Today is the fifth Sunday after Epiphany. Epiphany is the sacred season in which God’s light is revealed in the world, when glory is made manifest. The spiritual flow of these winter seasons are awaiting light in the darkness (Advent); light overcoming darkness (Christmas); and following the light to its glorious source (Epiphany). The story moves from flickering candlelight, to the light of the cradle, to seekers welcomed into the widening circle of light.
But the mood of the lectionary is changing. We’re moving toward Lent.
Mark 1:29-39
After Jesus and his disciples left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.
That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him. In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. And Simon and his companions hunted for him. When they found him, they said to him, “Everyone is searching for you.” He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.
Every writer knows a secret: The first sentences of any story are the most important.
Mark’s gospel opens with a dramatic announcement by an off-stage voice:
The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,
"See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way;
the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.’”
John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness.
That’s a book I want to read.
The first character — John the Baptist — is odd, maybe a bit unbalanced, and noisy — shouting about sins and baptism and repentance — dressed like an animal while eating locusts and wild honey. He’s kind of the QAnon shaman of the Bible. And he’s looking for someone else — someone greater — who will loose God’s spirit on the world.
When the someone else shows up, it is his cousin, Jesus. And the loud forerunner baptizes him in the Jordan River. When he came up from the water, he saw the heavens ripped asunder and a dove descend. A voice followed: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
Everyone heard John the Baptist’s voice. Nobody heard this voice except for Jesus. The proclamation of divine love was dramatic only to him — a vision, an inward whisper? We don’t know. But he immediately went into the desert to ruminate and wrestle with what has happened. When he returns, Jesus says that the Kingdom of God is at hand and invited people to follow him. They did.
All that happens in seventeen verses, mostly short pithy sentences. That’s a lot in a a few words. A fast, splashy start. A great beginning.
Then Mark does something you’d never expect. The tone changes. Jesus’ ministry of teaching and healing begins. He releases the bound from their demons. He performs sensational miracles. He stirs up the crowds. People spread the word.
And what does Jesus say? “Shhh! Don’t tell anyone!”
Today’s story of healing and exorcism introduces one of the strangest literary devices employed by any gospel writer: Mark’s Messianic Secret.
At first, Jesus commands demons to shut up “because they knew him.” But by the end of Mark’s first chapter, Jesus warns those whom he healed and, presumably, those who witnessed such miracles to “say nothing to anyone.” He said it over and over again — even to his closest friends and followers: “And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.”
What? Why? Isn’t this Good News? Aren’t we supposed to proclaim it to the ends of the earth?
There are scores of theories about the Messianic Secret. Some of those theories have been discredited — but none has created a consensus or offered any sort of historical or textual proof to explain it. In short, theologians and biblical scholars are baffled. They have a pretty good idea of what the Messianic Secret is not but no idea of what it is. Whatever Jesus had in mind — or whatever the author of Mark had in mind — is, well, still a secret.
In short, it is a mystery.
And that’s when we contemporary people might wince. We love mysteries — if they can be solved or are problems we can fix. But an unsolvable, unresolved, even seemingly paradoxical or nonsensical thing like a Messianic Secret? We invent conspiracy theories or elaborate reasons to explain things. Mostly because we don’t really rest comfortably with secrets and mysteries. That’s one of the marks of the contemporary world, our quest to solve every mystery.
When it comes to faith, the word “mystery” is sometimes used as an excuse. “We can’t really know that,” profess some unwilling to pursue a complex subject. At other times, “mystery” is seen as a sort of riddle. If a curious inquirer only works hard enough, the mystery can be solved. In either case, mystery may be ultimately unknowable or a temporarily annoying puzzle, something we give up with a shrug or something we can investigate until we reach a satisfactory conclusion in a matter. There’s not much middle ground for mystery.
But “mystery” is actually a category in religion. Indeed, there is an entire group of traditions that historians call “mystery religions,” mostly secretive cults in the ancient Mediterranean world. Mark certainly would have been aware of such groups. The funny thing about mystery religions was that everyone knew they existed but no one knew what they were. The arcane practices and teachings of these communities remain mostly unknown.
Biblical scholars argue about their influence on the New Testament. What is clear is that Paul liked the word “mystery,” and it shows up variously in Romans, Corinthians, Ephesians, and Colossians to describe everything from the nature of Christ to the resurrection of the dead. And, it might be argued that it shows up in Mark’s gospel as well.
