Tag Archive - Mark

Women in Mark: Least and Greatest

February 1, 2011 in Bible Thoughts with 9 Comments

Read the Gospel of Mark, and on first blush you might not think that Mark (or Jesus) thinks too highly of women.

This is not a Gospel with a birth narrative–there is no affectionate depiction of Mary’s faithful carrying of the Christ child. This is not a Gospel where Jesus sees to the welfare of his mother from the cross. In fact, Mary appears on the scene in ch. 3 with Jesus’ siblings in an apparent attempt to get him to give up his delusions of grandeur.

Jesus, as is well known, calls only men to be part of the twelve. This has been taken in the history of the church as validation of male-only leadership.

Never mind that the twelve are, in the end, complete failures, evincing the hardened hearts appropriate for the rocky soil whose faith fades when persecution arises on account of the word. Peter, the rock, is their aptly named leader.

And when these disciples are most clearly failing to understand the ministry of Jesus, he tells them that they utterly misunderstand the kingdom of God: you know that the rulers of the world and the great ones of the earth lord it over their people–it shall not be so among you.

As I read over the story of the Syrophoenician woman in Mark 7 it strikes me afresh that we see the women of Mark as second-rate characters only to the extent that we refuse the invitation of Mark’s Jesus to read his story through the lens of an upside-down, kingdom economy.

In other words: when we read the Gospel and assume that just because someone got to be close to Jesus, got to do miracles and cast out demons, that this is an indication of greatness or of true leadership in the kingdom, we use the disciples’ this-worldly frame of reference rather than Jesus’ cruciform, kingdom frame.

Feminist interpreters sometimes approach the Gospels as though the fact that the faithful women have no names is an indication that they are slighted in the narrative. The suggestion is sometimes offered that we need to read against the grain of the text in order to appreciate the women’s contributions to the story.

But I wonder if the overall economy of the kingdom doesn’t indicate that picking up on these unnamed, faithful women isn’t a true reading with the grain of the text that has been obscured by generations of “normal” reading that continues to offer a reading in which the named, powerful, and exalted are exemplary–and that despite the clear protestations of the Christ and the cross that loom so largely over the whole?

Is the Syrophoenician woman who demanded that abundance of even the children’s table scraps be shared with her not greater than the disciples who doubted that there was adequate bread in the desert?

Is the nameless woman who anointed Jesus as king and yet for burial not greater than Peter who, upon hearing Jesus’ prognostication of death, played the role of Satan and began to rebuke him?

And so if we care about the “marginalized,” I want to suggest that our goal should be not to read against the grain of the text with a hermeneutic of suspicion, but to better read the text with the hermeneutic of trust that is shaped by the upside down economy of the gospel.

When we read the text, and judge its characters, with eyes to see that greatness is found in being least, the margins move to the center and in these nameless women we discover what it means to be a true child of the kingdom.

Christology and Context

December 7, 2010 in Bible Thoughts with 26 Comments

Richard Hays’ paper at SBL on the Christology of Luke (earlier reflections here) has me thinking afresh about the Christology of the New Testament, and how we know high (or low) Christology when we see it.

Hays began his paper by citing Luke 24 as the invitation to scour the pages of the Gospel to discover how Old Testament echoes and allusion will tell us who this Jesus is that the disciples seem to have missed: “O foolish ones and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken.” Hays stops here and then returns to see what sort of indications of Jesus’ identity lie buried in the OT echoes.

But the passage continues beyond where Hays stops. And as it does we read, “Was it not necessary for the Messiah to suffer these things and enter into his glory?”

Here Luke tells us what we are to find in or from the OT: not indications that the Messiah is somehow, mysteriously, YHWH incarnate; instead, that the Messiah has to suffer and then be glorified. The same is indicated at the end of the chapter, vv. 44-48, and the same is illustrated in the speaches in Acts.

The point is that one of the reasons why folks often find Christology that is higher than I think the text itself indicates is that we are being insufficiently attentive to the exegetical guidance that the passages in question are giving us.

Example 2: Does the citation of Isaiah 40 at the beginning of Mark’s Gospel indicate that Jesus is, in some mysterious fashion, the incarnation of the Lord/YHWH about whom Isaiah 40 speaks? “Prepare the way of the LORD!”

This might be an indication that we are to understand that Jesus is, somehow, YHWH himself.

But the verse is introduced like this: “As it is written in Isaiah the prophet, ‘Behold! I am sending my messenger ahead of you…’”

The divine voice, “I”, addresses the sent one in the second person, “You,” distinguishing the agent of the Lord’s advent from the Lord Himself. John the Baptist comes to prepare the way for this person whom the Divine Voice addresses as other.

