Jesus
seems to be having a pretty good day.
Today’s reading picks up right where last week’s left off, and maybe we
should have preceded it by a “previously, on ‘the Gospel according to Mark.’” He showed up in Capernaum, preached in their
synagogue, freed someone from a demon and everything was amazed at him, and
marveled at his teaching. And the day
goes on. Now, he heals Simon Peter’s
mother-in-law, gets a good meal out of it, casts out more demon, cures many
more sick people. The whole town turns
up at his door, seeking his help. People
are responding to the call! It appears
he’s up half the night with these people.
And then he leaves, quietly, when no-one’s watching.
It’s
important to remember that Jesus had days like this, days when everything just
seemed to be going right. Our first
reading, from Job, reminds us that ‘having a good day’ isn’t a universal human experience.
As church, we include here, in this room, I’m sure, people who know life is not
all it should be as well as people rejoicing in things going well; together we
offer all of that at the altar. It’s important to remember that Jesus had days
like this, because so often we read stories of him being rejected, of people
arguing with him, doubting him. In less than two weeks, we’ll start Lent and
read of the devil testing him. We’ll
read of fights in the Temple, of being raised up on a cross, and buried like a
seed, dying to be reborn. Then, we’ll
read of that cross itself. And yes, that
will all lead to resurrection, but it will go there through some pretty dark
stuff. So, it’s comforting for us who
love Jesus to be reminded that he had good days. It’s comforting for us who are human and love
humans to know that humans responded to him positively sometimes. Positively, even if without understanding.
And then,
he went and prayed. I wonder what he
prayed about. In a way, we’ll never
know, we’ll never know the details anyway.
Was he giving thanks? Was he
praying for the strength to continue with what must have been an exhausting,
even if exhilarating, ministry? I don’t
know if we often think of Jesus as tired, but such a good day must have worn
him out. Maybe he was praying for
humility. Those questions we can’t
answer, but there’s something we do know about that time of prayer: Jesus was
enjoying intimacy with his Father, because that’s what prayer is. And that’s something we can know, because
Jesus leads us into that. And it’s that
desire of his, to lead us into that intimacy, giving as gift what he had by
nature, that undergirds all he does.
That’s
why just casting out diseases and demons isn’t enough. Just freeing us from what binds us isn’t
enough for him – he dares to dream even bigger; to dream of leading us into
love-based communion, living wholly and holily with God and with each other
forever. That’s why he won’t let the
demons speak. Because they only know
half the story. They ‘know him,’ the
text says. They know his power. They know him in relation to them, the one
who will cast them out. But they don’t
know him in the deeper sense, because to truly know him is to love him, is to
not fear him. And the demons tremble
before him, because they know his power and how utterly opposed that is to
their will to conquer, enslave and subjugate.
But they don’t know him, not as lovers, not how he wants to know and be
known by us.
So, they
can’t speak, because they’d release a half-truth, which is far more dangerous
than a lie. They’d speak of his power, but
you can’t bowl people over with power to form them into loving people. No,
Jesus, like Paul, would become a slave. To
lead us into that love, to enflame our hearts that we might love like that,
takes more than casting out our demons.
We can only learn to love by being radically, utterly loved. And love opens double gates on suffering. Because those we love tug on our heart
strings. And humans tugged on Jesus’
until his heart stopped. But his heart,
his fiery furnace of charity, is stronger than the heartache we cause him, and
he came back. Because that’s the kind of vulnerable strength love has, that not
even death, death at our hands, could keep him from being with us. That that’s what love is, and that’s stronger
than death.
The
demons wouldn’t tell people that, no-one would.
No-one could dare dream of that, that the Son of God would do that for
us, until they had seen it. So, the
demons must be silenced. Because if the
crowds came to know him as a healer and no more, the half-truth would consume
him, and them. So, he goes to pray, to
reground himself in his identity as Son, as the one sent to suffer and redeem,
as beloved. He grounds himself in that
and now invites us to do the same. In
all times, but especially when things are going well, we need to be regrounded
in our adoption, as beloved sons and daughters, sent to carry on Christ’s work
of love.
The demons
are silenced, but there’s one form of witness he’ll accept: Peter’s
mother-in-law. Healed to help, saved to
serve, she expresses her love in service, in feeding the hungry. In that, there is fullness of love and of
truth.
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