11/11/2024
Readings for Sunday, 17 November 2024
1 Samuel 1:4-20
Hebrews 10:11-14 (15-18), 19-25
Mark 13:1-8
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Mark 13:1-8
There is a viable theory about Mark’s gospel (based primarily on Mary Ann Tolbert‘s reading of Mark in "Sowing the Gospel"), that one of his primary structuring elements is his quote from Isaiah 6 about the people having eyes but not seeing, and having ears but not hearing. There are only two extended ‘discourses’ in Mark, chapters 4 and 13. The first sermon features the quote from Isaiah and the catchword “Listen!” In between come healings of deaf people and then blind people. Then, the catchword “Watch!” is featured in the second sermon. In the face of the difficulties of seeing and hearing (posed by the veil of the Sacred), Jesus pleads with his disciples to listen and to watch. They fail the test of listening earlier, and the final test for watching comes in the Garden of Gethsemane, which they also fail. It would seem that they only begin seeing what they need to see and understanding what they have heard when the veil to the Holy of Holies is torn apart upon Jesus’ death.
Oona hab eye. Hoccome oona ain see?
Onna hab yea. Hoccome oona ain yeh?
Onna ain memba gnihton yletulosba*, ainty?
Mark 13 is probably the earliest among the eschatological discourses we have in the synoptic Gospels, and it begins, significantly, with a prophecy of the destruction of the Temple.
Shortly afterwards, Peter, James, John and Andrew ask Jesus: “Tell us, when shall these things be? and what shall be the sign when all these things shall be brought to an end?” (Mk 13:4)
Notice that the link between the prophecy of the destruction of the Temple and the end of everything is made not by Jesus but by the disciples!
Immediately afterwards we have one of Jesus’ famous non-replies. He does not answer their question. At least not directly but begins to give instructions for how to live... in the world, specifically as believers in the days inaugurated by his death.
Jesus' instructions are negative rather than positive.
Pay no attention to people who come as Messiah, or some sort of savior, leading many people astray. Jesus gives to understand that his own coming will not be of this sort. As we shall see later, his coming will be absolutely manifest, but not with that sort of manifestation.
Do not be alarmed by the wars, battles and portents which are to come. That is to say, not only should they not pay attention to the possible theological value of the prophets who come, but they must also learn to distance themselves from attributing theological importance to the violent events of this world. They have no such importance. These things are going to happen, and Jesus knows very well that, precisely because he has invalidated the easy formula (kill a scapegoat) for making peace. There will be wars and nations will rise up against nations: these are the first pains, or consequences of what has been produced by his resurrection. War, etc. is, so to speak, the negative counterpart of what he has inaugurated, this continuous process which we have seen in the time of Abel, the flight from false sacralization to false sacralization, without ever leaving the eternal roundabout of reciprocal violence.
In the midst of all this, the disciple must walk with care, for he cannot associate himself with this process.
This is a description of the dirty reality in which the disciples must give witness to following Jesus, of a firm belief in another (kind of) kingdom, distinct from the kingdoms which seek to found themselves on said reciprocal violence.
In the midst of all this, as it proceeds, the disciples will always be outsiders, and always potential victims, potential traitors, potential subversives, and so on.
In the midst of all this conflictual reality, the good news about God, and the coming into existence of the arduously constructed kingdom of universality which we have already seen, will be borne slowly and almost silently to all nations.
It seems to me very significant that it be in this context that Jesus warns against being worried in advance about what to say before the tribunals. In a world ruled by the lynch-mob mechanism, a typical attitude which will come about will be that of those who considers themselves victims, and for that reason are always preparing themselves against accusations.
Which of us has not fantasized an argument, in the midst of accusations which we manage to rebut by the power of our argument? Isn’t this one of the ways of proving our worth? An extraordinary and triumphant self-justification?
Well, Jesus prohibits such fantasy. The Holy Spirit, the defense counselor, is the one who will defend us, so that it is in the degree to which we cease to worry about defending ourselves, which is the same as saying, cease to worry about justifying ourselves, that the defending Spirit will declare innocent the victims.
Let us be clear that this is not a guarantee that we’re going to get off unharmed from the trials and ‘legal’ lynchings of the world, for many have indeed perished under just such circumstances, most notably Jesus. However, in the long run, the innocence of the victim will be established. Another way of saying this: if we are preoccupied about our defense, then we are still prisoners of the violence of the world. Our paranoia, our anxiousness to defend and to justify ourselves is nothing other than that. Jesus tells us that the Defense Counselor gives us such freedom that we do not even have to justify or defend ourselves, and that this trial, this process, of those who are learning to live free in the midst of the persecuting turbulences of this world, is what discipleship looks like in the time that is to come after his death.
It is in this context of the collapse of all the normal forms of building human unity, including that within the family, where children, parents and siblings hate each other, that the patient universality of the kingdom which does not cast out is to be built.
Jesus then moves on to a description of something which in all probability refers to the fall of Jerusalem, judging by the references to Judea: that fall will be a terrible reality, as indeed it was. But not even that, for all its horror, is to be read in a theological key. All of that has nothing to do with the coming of the Messiah, and the disciple must learn not to read that fall in theological terms, not to pay attention to supposed signs and prodigies which will so give the impression of coming from God, that even the elect will run the risk of being lead astray by them.
After having laid the foundations about that to which one must not pay attention, Jesus turns to describing his coming. In the first place he uses apocalyptic language, taken from the book of Daniel: the sun will be darkened, the moon will give forth no light, and so on.