Yes, the coming one is preparing for and inaugurating the great divine visitation, and is the agent of it–but as God’s agent in Mark, not as God incarnate. That development has to wait for a later Gospel.

Finally. we might look at the Christ hymn in Philippians 2. One way that this passage is seen as offering a high Christology is in its use of an Isaiah tradition. Where Isaiah says that God is God alone, and that therefore every knee will bow and tongue confess only YHWH, Israel’s God, Paul applies the verse to Jesus.

Jesus is given the name above every name so that at his name every knee will bow and every tongue confess.

But even while we stand in awe of the exalted status to which Jesus attains, we must not lose sight of the fact that Jesus is so glorified because, in the hymn, God gives Jesus what was not his before. Because he humbled himself, God exalted him and then bestowed on him the great name. Whatever “being in the very form of God” might mean, bearing the name by which all bow is a function of the divine response to the human Jesus’ self-abasement–not an affirmation of what was Jesus’ all along.

The point in each of these three cases is that we only see a preexistence Christology in the OT allusions if we read against the context and flow into which the biblical writers have woven their scriptural predecessors.

Winter Courses: Pasadena & Menlo Park

November 6, 2010 in Academia with 0 Comments

For any Fuller students out there, sweating and poring over your winter quarter courses, here’s what I’ve got cooking for the winter.

For those of you at the Mother Ship in Pasadena, I will be teaching NE506, Greek Exegesis of Mark, on Wednesdays.

For those of you in the Bay Area or otherwise in Northern California, I will be teaching NT2, Acts-Revelation, in Menlo Park.

Which Reality Will You Believe?

September 3, 2010 in Bible Thoughts with 2 Comments

Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man, comments on the withered fig tree incident like this:

The curse/exorcism of the fig tree/temple is more than a political protest; Mark means for it to be a “proleptic” sign within his own narrative. When Jesus later speaks of the end of the temple state in his second sermon, Mark will point us back to this action, through the use of the expression “Look!” (ide):

11:21: Rabbi, Look! The fig tree you cursed has withered!”
13:3: “Teacher, Look! What wonderful stones and buildings!”

The direct narrative connection between the disciples’ encounter with the tree and the temple is a kind of inverse discourse… The reader must choose which reality to believe in: the temple-as-withered-to-the-root (sign of a system that is coming to an end) or the temple-as-bigger-than-life (sign of a system that will never end…)…. This is the reason why in 11:21 Peter “remembers”… the symbolic action; Mark hopes his readers will also “remember” it in their historical discernment. (304)

The contrast between the two realities in which you might choose to believe is what strikes me. So much of the biblical narrative is an invitation to see the world differently, to recognize that the world as we can see it with our eyes is often not reflecting the story (especially the eschatology) that God has in store.

Our calling is to be transformed by the renewing of our minds; or, as Richard B. Hays says, to undergo a conversion of the imagination so that we can see that the glory of God is not always reflected in the glorious works of people. This is especially true, as Myers highlights, when that worldly glory is built on systems of injustice and oppression.

Mark 10: The Heart of the Story

July 25, 2010 in Bible Thoughts with 5 Comments

If I had to pick one passage of scripture that encapsulated the entirety of the Christian message, I might very well pick Mark 10:32-45.

I return to this passage repeatedly in my classes and in my reflections on what it means to live faithfully as a Christian, because here the story unfolds to show us not only what Jesus came to do, but also what it means for how we are, in turn to live. But that’s not all. The passage finds much of its power from its unveiling not of Jesus but of the human heart that hears and yet refuses to hear his call.

The first scene is Jesus’ teaching to the twelve: for the third time Jesus is predicting that what awaits in Jerusalem is his own rejection, death, and resurrection.

And, for the third time, the disciples respond in such a way as to show that they do not yet get what Jesus is on about.

James and John come asking for seats of glory: one at Jesus right hand and the other at Jesus’ left in his glory. Jesus then draws them back to his passion prediction: can you drink my cup or be baptized with my baptism?

And here is where we have to keep coming back over and over because it never seems to sink in. To be part of the kingdom that comes by way of the cross is to accept the cross as not only the saving event that occurred to Jesus but also the way of life to which w ourselves are called.

The cross is the narrative of Christianity, and our calling is to play out that narrative in the various worlds in which we find ourselves.

As if the story of James and John were not humiliating enough, the other disciples hear of it and grumble! Jesus’ response indicates that the source of their agitation is not that James and John have so clearly failed to apprehend the call to discipleship; instead, they are angry that James and John sought to edge them out for the prize that all of them wanted.

