Tag Archives: Mark’s Passion Narrative

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:32-36

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (8)

They went to a place called Gethsemane;
and he said to his disciples, ‘Sit here while I pray.’

Situated on the Mount of Olives, Gethsemane means ‘olive press.’ The gospel writers don’t appear to make anything of this, at least explicitly, but the Christian tradition has. Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane is described as his ‘agony’ in the Garden, as in this accompanying icon from the Orthodox churches. The reference is from Luke’s account: “And being in agony [agõnia] He was praying very fervently; and His sweat became like drops of blood, falling down upon the ground” (22:44). Agõnia, properly speaking, is the mindset of an athlete preparing for the contest. Here it signifies agony or dread (Zerwick & Grosvenor, A Grammatical Analysis of the Greek New Testament, 273). The word is also used by Paul when he describes his struggle, his ‘hard labour,’ and striving in prayer for the believers in that city (Colossians 1:29-2:1). When he was in Jerusalem, at least in the final week of his life, Jesus made a practice of withdrawing to this garden to spend the evenings there (Luke 21:37), presumably in prayer. The olive is being crushed, smashed, pressed, such that its ‘blood,’ its oil is being poured out. Jesus’ passion is already in play. You can read Mark’s account of the agony in Gethsemane here.

As Jesus comes to pray, he divides his disciples into two groups, saying to the first, “Sit here until I have prayed.” Surprisingly, he doesn’t ask them to pray. But going further, he takes three disciples: Peter, James, and John. These three have been Jesus’ close companions on other occasions. They were amongst the first called and chosen by Jesus as disciples (1:16-20). They have seen Jesus’ glory: on the Mount of Transfiguration (9:2) and in his act of raising Jairus’ daughter from the dead (5:37). But Mark also shows them failing to understand the nature of Jesus’ mission, despite their closeness to him (cf. 8:32-35; 9:38-41; 10:35-41).

Jesus begins to be “very distressed and troubled,” sharing with his three friends, “My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death; remain here and keep watch.” The nature of Jesus’ anguish is likely emotional, psychological, and spiritual. He is aware of his impending fate and naturally recoils from it. Grief, heartache, and anguish have taken hold of him, as he suffers that which afflicts almost all people when confronted with their own, imminent death.

That Jesus intends the three disciples to pray with him is indicated clearly in verses 37-38: “Could you not keep watch for one hour? Keep watching and praying…” Jesus seeks the prayerful support of his friends, their companionship in his hour of need, their presence and their prayer. This is true even as he goes on still a little further to pray alone. Jesus falls to the ground, perhaps overwhelmed though also in a posture of prayer. Mark gives us the content of Jesus’ prayer: he begins by asking that “if it were possible, the hour might pass Him by” (Mark 14:35).

Here we see Jesus in the fulness of his humanity. Here, a cry for deliverance and escape. Here a cry from the heart, the will of Jesus for something different, something else, something other than this fate; he prays that ‘this hour’ might pass him by. Here Jesus enters even more deeply into human existence and human experience. Nowhere in the gospels is Jesus’ true humanity more evident than in this passage. His existence is a truly human existence. He shrinks from suffering and death. He does not will these things. He longs for friendship, companionship, and support; he cries out for divine deliverance. As human he cries out for God’s help, for God to do what he cannot do.

And yet, Jesus has come to Jerusalem: he need not have done so. And he need not stay. Even now, he could take to his heels and remove himself—he still has agency. But there is also a sense of divine ordination at play. Jesus is aware of the cup he must drink, and though he shrinks from it and wonders if perhaps God might have another possibility, he does not withdraw. Instead, he bows, he submits. And in this, we see also Jesus in closest intimacy with his father:

And He was saying, “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want” (Mark 14:35-36).

Jesus does not will suffering and death, but he does will the Father’s will, and so accepts the suffering and death. Humanly, he wills one thing; but there is a deeper will breaking in and breaking through. There is a mystery of divine and human willing here, and the earlier stories told by Mark of Jesus’ baptism (1:9-11) and transfiguration (9:2-8) provide the necessary insight required to understand it—as best we can. Jesus is truly human though in a way utterly unique. Jesus is truly human but not merely human. There is an inner reality to his being and existence, even in Mark’s gospel, though more clearly portrayed in the other gospels. He is the ‘Incarnate,’ the eternal Son-become-flesh, God with us (cf Matthew 1:22-23; John 1:1, 14).

