Today is the fourth 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.
Mark 1:21-28
Jesus and his disciples went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, and he cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee.
I recently received a text message from another author, someone quite well-known, whom I admire very much. Her message to me arrived unexpected — and it was kind, affirming, and surprising. I had to read it a few times to make sure it was real! Indeed, I was completely astounded that she wrote. I went full fangirl! I read it to my husband (several times), giggling and pleased. I took a screen shot and sent it to my daughter.
My husband said, “A subtle Mom brag, huh?”
I replied, “It’s just so amazing! I had to share!”
When was the last time something astonished and amazed you?
Today’s gospel reading is from Mark, the shortest and fastest paced of all the gospels. The lectionary has been following Mark for less than a month, and we’re already read about Jesus’ baptism, the calling of the disciples, and the beginning of his ministry. We’ve seen him teach, heal, and now — on this Sunday — cast out demons.
Christians typically read the gospels to learn something of Jesus. And rightly so. But it isn’t Jesus — with his authoritative wisdom or miracle-working power — who drew my attention today. I can’t stop thinking about the crowd:
They were astounded at his teaching.
They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this?”
Astounded and amazed.
The only one who was not astounded and amazed was the one with the “unclean spirit.” He seemed to know the deal the entire time. He cynically taunted Jesus, daring the miracle-working rabbi to take him on.
But the others? They were caught by surprise. The unexpected power of Jesus’ words and deeds astounded and amazed them.
And then they spread the news across Galilee. The astonished and amazed crowd told everyone they knew.
In some Christian circles, that would make a pretty good sermon for Evangelism Sunday. But I’m not quite saying that. It isn’t as if being astounded and amazed turned the crowd into missionaries.
Being astonished and amazed did something much bigger — being astonished and amazed re-arranged their world.
First, it challenged the social order: What? This is Jesus, Joseph’s son? How is it that he seems to have more authority than the scribes! He’s a tradesman, a craftsman. But he seems wiser than our regular preachers.
Second, it was a powerful demonstration of a different possibility: Jesus healed a man with an unclean spirit. They watched him cross a social and religious barrier to release an outcast from the demons that tormented him. Jesus wasn’t just sharing a bunch of inspirational sayings, but he backed his words up with an act of hospitality, restoration, and justice.
Astounded and amazed they cried out, “What is this? A new teaching – with authority? Someone who proclaims God’s kingdom and then actually does it? Right in front of us? Maybe God hasn’t abandoned us. Maybe the prisoners will be set free, the hungry fed, rulers cast down, and the poor lifted up after all. . .
It is a good story.
And it invites us to think about the alternative story. What if the crowd had been neither astonished nor amazed? What if they had sat in the synagogue yawning on that morning, worrying about other tasks, perhaps thinking, “Oh, that Torah portion again. I’ve heard that one so many times. I know what it means.” Or, maybe, “a guest preacher. . . ugh.”
What if, upon seeing the miracle, the crowd had shrugged and walked by? “Another grifter evangelist out to get my money,” some thought. Perhaps, “that miracle-worker rabbi is surely angling for his own program on cable.”
They might have followed the lead of the unclean man – responded to Jesus with a kind of bored cynicism, a vicious taunt: Hey, you, Holy One, do something about me, change my life. I dare you.
Sadly, our culture is more like him than Mark’s amazed crowd. We spend a good deal of our time being angry and shocked. Honestly, spend any time at all on social media, listening to the news, or even talking with your friends, and you know the man with the unclean spirit.
We inhabit a world of cynicism and snark, of hopelessness and dread. These are our demons. They close off our imaginations, they isolate us from hope and always tempt us to believe the worst. Eventually, we give in because we don’t want more disappointment, more broken promises, more hurt. Nothing will change. Taunting is easier.
And grifters and conmen of all sorts exploit such things to their own advantage. Many of us have noticed how fear is a great political and social motivator. But do we recognize the destructive manipulation of cynicism?
I wonder about the man with the unclean spirit. How many wannabe healers had walked by him? How many pseudo–holy men promised him new life? How many false prophets offered to fulfill his dreams? Maybe he believed the first one — or two — or more. Maybe he trusted them once. Maybe he gave them money. Or his vote. He believed them. But nothing changed. Somewhere he gave up and gave in and let the demons win. He probably figured he was just being realistic. Tell it like it is. Adjust those expectations downward.
But that’s ultimately destructive: Hey, you, Holy One, do something about me, change my life. I dare you. I know you. You’re just like all the others. I’ve heard it all before.
If you contrast the two stories — the one in Mark and the one from my imagined gospel — it becomes clearer: Astonishment is the opposite of cynicism. And amazement re-orders the world. Being amazed is the experience that proves things don’t need to be as they are — that healing, transformation, and justice can be experienced here and now. The power of God is near, the kingdom has come among you. Amazement affirms that there is more at work in the world than we usually see. We need to prepare for surprises. Astounding and amazing things are at hand.
What if we were open to being astonished? What if we let ourselves be amazed?
Honestly, I don’t want to be the man with unclean spirit. I’m tired of being him. I’m tired of his demons taunting us, manipulating us, driving us deeper into despair. I want to shout with Jesus: “Be silent and come out of him!”
I want to be astounded and amazed.
I would like these lines from poet Mary Oliver to be mine as well:
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
Perhaps amazement really does save the world.
Wonder requires a person not to forget themselves but to feel themselves so acutely that their connectedness to every created thing comes into focus.
In sacred awe, we are a part of the story.
— Cole Arthur Riley
INSPIRATION
We are here at the portal of the world we had wished for
At the lintel of the world we most need.
We are here roaring and singing.
We prove that we can not only make peace, we can bring it with us.
With respect for the world and its people,
We can compete passionately without hatred.
With respect for the world and its people,
We can take pride in the achievement of strangers.
With respect for the world and its people,
We can share openly in the success of friends.
Here then is the Amazement
Against the odds of impending war
In the mouth of bloody greed
Human grace and human spirit can still conquer.
Ah … We discover, we ourselves
Are the Amazement which awaits
We are ourselves Amazement.
— Maya Angelou, from “Amazement Awaits”
The sky is full of the sun and the stars
The universe is full of life
Among all these I have found a place
And in wonder and amazement I sing.
The world is swayed
By eternity's rushing tide
Rising and falling
I have felt its tug in my blood
Racing through my veins
And in wonder and amazement I sing.
While walking in the woodlands
With my feet I have touched the blades of grass
I have been startled by the flowers' fragrance
They have all maddened my mind
The gifts of gladness and joy
Are strewn all around
And in wonder and amazement I sing.
I have pricked my ears
I have opened my eyes
I have bared my heart to the world
In the midst of the known
I have sought the unknown
And in wonder and amazement I sing.
— Rabindranath Tagore
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.
The roots of ultimate insights are found. . .
on the level of wonder and radical amazement,
in the depth of awe, in our sensitivity to the mystery.
—Abraham Joshua Heschel
Thank you for this! I am astounded and amazed how you paint pictures with your writing. Their encounter with Jesus challenged their social order and opened them up to a different possibility an alternative story--as long as they didn't let cynicism get in the way--oh, it's so easy to let that happen. I recently saw a meme about looking for glimmers in the world, instead of always looking for that which "triggers."
I am so grateful for your inspired writing. We need prophetic voices now to speak out in response to the evil spirits among us.