And so Jesus tells them all, again, that his cruciform ministry, if true, means that a new economy is in play; the way of power and glory as articulated by the Powers of the earth is being undone. Yes, of course, those who want to be great among the gentiles lord their power over others and wield the might of their authority…But…

But…

“But it shall not be thus among you.”

Did you get that part?

“But it shall not be thus among you.”

There’s your half-verse to memorize today.

There is a different way of living, a different way of understanding greatness, a different path of power that comes with the advent of the dominion of God: “Whoever wants to be great among you, that person must be y’all’s servant; and, whoever wants to be first among y’all, must be servant of all.”

On what basis can Jesus make such an absurd claim about power and glory?

On the basis of his own mission: “For even the son of man did not come to be served but to serve…” Note how his own mission forms the texture of the call to discipleship. Jesus is the servant to show his followers what their lives of service should look like.

You might also note the surprise of this claim. In Daniel 7, all dominions serve the son of man. Jesus inaugurates his reign by doing exactly the opposite.

The self-giving service of this son of man, the sacrifice of his life, yields the fruit of a redeemed people, a people ransomed from their slavery to the opposing forces we’ve seen throughout the Gospel. There, at last, is your interpretation of the cross as well: this self-giving service brings freedom.

So why would I pick this passage as one of my short list of possible passages that tell us everything we need to know?

(1) It tells us what Jesus did for us and what that means. He died and rose again–and this giving is an act of freeing, of ransom.

(2) It tells us what that means for our lives. Jesus served unto death, therefore we are to serve one another.

(3) It shows us how our hearts can confess Jesus as sovereign master, acknowledge even that he had to die for us, and yet fail altogether in drawing the conclusion that we are thereby freed to pursue greatness along the road of self-giving service. Instead, that creeping normalcy self-serving “giving” turns even our following of Jesus into an idol for our own selfish advancement.

Borges, “Gospel According to Mark”

June 15, 2010 in Book Reviews with 0 Comments

A friend of mine drew my attention to The New Yorker‘s fiction podcast.

Specifically, he drew my attention to a reading of Jorge Luis Borges’s “The Gospel According to Mark.” I commend it to you in all its disturbing Borgesness.

(The story can be found in Borges, “Collected Fictions” [trans. A. Hurley])

The End of Mark & the Synoptic Problem

June 7, 2010 in Bible Thoughts with 7 Comments

I finished teaching my Greek Exegesis of Mark course on Thursday, which meant going over arguments about the ending(s) of the Gospel.

A product of my time, I very much delight in the abrupt ending: “…the said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”

The commentary the class was using wasn’t so sanguine on this one. The commentator suggested that this is a (post)modern aesthetic preference that the ancients wouldn’t have shared.

One thing that the commentator did not discuss, however, was this issue in relationship to the Synoptic Problem. One of its tendencies is this: Matthew and Luke begin to agree with each other where Mark begins, and they cease agreeing with each other where Mark ends. This is true of the Gospels as a whole and of individual pericopes as well.

In other words, it would seem that if Mark’s original ending was lost, it was lost VERY early. Before Matthew and Luke had gotten their hands on the Gospel. Alternatively, one might suggest that we would simply frame this Synoptic relationship differently if we had all the data on the table.

But I think this is a small, perhaps light, piece of evidence in favor of the abrupt ending that I so love.

The Kingdom and the Glory (pt 2)

April 28, 2010 in Bible Thoughts with 2 Comments

If the reign of Jesus is indirectly juxtaposed to that of Herod by means of the disciples, the contrast is more direct when Jesus comes back on the scene (Mark 6:30ff.).

Immediately after we hear of Herod’s debauched party and its affiliation with John the Baptist’s beheading, the disciples return to Jesus and he takes them off on their own to rest and eat. But arriving at what should have been a secluded spot, Jesus looks at the crowd that had run there ahead of him.

He has pity on them because they are like sheep without a shepherd.

The OT echoes of Israel being “like sheep without a shepherd” embrace various kinds of leaders–and reflects the danger of the people being without a prophet like Moses to lead them out and bring them in (Numbers 27:17) or without a king (1 Kings 22).

Two things are going on here at once. On the once hand, we’re being told that “King” Herod is no king at all (and, in fact, we’ll learn later that the Pharisees are no leaders at all, either, but that’s not as clear here). We’ve just seen Israel’s “shepherd” at work–the people have no one to lead them out and bring them in.

On the level of the narrative, we know that the people are kingless, shepherdless, because they are not following Jesus, but rather running ahead of him. Jesus’ call is to “follow,” at at several key junctures in the narrative, we are made aware that things are somewhat askew because people are running ahead of Jesus rather than following. (See also Peter’s leading Jesus aside to rebuke him after the first passion prediction.)