The eternal Son of God has clothed himself in flesh and is now also the Human Son. The Human Son cries for deliverance but Jesus is also and more deeply the Eternal Son who is one with the Father. The eternal will of God the Father is also that of the Eternal Son, and it is this will which prevails in the life of Jesus. The deeper will leads and as Jesus ‘agonises’ in prayer, as he wrestles and strives, the will of the Human Son finally accepts the suffering and death which, although alien to the divine being—God does not suffer and die!—is not foreign to the Incarnate.

In the mystery of his divine Sonship, Jesus submits—as human—to the will of the Father, accepting what humanly, he does not will. In the mystery of his human Sonship, Jesus obeys—in and through the grace of his eternal being—the Father’s will for his human existence.

Jesus prayed “remove this cup from me.” Yet this is the cup which is the blood of the Covenant poured out for many (14:23-24), poured out for us, for you, for me, “for us and our salvation.”

“Yet not what I will, but what You will.”

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:26-31

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (7)

Peter’s Denial (Carl Heinrich Bloch, 1834-1890)

Mark sets the Last Supper between two passages that speak of betrayal, desertion, and denial. The covenant meal which symbolises unity and participation with Jesus, covenant loyalty and faithfulness, covenant friendship and intimacy, is contrasted with prophecy of personal betrayal. Jesus will be abandoned by his own: betrayed by one friend, deserted by others, and denied—three times!—by Peter. You can read this passage in Mark here.

Amongst devout Jews, the Passover concluded with the so-called Hallel Psalms (Psalms 114-118). It is possible that Jesus and the disciples sang or recited these psalms as they finished their meal and prepared to go out to the Mount of Olives, something Jesus did regularly when in Jerusalem (Luke 21:37).

As they were going, Jesus announced to his disciples that they would all desert him—become offended, fall away, or be ‘scandalised.’ Jesus supports this assertion with an appeal to Scripture: ‘I will strike the shepherd and the sheep will be scattered.’

Jesus is quoting Zechariah 13:7 though suggesting that it is God who strikes the shepherd. In Zechariah it is an oracle against the wicked shepherds of God’s people. There the shepherd is struck so that the sheep may be scattered; that is, it is an oracle of judgement. Here, and the sheep will be scattered—is a consequence rather than intention. Nevertheless, the whole story of Jesus’ passion is unfolding in accordance with the divine purpose. His death is not the triumph of evil nor a tragic accident. Jesus gives his life as a ransom for many (10:45).

Jesus’ announcement that the disciples will desert him offends the disciples, especially Peter. The Greek word for ‘desert’ is skandalizesthai which in Mark denotes defection in the face of trial or persecution (e.g. Mark 4:17; 6:3; 9:42-47; see Lane, The Gospel of Mark, 509). When believers encounter trouble, trial, or persecution they are tempted to become offended: why is God allowing this to happen? I didn’t sign up for this!

Peter denies vehemently that he will desert Jesus: “Even if all become deserters, I will not.” I can’t help but wonder if there is an edge in Peter’s voice, a little competitiveness whereby he asserts his faithfulness over against that of his companions. In Luke’s account, we learn that a dispute arose amongst the disciples as to which of them was the greatest (Luke 22:24). And in John’s account of the washing of the feet, Jesus demonstrates what true greatness looks like, instructing the disciples in the nature of servant leadership for those in his community (John 13:1-20).

Although Peter claims much for himself, he too will fall away. Indeed, Jesus tells him bluntly that “this very night, before the cock crows twice, you will deny me three times.” Peter vehemently denies that he will deny Jesus; he corrects Jesus! “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” Now, refusing to be outdone by Peter, all the others join in to assert the same of themselves. They all insist that they will not desert him, though as the narrative proceeds, they all do fall away.

Peter’s heart is to be true to Jesus: no doubt he means what he says. In his mind, denial is worse than death for honour is at stake. He has committed friendship and loyalty to this man—how could he deny him? But though his heart aspires to such heroic steadfastness, he will fall.