Often Christians think of “mystery” as if knowing Jesus is a procedural, like an Agatha Christie novel or a game of Clue. If you organize scattered facts, interview the proper witnesses, and discern hidden motives, you can figure out things that are unknown. Far too many read the Bible in this way.
The apostle Paul, however, is not inviting you to his weekend house to discover if Miss Scarlett did it in the library with a knife. Mark isn’t asking you to understand why Jesus tried to keep his identity a secret. The New Testament mysteries are of a different sort.
Indeed, Steven Boyer and Christopher Hall, a pair of theologians, make a helpful distinction between investigative mysteries, based on what is unknown, and revelational mysteries, which revolve around what is known:
The whole fascination of a detective story lies in trying to solve the puzzle, and when one knows the solution the mystery is dissolved — it is no longer a mystery. . . . But the fascination of many of the New Testament mysteries lies in the peculiar character even after they have been revealed. . . . A revelational mystery excites wonder, awe, amazement, astonishment. . . This is the way a revelational mystery works: we know, and yet the mystery remains.
They conclude: “Theology is not simply a set of truths to believe; it is a path to walk, or a living vision to pursue.”
That path of secrets and mystery is one of humility and listening. Be quiet. Pay attention. You don’t quite grasp what is really happening here. Following Jesus is a life of knowing and unknowing, of encountering a hidden God and God revealed, and of clouds that sometimes obscure the light.
In the words of one ancient saint, “The quest goes beyond what is visible and is enclosed on all sides by incomprehension, which is a kind of sacred darkness.” Or as Paul writes, “Now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known” (1 Cor. 13:12, KJV). Mystery — what is disclosed and yet still mysterious.
Is Mark the gospel of the revelational mystery? Mark tells us at the outset the point of his revelation: This is the One predicted by Isaiah, the long-awaited Beloved One of God. His story revolves around that which is known — a prophet, the coming of God’s commonwealth, the healing power of the Holy Spirit, a Beloved One who died as a traitor to Rome and yet escaped death. But he tells it in such a way that we are drawn in anew, the old story unfolds in a way that draws forth wonder, awe, amazement, and astonishment.
We know the story — yet the mystery remains.
Shhhhhhhh! Don’t tell!
INSPIRATION
I tell my secret? No indeed, not I;
Perhaps some day, who knows?
But not today; it froze, and blows and snows,
And you’re too curious: fie!
You want to hear it? well:
Only, my secret’s mine, and I won’t tell.
Or, after all, perhaps there’s none:
Suppose there is no secret after all,
But only just my fun.
Today’s a nipping day, a biting day;
In which one wants a shawl,
A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:
I cannot ope to everyone who taps,
And let the draughts come whistling thro’ my hall;
Come bounding and surrounding me,
Come buffeting, astounding me,
Nipping and clipping thro’ my wraps and all.
I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows
His nose to Russian snows
To be pecked at by every wind that blows?
You would not peck? I thank you for good will,
Believe, but leave the truth untested still.
Spring’s an expansive time: yet I don’t trust
March with its peck of dust,
Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,
Nor even May, whose flowers
One frost may wither thro’ the sunless hours.
Perhaps some languid summer day,
When drowsy birds sing less and less,
And golden fruit is ripening to excess,
If there’s not too much sun nor too much cloud,
And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,
Perhaps my secret I may say,
Or you may guess.
— Christina Rossetti, “Winter: My Secret”
There is no clean intellectual coherence, no abstract ultimate meaning to be found, and if [the mystery of faith] is not recognized, then the compulsion to find such certainty becomes its own punishment. This realization is not the end of theology, but the beginning of it: trust no theory, no religious history or creed, in which the author’s personal faith is not actively at risk.
— Christian Wiman, My Bright Abyss
LENTEN REFLECTION SERIES: Crossings
Lent begins on Ash Wednesday, February 14.
The culmination of Lent is Good Friday, with Jesus’ death on a cross. The cross is the central symbol of Christian faith, a universal sign of life in Christ. Christians wear crosses, sing about the cross, reflect on the cross, and have ritual practices at the cross.
Yet many also struggle with the cross, especially with its complicity in religious violence and a theology that seems to exalt in suffering and pain. Honestly, I’ve struggled with it over the years, often wondering if I could ever voice my reservations.