But Jesus responds to the shepherdless people.

As the prophet like Moses type of shepherd, he teaches the people in the wilderness. Then, in striking contrast to the death-feast of Herod, Jesus sets a life-giving feast in the wilderness. In contrast to the great birthday banquet with its indulgence, sensuality, and death, Jesus sees to it that the people in the midst of nothingness are filled to overflowing.

The Lord Jesus is their shepherd.
He ensures that the people shall not want.
He makes them to lie down in green pastures.
He leads his people upon still waters? Well, not quite. But that’s another problem for another day.

But the reign of God has come near. And it is not the reign of God through Herod. Nor is the reign of God through the teachers of the Law. It is the reign of God enacted through Jesus the teacher, the good shepherd, the prophet like Moses.

On Representation

April 7, 2010 in Bible Thoughts with 4 Comments

I found this progression in Mark 6 to be a fascinating picture of how the sender and those sent are identified with each other:

The disciples go out preaching, casting out demons, anointing with oil and healing. And we find that the disciples’ ministry makes Herod anxious. Why can they do such marvelous things? Herod begins to speculate, “John the Baptizer has been raised from among the dead, and this is why the powers are at work in him” (Mark 6:14).

The work of the disciples causes Herod (and others) to speculate on where Jesus gets his power.

Jesus’ Divine Identity: Imprimatur or Incarnation?

April 2, 2010 in Bible Thoughts with 1 Comment

I’ve been enjoying the debates with the good Dr. Morales on the Christology of the Gospels (part 1, part 2). But since the first set of discussions I’ve been thinking that the question we’re debating is interesting, but perhaps only partially helpful in making progress on the question of Jesus’ identity in the gospels.

To set this up again: though standing on the common ground of the traditional Christian confession of Jesus Christ as very God, we disagree on the extent to which this facet of Jesus’ identity is visible in the Synoptic Gospels.

But our agreement extends beyond the confessional. We would both say things about Jesus in (say) Mark to the effect of, “Look, Jesus is being identified with Israel’s God here,” or, “Look, here’s Jesus doing something that we’d normally think only God can do.”

Given our largely Christan context for reading the Gospels, I imagine that it sounds like special pleading to many of my readers that I would say, “Here’s Jesus being identified with God–and yet this is no indication that he is ontologically divine.” But, as James McGrath suggested in the comments of our “Pass them by” discussion, this only means that based on our theological commitments we think that “identification with God” entails divine ontology.

What we really need to hammer out is how we can adjudicate between a human’s being identified with the work of God, the super-expansion of such a category that would happen if one human actually came and was a faithful representative where others (Adam, Israel, David) had failed, and at what point a quantitative expansion of the human vocation to represent God to the world is insufficient to account for the data and we have to start positing a qualitative difference for Jesus (i.e., what must Jesus do or say to take us to the point where we must say, “This is not something that could be said or done by a human being, however so great he may be; now we’re talking about God”).

In my estimation, the Old Testament provides such a robust category for understanding human agency in general, and for interpreting the Christology of the Gospels in particular, that I find little evidence of “identification with God” to offer compelling indications that the category of “human representative of YHWH on earth” has been blown up into “YHWH physically present among us.”

To take but the most obvious example, the title “son of God” clearly identifies Jesus with God. But what sort of identification is it? The biblical co-texts that help us make sense of such a title indicate that this is a way of saying that Jesus is the Davidic King (Ps 2; 2 Sam 7), the one who fulfills primordial humanity’s vocation to rule the world on God’s behalf as God’s faithful child (Gen 1:26-28).

The idea of Jesus as “son of God” structures Mark’s narrative: at his baptism, transfiguration, and crucifixion Jesus is called “son of God” by God (first two) and a centurion (final episode). The point in each case (especially as the baptism prefigures the crucifixion) is that Jesus is son of God as he fulfills his particular Messianic vocation.

In other words: Christ = Son of God = vocation to suffer, die, and then be raised.

With an OT narrative telling us that humanity is created to be entrusted with God’s rule over the created order, and with numerous indications that God identifies himself with a people such that his name is on them–their fate is His fate and His reputation is their reputation–it seem that the default mode for reading the Gospels should be that ideal first readers would hear the stories of Jesus in this way.

Yes, he is wonderfully exhibiting the saving work of YHWH–and this means that, at last, the king has come.

So the question as we wrestle with how to read and understand the Christology of the Gospels is: how do we know when identification has moved beyond unique possession of the divine imprimatur and empowering Spirit and moved into the realm of ontological identity?

One initial answer I want to give is this: if we see other humans doing it, it is no indication that Jesus is ontologically divine. Other thoughts?

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