In this passage we see something of Mark’s insight into the passion of Jesus: “the passion story is not simply about the passion of Jesus, but the passion the community experiences in its living out of the gospel in the world” (Senior, The Passion of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark, 63). What Jesus suffered for them they will also suffer for him. The disciples will be like their Master. This is the brutal truth, that in their association with Jesus they too will suffer as he did. Mark’s first readers in Nero’s Rome were finding this to be true and like Peter, would find their faith severely tested.

Part of Peter’s problem is that he did not listen carefully enough to Jesus, for Jesus had something more to say. Peter heard Jesus’ first statement by not his second. His abrupt announcement is immediately supplemented with a promise: ‘But after I am raised up I will go before you to Galilee.’ As with the defiant faith of verse 25, so here. Jesus death, the disciples’ desertion, and Peter’s denial are not the end of the story. Jesus will also be raised and will go ahead of them to Galilee. They will also go to Galilee—they who have deserted and denied him. “The scattered flock will be brought together again, under their shepherd’s leadership. In spite of their failure, the shepherd will still acknowledge his sheep” (Hooker, The Gospel According to St Mark, 345). They will be forgiven and restored, gathered and unified, and made participants once more in his cause.

The word proagõn ‘to go ahead of’ or ‘lead’ used in 10:32 is identical with the words found in 14:28 (“I will go before”) and 16:7 (“he is leading”). The three verses together are a distillation of Mark’s entire theology: the Son of Man who leads the fearful community of disciples from Galilee to Jerusalem and who will also go ahead of them through death to victory, is the same compassionate and now triumphant Son of Man who will restore his broken followers to discipleship and lead them back to Galilee. “Galilee” is the place of the universal mission, but no disciples are ready to proclaim the Gospel there until they have walked the road to Jerusalem and encountered the reality of the cross (Senior, The Passion, 66).

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:22-25

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (6)

“This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many” (Mark 14:24).

This covenant is the new covenant in Jesus’ blood, although Mark does not designate it as such. Luke 22:20 makes explicit that this is the new covenant. But what covenant could it be if it is a covenant in his blood? This is neither the Abrahamic nor the Mosaic covenant. Mark, however, does provide further clues. Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem just days earlier is an echo of Zechariah’s prophecy concerning Israel’s coming king:

Rejoice greatly O daughter of Zion, shout aloud O daughter of Jerusalem! Behold you king is coming to you, righteous is he, and having salvation, humble and mounted on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey (Zechariah 9:9; cf.  Mark 11:1-10 and Matthew 21:1-5).

Zechariah continues in verse eleven:

As for you also, because of the blood of My covenant with you, I have set your prisoners free from the waterless pit.

The prophetic expectation of a new covenant will be realised in Jesus’ death ‘for the many’—that is, for all, gentile as well as Jew. (Cf. Jeremiah 31:31-34; Ezekiel 11:14-21; 36:25-27) Jesus’ death is a divine promise and pledge—for the many. His death is a ransom—for many (Mark 10:45). As the Passover Lamb he is deliverance and redemption, God taking his people as his own, giving them life and liberty. This covenant is in his blood: he makes the promise and the disciples drink “all of it.” They are the recipients. They are granted a participation in his death and in his victory over death. They are granted a participation in the covenant itself.

And he took the cup and … gave it to them, and they all drank of it (Mark 14:23).

Does the fact that the disciples all drink from the cup equate to an answering pledge on their part? Is their drinking an acceptance of the covenant with respect not only to the divine promise but also its claim? Are they also saying, “All that the Lord has spoken, we will do” (cf. Exodus 24: 3, 7-8)? The blood of the covenant is a covenant of grace. But this does not mean that the recipients of the covenant are not called to faithfulness and obedience.

The metaphor of the cup appears several times in the gospel. In Mark 10:38-39 Jesus says,

Are you able to drink of the cup that I drink? … The cup that I drink you will drink.

And a little later, in Gethsemane, Jesus uses the term again in his prayer:

Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will but what you will (Mark 14:36).