A few years ago, a church asked me to preach every day for an entire week in their Lenten series based on the theme: “It’s not about us. It’s about the Cross.”
And so, I embarked on a five-sermon exploration of the cross. Much to my surprise, I gave the cross back to myself as I struggled with the theme!
I’ve always wanted to publish those sermons — but publishers don’t publish books of sermons any longer. They’ve just been filed away on my computer. This Lent, I’m going to publish them here. At the Cottage. The sermons have been reworked and turned into longer meditations.
Over Lent, I’ll share my cross sermons each Wednesday in a series called “Crossings.” Each sermon presents a different image of the cross — the five pieces create a kind of spiritual prism to see the cross from a variety of theological angles. I think you’ll have your vision widened.
This year, Lent won’t be a daily series (like Advent). Rather the schedule will be simplified, giving you time to read, pray, and sink into the material. The tentative schedule (might be slightly revised) is:
Monday - a poem and visual to start the week
Wednesday - the sermon/meditation
Friday - five friends will present video meditations on the image from the sermon
There will be additional opportunities for conversation — and other special guests — as well.
At the end of the series, the five mediations (and some supplemental material) will be compiled into a booklet — Crossings — for you to download and re-read.
THE LENT SERIES IS FOR PAID SUBSCRIBERS. That isn’t meant to be exclusive, but provides a more intimate community for discussion and sharing. Please sign up to join in if you aren’t already a paid subscriber. There are monthly and yearly plans available.
If you’d like to participate but can’t afford a subscription, just write to us at this email. No one is ever turned away for lack of funds.
ONLINE EVENT
You are invited to an online event on Monday, February 12 offered by Lumunos, “The Changing Spiritual Landscape: An Evening with Diana Butler Bass.” Click HERE for information and registration.
God is the name we use for nonmaterial stupendous, wondrous 'More' that includes the universe even as God transcends the universe. This is God as the 'encompassing Spirit,' the one in whom 'we live and move and have our being,' the one who is all around us and within us. God is the one in whom the universe is, even as God is more than the universe; the Mystery who is beyond all names, even as we name the sacred Mystery in our various ways.
— Marcus Borg
One of the questions some modern theologians like to ask is the following: would this be something that Christians are apt to insert as being what they might want Jesus to have said? I think not. The church was evangelical. Not telling others about these miracles does not sound like something they would insert. We can feel confident Jesus really said it, several times. Personally, and this is just my quess, I think it could have been two things. It wasn't Jesus time for his final mission of death, and miracles raised the ire of his detractors. Also, practically speaking, miracles would attract a crowd. He was working at discipling his closest followers. He might not have been ready for the massive crowds that eventually did develope. Just a few thoughts!
From this text in Mark chapter 1, it seems that what Jesus wanted was to continue 'proclaiming the message'. Driving out evil spirits and healing people in their distress supported this mission - but may also have been a distraction. Being associated with doing exorcisms may even have been a liability - which provided an opening for his opponents to accuse him of collusion with those evil spirits that were acknowledging him as the son of God. Having legitimate representatives to speak on his behalf may have been what prompted him to call the Twelve in chapter 3. By chapter 7, he seemed to be at wit's end with his own people not getting beyond purity rules, and just wanted to get away from people.
I am reading Diana's "Christianity After Religion" and am especially encouraged by what I have read so far about the dynamics of her Armington Hall experience of Christian community - and alarmed by how insightful she has been about the mechanisms of authoritarian domination at work since then and where we and the world are now.
Hearing Brian McLaren speak was the first time I heard about that Jesus' 'message' in the context of his time, was not salvation for the life in the hereafter, but the advent of God's kingdom ('on earth as in heaven') which is consistent with what I have subsequently heard and read by Diana. She has used related terms to describe the dynamics of God's kingdom including "The 4th Great Awakening", "The Great (Re)Turning", "Awakening and Romantic Religion" that anticipates an 'emerging' transcendent social/spiritual reality. A specific phrase that brings these concepts together for me is "beloved community". It has roots in the Civil Rights movement of the '60s (part of some of Martin Luther King's earliest writings), it is an inclusive term for God's kingdom, and is a description that can't be so easily dismissed like the term 'woke'. I would like to know Diana's reflection on the term "beloved community" and how it may relate to where we are now.