It's quite important to notice that this way of talking does not indicate some supposed divine intervention shaking up these heavenly bodies. The language depends on the Semitic vision of earth and sky as a single reality where the stars, the sun and the moon were hung in the vault of heaven. What is being described is the way in which earthly, that is to say, human violence, shakes all of creation. We are speaking, once again of human violence, a social and cultural upheaval of ever greater magnitude.
It is in the midst of a human violence which shakes the foundations of all creation that the Son of man will be seen on the clouds, in strength and majesty. That vision of the Son of man, as we have already seen, comes from Daniel, and the clouds will be appearing again shortly. It is starting from this appearance of the Son of man that the angels will come out to gather together the chosen ones from every corner of the earth.
After this Jesus speaks to the disciples about the fig tree. You will remember that, not long before, he had cursed the fig tree which was barren, even though it was not the season for figs (Mark 11:12-14).
The fig tree symbolizes both Israel and the Temple, and Jesus refers to bringing about a new fig tree, which will produce fruit, and it is in the degree to which this new fig tree produces fruit in the midst of the circumstances which Jesus has just described that the disciples will start to understand that the coming of the Son of man is at the door. And all this will happen in this generation, the generation which begins with Jesus’ death, and which will begin to live the fruits of the uncovering of the innocence of the victim.
Jesus is quite clear: heaven and earth will pass away, but his words will not pass away. That is to say, the teaching which he has come to bring, leaving open and exposed the mechanism of the randomly chosen victim will be, from now on, the inexorable, though hidden, dynamic of history, and it is in its light that everything will be reconceptualized or reparadigmed — which has in fact happened already, but without understanding; without having been seen. Once Jesus said what he said, it can never be totally hidden again, and any attempt to do so (like, for example, the N**i attempt at genocide) fatally fails in the long run.
At the end of his discourse, Jesus returns to the initial question of his disciples, so as to refuse them an answer to their question of “when?”. It is not really a matter of a “when”; Jesus want them/us to refocus because it’s about how always to be alive to the presence of the victims. It is a question of the basic attitude of the disciple in the time inaugurated by Jesus’ death: always to have the capacity for a flexibility of vision so as to recognize the victims, wheresoever the victims be, and under whatsoever form they appear, so as to know how to go out to meet them.
The whole of the time between the death of Jesus and the end of history gyrates around this dynamic of seeing/having sight made flexible by knowing/hearing/understanding how to receive and become a blessing to the victim.
After this there follows one of the most brilliant passages in Mark, which in a certain sense gives the key for reading all that has gone before. The master goes off, handing out tasks, and demanding that the servants remain alert: “Watch ye therefore: for ye know not when the master of the house cometh, at evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or in the morning: lest coming suddenly he find you sleeping…” (Mk 13:35-36)
With this we understand something fundamental about Mark: that he writes in a self-referential way. For this passage, the last before the beginning of the Passion, refers exactly to the events of the Passion which are to unfold. The coming of the master will take place in the handing over of Jesus, for it is at evening that he hands himself over to the disciples in the form of the Eucharist, at midnight that he is handed over by Judas, who comes when the disciples are asleep; at cockcrow he is betrayed (handed over) by Peter, and at dawn he is handed over by the High Priest to the Romans for ex*****on.
Just in case we have not understood this, Jesus repeats before the High Priest the phrase about the coming of the Son of man on the clouds, telling him that he will himself see this phenomenon: “. . . and ye shall see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power and coming in the clouds of heaven.” (Mk 14:62)
Then, in the scene of the crucifixion, even though it was midday, the whole sky was darkened (the raised Son of man coming on clouds), and immediately after Jesus expires, that is, hands over his Spirit, there begins the process of the angels who seek out the chosen ones from the four winds, for it is a Roman centurion who says: “Truly this man was the Son of God.” (Mk 15:39)
I hope that you see some of the threads of subtlety which are to be found beneath Mark’s text. The so-called apocalyptic discourses of Jesus are nothing less than a brilliant exercise in subverting from within the apocalyptic imagination. It has as its end to teach the disciples how to live in the times that are to come, the time which I called ‘of Abel.’ Above all it seeks to train the disciples with respect to what must be their deepest eschatological attitude: the absolutely flexible state of staying alert so as to perceive the coming of the Son of man, the one who is seated at the right hand of God, in the most hidden and subtle forms in which, in fact, he comes. That is, we are dealing with instructions as to how to live with the mind fixed on the things that are above, where Christ is seated with God: not glued to some fantasy, but learning to perceive the comings of the Son of Man in the acts of betrayal, of rejection, of handing-over and of lynching.
We can compare this with the experience of Elijah on Mount Horeb, who had to learn that God was not in the apocalyptic chaos of life like in the tempest, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but in the still, small voice which passes by unperceived (1 Kings 19:11-13).
And I think it's worth noting, we are experiencing similar chaos in our national politics: - and Jesus was explaining to the disciples of his day, that the state of alert in the face of his coming is an exercise in perception, not of that which is bruited violently among us, nor of what glistens appealingly about us, but of the way that all the power and glory, majesty and splendor of God is to be found in the almost imperceptible victim, on the way out of even being.
ref. James Alison’s 'Raising Abel,' pp. 145-149.]
* "gnihton yletulosba" is "absolutely nothing" backwards and means absolutely nothing.
The rest is a Gullah translation of Mark 8:18.