To participate in the cup, to receive it from Jesus and to drink from it is to receive his covenant promise. It is also to be called into participation with him in his mission—and in the manner of his mission: a life of self-giving for the welfare of others. The bread and the cup unite the participant to Jesus himself such that they are now participants in his promise and his destiny, his life and his mission. The signs and the sayings belong together. When we eat the bread, Jesus says, “This is my body,” and when we drink the wine, “This is my blood of the covenant.”

Truly I say to you, I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God (Mark 14:25).

Jesus’ blood will be poured out, yet he will live and drink again in the kingdom of God. This is a defiant faith in the face of death. He will take the cup he is given, and drain it to its dregs. But the cup of death will become, in the kingdom of God, the cup of victory and the wine of everlasting life.

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14: 22-25

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (5)

Mark’s story of Jesus’ last supper with his disciples is very brief. There is no reference here to the Passover itself, but that it is a Passover meal is surely significant. This memorial feast of Israel’s deliverance, of God’s action and revelation, of a new beginning within the story of the covenant people, of the rich symbolism of the Lamb’s blood and its sacrificial import: all this and more is in the background. You can read Mark’s account of the Last Supper here.

In Mark’s telling, there is no instruction to ‘do this in remembrance of me.’ There is, however, Jesus’ own statement that he will not again drink of the fruit of the vine “until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.” Jesus looks forward, beyond his death, to a new day in the coming kingdom. He—the one who will be betrayed and handed over, who will be executed—he will drink again. This foreshadows the resurrection. Albert Schweitzer speculated that Jesus thought that God would intervene to rescue him prior to his death. Within Mark’s story, however, Jesus clearly anticipates his death: “the Son of Man came . . . to give his life as a ransom for many” (10:45). In this text, too, his blood will be poured out for many. And yet, he will again drink it ‘new in the kingdom of God.’

Mark’s account includes both sign and saying. Jesus took the bread and having blessed (presumably, and in accordance with normal Jewish practice, he was blessing God rather than the bread), broke it and gave it to them, saying, “Take: this is my body.” The four verbs echo Jesus’ compassionate action in the feeding of the five thousand (Mark 6:41) and the four thousand (Mark 8:6). These miracles in the wilderness were kingdom signs, signs of his person and the universal nature of his mission (Senior, The Passion of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark, 56-58). Now he indicates that he himself is the bread, the gift of the kingdom. In giving them the bread he is giving them his own ‘body,’ his own self. Mark’s focus is not on the breaking of the bread but on its distribution: each is to take it. Mark does not say that they ate the bread but it is surely assumed. In their taking, they receive Jesus’ gift of himself, and in their eating they participate in Jesus’ life and fellowship, kingdom and mission.

Jesus takes the cup and gives thanks and gives it to them and “they all drank from it.” Now he interprets this action: “The is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many.” This is my body. This is my blood. The signs and the sayings belong together. No doubt Jesus was speaking metaphorically of the bread and the wine, declared to ‘be’ his body and blood. That his blood will be poured out for many refers to his imminent death, and so the parallel saying about the bread now also be similarly understood.

The saying concerning the cup has an additional element: it is Jesus’ ‘blood of the covenant.’ The idea of blood as part of a covenant ceremony had ancient roots (cf. Genesis 15). In Exodus 12 the Israelites celebrated the first Passover by taking the blood of the Passover lamb and smearing it on the door posts and lintels of their homes. The blood thus smeared would be a sign for them: by it, divine judgement would ‘pass over’ their home and they would be spared (Exodus 12:12-13; cf. 21-23). The Levitical regulations and especially the Day of Atonement ritual (Leviticus 16), repeat and deepen the imagery, and the connection between sacrificial blood, God’s covenant promise, and the forgiveness of sins.

Further, this blood of the covenant is ‘poured out for many’: it is for others. Jesus’ death is sacrificial and substitutionary. The emphasis is on Jesus’ action in its intended outcome and purpose; that is, the provision and promise of the covenant rather than human response to the covenant as in Exodus 24:1-8 where the emphasis is on responsive obedience and covenant faithfulness.

