able to undertake. It is the conflict behind all the work he’ll do with all those crowds, all the sick and dying and demon-possessed, who begin to appear immediately in this first chapter. It is the conflict behind the opposition of the Pharisees with their ideas of how he should behave² and the fearful calculation of the chief priests, elders and scribes, who feel threatened to the point of murder, and the brutal work of the Roman soldiers, who finally kill him.

The assurance of divine love prepares Jesus to face the enemy who will stand behind all those challenges and speak through all of the unclean spirits, who populate the landscape of this Gospel more than any other. God’s love descended on Jesus in the Spirit drives him out into the wilderness to bring God’s best near, even in the face of the world’s worst, to bring life where there is hopelessness, fear and despair.

Days of beasts and angels

The verb translated drive out in 1.12 is the same that will be used when Jesus casts out demons. In Luke and Matthew, the Spirit leads Jesus out. But Mark’s image is of a person thrust forward into God’s love-fuelled battle for the soul of creation.

Then Satan tempts him. We all know it, but it is perhaps easy to forget that evil is not only cunning but can also be dreadfully appealing in its way. If it only repelled, it could not tempt. Matthew and Luke tell us the nature of this temptation. They suggest that Satan is tempting Jesus to take the golden path that you might think a heavenly blessing would open up. But Mark does not say.

We perhaps find clues in later references to Satan. He is in 4.15 the one who takes away the word that is sown in people, like birds eating seeds on a path, and so perhaps here he seeks to devour the word that is sown in the Son himself. Then in 8.33, when Peter rebukes Jesus after Jesus first tells his disciples that he will suffer and die and rise again, Jesus turns and rebukes Peter with the words: ‘Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.’ So here in these days of temptation, perhaps Satan suggests, as Peter will later do, that the way that leads to the cross must be a terrible mistake.

But what Jesus knows, what we know, is that no path is golden without God and that God’s path always is. Even if it doesn’t look that way, particularly when our sight is dimmed by weariness or pain, still God’s way holds the golden light of life in it.

Although Mark doesn’t tell us about the temptations, he does give us a bit more information about the wilderness.

The word wilderness may evoke different things for different ones of us. For some of us, the wilderness is somewhere wonderful, holy and beautiful, where our souls are restored; and perhaps we might so imagine the first wilderness of 1.3–4, where the good news begins with the voice of God’s messenger calling people out to him and the dove descending on the holy Son.

But there is another kind of wilderness that most of us know in one way or another. Sometimes it may be an actual place of lonely desolation where evil prowls. But it could also be a wilderness of the heart with personal beasts that creep in the corners of our minds and carve out territory in our nightmares and haunt foggy days of heartsickness. This wilderness of Jesus’ temptation is surely that sort of place.

The word for the beasts of 1.13 appears only here in the Gospels, but it runs rampant in Revelation, appearing dozens of times to evoke the embodiment of evil (see, for example, Revelation 13 and 17).

So there are wild beasts in Jesus’ wilderness.

But there are also ministering angels. Not only does he have the Spirit soaring in his soul and the memory of that voice, God’s beautiful claim on him; he also has God’s messengers.

The word I have translated minister – the angels ministering to him – is also translated serve, wait on or provide for. Later, in 1.31, after Jesus heals Simon’s mother-in-law, she gets up right then and there and serves everybody. That is the same word. It is also used of the women at the cross in 15.41, where we hear that they used to follow him and provide for him in Galilee.

There is one more occurrence of this word, in 10.45. There we find that it is Jesus’ own vocation: ‘For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.’

So serving is no small thing, and it is comforting perhaps to know that Jesus, the beautiful servant par excellence, has minister-messengers of God attending him all along. Messenger is another way to translate the word for angel; it is the word in 1.2 for the messenger God sends to prepare Jesus’ way. Even before the messenger-angels in the wilderness, there is John sent to make Jesus’ paths straight, and then there are women, until the very end and even beyond it at his tomb, who serve him all along his way as the angels do here in these 40 days and nights.

Then he returns to Galilee (1.14). And now, we are told, John the Baptist has been arrested, and later we will learn that Herod has him executed (6.16). So even here in this first chapter, it is certainly never all easy. Even with God’s love on the loose, the Spirit having flown through the bounds of heaven and earth for ever – even then good people die. The very best people even.

The word for arrested is also translated betrayed or handed over and is later used repeatedly of Jesus, betrayed by Judas, arrested by the religious authorities, handed over to Pilate, who hands him over to the Roman soldiers to be crucified. So in that brief whisper of bondage in 1.14 is foreshadowed the future of the Son and of his followers, who Jesus says will also be arrested, handed over and betrayed (13.9–12).

But that is never the last word. Satan has met the stronger man with the power to bind what is unclean and deathly. God’s life and love make a way through even the worst. Jesus takes that way so that we can see. Even though we don’t see the whole picture, we can see that beyond and even wi...

Table of contents

• Cover page
• Title page
• Imprint
• Table of contents
• Words of thanks
• Introduction
• 1. Into the Wilderness
• 2. Following the Teacher
• 3. Following the Healer
• 4. Following the Shepherd
• 5. Following the Beloved
• 6. Following the Lover
• 7. Following the King
• 8. Into the Silence
• Epilogue: Embodying Mark
• Notes
• Search items for Scripture