This is beautifully portrayed in Lucas Cranach’s central altarpiece at St Mary’s (“City Church”) in Wittenberg. Although not nearly as famous as Leonardo da Vinci’s portrayal of the Last Supper, Cranach’s painting, as a piece of Reformation polemic, portrays Martin Luther as one of the twelve apostles seated around Jesus (being served the cup by a young knight – Lucas  Cranach Jnr!). Who is missing to make way for Luther? I don’t know. But the painting suggests a deeper point: we, too, who are followers of Christ are included at the table of the Last Supper, and included in its meaning and promise. More: even those who have not shown themselves the most devoted of followers might find some reason for hope. Cranach portrays Jesus feeding even Judas with the bread of his promise!

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:17-21

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (4)

Now that the evening has come, Jesus and his disciples gather for their meal, portrayed in Mark as a Passover meal. Already, we (the readers) have been warned that Jesus is to be betrayed, and already we know that the betrayer will be Judas; but none of the other disciples know this. And now Jesus himself announces his betrayal while they were eating—another prophetic insight.  You can read the passage here.

Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me, one who is eating with me.

Why does Jesus raise the topic? If he knows what will happen, why not let it simply play out? By raising it, Jesus is forewarning his disciples what is soon to take place. Perhaps they won’t be so shocked, especially at the betrayal by one of their own company.

Might Jesus’ warning about the fate of the betrayer be an opportunity for Judas to reconsider his part? Did Judas have to go the way that he did? Was his freedom overridden by an imperious divine will? (Cf. John 17:12) Here we are confronted once more with the mystery of the interaction of divine sovereignty and human responsibility. God’s purpose will be realised, and yet it is Judas who chooses, who acts, who betrays. The chief priests had already decided to kill Jesus; might they have achieved their purpose via a different mechanism?

His announcement also gives each of them pause, an opportunity for self-reflection: “Surely, not I?” They are confronted with the possibility that they could be the one who betrays Jesus. Each in turn, the disciples question how it could be them, insisting that it is not. Yet they do not know what Jesus knows and are shocked and grieved by the idea.

It is all the more poignant that it is ‘one who is eating with me.’ To share table and to eat together was no casual affair but an act of fellowship, friendship, hospitality, and brotherhood. It is unthinkable that one should turn against one’s friends. Yet Jesus insists that it is one of the twelve, an intimate friend, “one who is dipping bread into the bowl with me.” We have echoes in this passage of David’s distress in the Psalms:

Even my close friend in whom I trusted, who ate my bread, has lifted up his heel against me (Psalm 41:9).

For it is not an enemy who reproaches me—I could bear that. … But it is you, a man my equal, my companion and my familiar friend; we who had sweet fellowship together; we walked in the house of God in the throng.

This deepens Jesus’ announcement: it is not merely a dispassionate notice, a piece of information. Jesus, too, is distressed, feeling the pain of the coming betrayal. He loved Judas, valued his friendship, appreciated the intimacy he shared with him: washed his feet (cf. John 13:1-11).

In verse 21 we have a further pronouncement:

For the Son of Man goes as it is written of him, but woe to that one by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that one not to have been born.

Jesus had spoken multiple times of his coming death—the ‘fate’ of the Son of Man. Afterwards, the disciples will recall that Jesus knew, that he was not taken by surprise but went willingly to his fate. Although he might have taken action to avoid this fate, he did not but rather bowed to it. This was something written, prophesied in Scripture, and so inevitable and assured. (Although precisely which biblical passages Jesus had in mind is not disclosed here.) The wheel has been set in motion, a divine necessity is underway, everything unfolding according to God’s plan. Thus, it is not ‘fate’ actually, not ‘blind fate,’ not an impersonal machinery operating arbitrarily. Rather, it is the purpose of the Most High to which the Son of Man goes.

Nor is all this without human accompaniment. “Woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is handed over!” The betrayer’s whole life will be summed up as it were, in this one act. This will provide the meaning of his existence. How different to the act of the unnamed woman. How sad!

Jesus loved his betrayer as he did all the disciples. And it would appear that they also loved him. And yet, one would betray him.

Surely not I, Lord? Surely not I?

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:10-16

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (3)Jesus is going to die. He knows it, and somehow the woman who anointed him knows it. Now events move quickly with Judas enacting a conspiracy to betray Jesus to the chief priests. You can read the passage here.

Already in Mark 3:19, Judas Iscariot—Judas from the village of Karioth (Lane, The Gospel of Mark [NICNT], 136)—has been introduced as the last of the twelve disciples chosen by Jesus to accompany him and learn his way of life and service, and identified as the one “who also betrayed him.” The word used in 3:19 and twice in 14:10-11 is paradidõmi which means simply ‘to hand over or deliver’ and in this instance ‘to betray.’ Judas will hand Jesus over to the authorities, helping them in their wish to arrest him stealthily and avoid a riot (vv. 1-2). Further, Jesus is perhaps hard to locate when not in public (cf. John 11:57). Thus, Judas is seeking an opportune time to hand him over, away from the public gaze.

In 9:31 and 10:33 (twice) Jesus also uses paradidõmi to speak of his being handed over to be condemned to death. These ‘passion predictions’ indicate that Jesus is aware of his impending death—and of the resurrection which will follow. As such, this ‘handing over’ is in accordance with God’s purpose. That Judas now enacts his conspiracy is his decision and choice and yet somehow, it is also the fulfilment of the divine plan already announced. This does not diminish the pathos of the account: “then Judas Iscariot, who was one of the twelve…” In Mark’s Gospel we are not given any motive for Judas’s betrayal and are left wondering that one of Jesus’ closest associates could act in this way.

The sense of the unfolding of a divine plan continues in the strange story of verses 12-16. Mark begins with a timestamp which proves a little confusing. The anointing at Bethany is preceded with a similar note, that the Passover and (feast of) Unleavened Bread is two days away. Now in verse 12 it is the first day of Unleavened Bread “when the Passover was being sacrificed.” Technically, Unleavened Bread follows Passover on the fifteen of Nisan, but Mark appears to conflate the two feasts, for the Passover lambs were sacrificed on Nisan fourteenth and the Passover eaten that evening. It helps to recall that in Jewish time, the new day started at sunset, and so the transition from the fourteenth to the fifteenth occurred in the early evening. Further, it may be that Mark is merely repeating an understanding in which, in the popular mind, the two feasts were regularly conflated (e.g. Lane, 497).

More complicated is the realisation that in John’s account, Jesus’ final meal occurs before the Passover feast (John 13:1) and Jesus dies on Nisan 14 as the Passover lambs are being sacrificed (John 19:14, 30-31, 42). Has John sacrificed historical accuracy here, in support of a theological statement about Jesus, the Lamb of God? Or is John’s account more likely—with the result that Mark and the other Synoptic gospels have mistakenly called Jesus’ last meal a Passover meal when in fact it preceded the Passover? Or is there some way of reconciling the accounts so that both Mark and John are historically accurate accounts? Scholars have canvassed all three options of what Lane (497) has called “one of the most difficult issues in passion chronology,” although none of the proposals are entirely satisfactory.

Whatever the answer to this historical problem, it cannot be doubted that Mark portrays the meal as a Passover meal. In verse 12 when the lambs are being sacrificed, the disciples ask Jesus where he would like to eat the Passover. Verses 14 and 16 clearly state that they prepared the Passover meal in accordance with his instructions. The description of the meal also includes several features that mark it as a Passover celebration (Lane, 498; Morna Hooker, The Gospel according to Saint Mark [BNTC], 333).

The story itself is reminiscent of the mysterious story of Mark 11:1-7, about the colt for Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. The disciples obviously assume that they will keep the feast and so approach Jesus with their question. Jesus’ response is cryptic: they are to go into the city, follow a man carrying a pitcher of water (typically a woman’s role and so somewhat unusual), and tell the owner of the house that the man enters, “The Teacher says, ‘Where is my guest room in which I may eat the Passover with my disciples?’”

How did Jesus know? The whole episode has the sense of the prophetic, of divine control, of Jesus being assured and in control of the unfolding events. It may be, of course, that he knew the owner of the house and the owner knew him as ‘the Teacher.’ And perhaps too he knew the habits of the servant. This seems less than likely, however, for then he could have sent the two disciples directly to the house. Rather, Jesus has prophetic insight and is being led in his ministry, even in so mundane a task. We might say, although Mark does not say it like this, that Jesus is being led by the Holy Spirit—and his disciples are observing and learning.

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:1-11

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (2)

In an earlier post, I introduced this story from the final days of Jesus’ life. This unnamed woman, scolded and criticised by the onlookers for her very public and outrageous act of costly devotion to Jesus, does not respond. She never speaks or seeks to defend or explain herself. Why has she done what she has done? We have so many unanswered questions! But although she does not speak, Jesus does: he defends her against the bullies.

And they were scolding her. But Jesus said, “Let her alone; why do you bother her? She has done a good deed to me. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you wish you can do good to them; but you do not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for the burial” (Mark 14:5b-8).

The basis of his defence of the woman is that she has done him a good deed. The critics had wanted her to do a different good deed: to sell her expensive ointment and give to the poor. Such an act would be good also; indeed, Jesus suggests as much. Whenever we wish we can do good for the poor. It would be wrong, I suggest, to use this verse as a means of neglecting the poor, as though, if we ‘give to Jesus’ (or the church) we need not concern ourselves with the plight of the poor. Nor should we use the passage to construct a hierarchy of values with respect to our giving. Better, I think, simply to read the passage as the story of this situation: “You always have the poor with you … you do not always have me.” In his earthly historical existence, Jesus would very soon be gone, and the woman had seized the opportunity to express her love for him while she still could. She poured out what she had (all she had?) to Jesus, and he accepted and blessed it.

“She has done what she could.” There is grace in these words: she gave what was in her hand to give. She did what she could, not what she couldn’t. There was no demand that she give so extravagantly, no requirement that others do likewise. She retains agency in her act, and Jesus’ word protects against the manipulation of those who would abuse others in the name of ‘true discipleship,’ always demanding more.  Her offering was a gift springing from gratitude and love, and it was recognised as such.

More importantly, though, is Jesus’ next word: “she has anointed my body beforehand for the burial.” By this statement he provides the interpretation of her act. It would be possible to view Jesus as imposing an interpretation on the woman’s act, but it would be better I think, to suppose that Jesus perceives her true motive and desire. If this is the case, she had insight into what Jesus was about to suffer. She believed, perhaps, his passion predictions (Mark 8:31-33; 9:31-32; 10:32-34, 45), or maybe she had prophetic insight about his imminent death. In any case, she understood Jesus in a way that even his disciples had failed to. In response to the predictions of his sufferings they were resistant, confused, fearful, and doubting. She sees, she knows, and she responds. Somehow she knows that Jesus is giving his life—for her!—and so she responds in kind, echoing his self-gift with her own.

Truly I say to you, wherever the gospel is preached in the whole world, what this woman has done will also be spoken of, in memory of her (Mark 14:9).

Jesus’ defence and commendation of the woman now reach an astonishing crescendo: this unnamed and silent woman’s act will be spoken of wherever the gospel is preached. Even two millennia later and on the other side of the world, we speak ‘in memory of her.’ Why?

The story of this woman’s act stands in stark contrast to that of Judas, the Chief Priests, and the ‘others.’ They want to betray and kill him. They evaluate that done for his good as a ‘waste.’ She understands what they do not. She perceives what the others fail to see. She penetrates to an understanding of Jesus’ person and work in a manner they do not. In Luke’s version of the story Jesus asks his host: “Simon, do you see this woman?” He couldn’t even see her—his social inferior—let alone see what she could see. And yet this woman’s act is exemplary, and emblematic of true response to the gospel.

In this woman’s act we find portrayed the real meaning of discipleship: an act of devotion and love, a life given and poured out to the Jesus who gave and poured out his life for us. Here is seen a heart of love for Jesus Christ; an unconcern for the respect, approbation, or opinion of others; an act and not merely a wish or an aspiration; a devotion and not merely an attachment; a perception of who Jesus is and what he is about, and of his significance for and impact on—me; a responsive act to his prior self-giving; a true valuation of the value of things; a recognition that nothing given to Jesus can ever be a ‘waste’; and an understanding that he is worthy to receive all we are and all we have.

There is a reason, I think, that this woman remains unnamed and silent in the narrative: her whole existence is, as it were, reduced to this act. This act is her life-act, that by which her whole life and existence is characterised and understood. There is a being and a doing which cannot be distinguished. It may be that the one springs from the other, the heart as the source of the act, the act as revealing the heart, but in truth the two are one. This act, the outpouring of her life in grateful response to the act of Jesus, was and is the definitive act, the defining act, of her life, just as the cross was the defining act of Jesus’ life. It is in this way that she is an exemplar of discipleship.

I am left now with a searching question: what is my life-act? If my life were to be boiled down to its most characteristic element, would it reflect the love of God and love of neighbour? What defines my life – a whole-of-life devotion to Christ – or something else?

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:1-11

Scripture, Spirituality, ,

Mark’s Passion Narrative (1)

This is surely one of the most poignant stories in Mark’s gospel, even more so given its setting. In this passage we see again something common in Mark’s gospel: one story inserted into another. Mark uses this ‘sandwich’ technique to highlight a common theme between the two stories, or alternatively, a contrast between them. In this instance, the beautiful story of a generous act of devotion (vv.3-9) contrasts with an overarching narrative of vicious conspiracy, hate, and betrayal (vv. 1-2, 10-11).

You can read the passage here.

We are in the final days of Jesus’ life. His religious opponents want to kill him, stealthily, for they are afraid of the people (cf. 11:32). The people considered that John Baptist was a prophet; they seem to have a similar or even higher regard for Jesus, especially as we consider their response to his entry into Jerusalem (11:1-10). The chief priests and scribes are pursuing their own agenda, one not shared by the people. That they were determined to act in secret should have been a warning to them that their intent was not ‘above board.’

Jesus was at the home of Simon (the leper!), reclining at table in the company of others. Mark does not say who these others are, though Matthew states quite plainly that it was the disciples (Matt. 26:8; cf. Luke 7:36ff). Perhaps Mark wanted to avoid this since he has already noted that the disciples have ‘left everything’ to follow Jesus (10:28).

(I prefer not to harmonise the accounts in the four gospels since they seem to have a different context and content, especially in Luke and John. This may reflect variance in the oral tradition or the gospel authors’ editorial purposes. Although an interesting question, it is one to explore some other time!)

During the meal an unnamed woman approached and poured expensive perfume over his head. We are given no motive for this act in Mark, no context. What has she done and why has she done it? What led to this? What was she seeking to express or communicate? What was she saying—for herself? What was she saying—to Jesus? Why here, why now? How did she have access to so great a treasure? Was it a spur of the moment act, or something well-considered? Will she, did she, later regret it? How would she explain it?

We don’t know. The woman never says a word. Others around the table, however, have plenty to say. They are indignant and critical:

“Why has this perfume been wasted? For this perfume might have been sold for over three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.” And they were scolding her (vv. 4-5).

We now see the extent of the woman’s act: 300 denarii was a year’s salary for the common labourer. This is an extraordinary, an outrageous, act; such a fortune, simply poured out! How much good this money might have done! How noble it would have been to give the money to the poor! How practical, how necessary! What a waste simply to pour it out!

And how virtuous the critics appear, quite prepared to do something with someone else’s money! It is too easy to sit in the critic’s chair, comfortable and uncommitted, non-participatory and non-productive. It is too easy to sit in the critic’s chair and to launch barbs at those who are active, who are committed, who are doing something. Such indignation and criticism provide a false sense that one is ‘doing’ something. It betrays a sense of superiority, of finer judgement, of better knowledge.

The critics perhaps feel secure, knowing that they are criticising someone socially inferior, a nameless woman, a ‘nobody.’ But Jesus defends the woman saying,

Let her alone. … For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you wish you can do good to them; but you do not always have me (vv. 6-7).

Is this a veiled rebuke from Jesus to the critics: “If this is so important to you, don’t just talk about it, nor criticise this woman: go do it!” Whenever you wish you can do good for the poor!

The story of the woman’s act stands in contrast to that of Judas, the chief priests and scribes, and the ‘others.’ Judas values Jesus as having some worth: he could be betrayed for some money. The chief priests and scribes ascribe ‘negative value’ to Jesus: he is a worthless person, a threat to be eliminated. The ‘others’ consider the woman’s act a ‘waste’ though Jesus says that she has done him a good deed (v. 6). She has, in a public act that appears to spring from gratitude and devotion, given him an outrageous gift, perhaps all she possessed (cf. 12:44)—and he has with gratitude received it and honoured her.

Nothing given to and for Jesus is ever wasted.