The lectionary cuts up the story in Mark 6:30-34, 53-56, resting on the image of Jesus as a super shepherd. But Jesus isn’t offering comfort only.
Mark’s gospel and its conviction to follow, not worship.
Proper 11B | Mark 6:30-34, 53-56
We gathered in an antiphonal circle in the chapel to read the first part of the York Cycle, “The Creation and the Fall of Lucifer”. It’s a beautiful story of a moment mid-creation—before there is truly night and day, before animals and people roam the earth.
There was God and this budding creation. There were angels. And one among them was chosen to shine the brightest.
It’s a story of arrogance and vanity—and how these betray the spirit of creation. Characteristics embodied in this angel of light who falls and is forever cast out into darkness.
Steve Stofferahn, chair of the history department over at Indiana State, brought a summer class over on Friday. They were learning about medieval drama and he wanted them to sit in that space and take in the vibe as we took different parts. And we read two pieces hundreds of years old.
In the first one, I tried hard not to have to play God. But funny enough; no one actually wanted the part! So I had to make it work.
After dispensing with Lucifer so that God could get a handle on finishing creation, newly inspired by the darkness in the this would-be devil. Dark and light, good and evil, the frailty of ego would be humanity’s curse.
Between this and a piece about Pilate from the Cornish Passion Play, Stofferahn offered us a reminder about the age in which these plays were written.
None of this is in the Bible. And even if it were, the people couldn’t read it.
Stained glass and sermons.
This is how the people learned in worship. And we have so many questions about these people our scripture can’t answer. So some creative artists and monks and mystics (and then later actors and poets and dramatists) simply filled in the blanks.
Where does evil come from? Perhaps a fallen angel. God couldn’t make evil on purpose, but God must hold responsibility. A divine conundrum.
But it’s funny how this art, often by the illiterate would become the story. The tradition adapts to it. And we still have these windows and sermons—but more—the ability to read and the fierce independence of the enlightenment.
But look at these windows — Transfiguration here, the Resurrection, the Return. And in the back, the shepherd.
Like the gospel of Mark itself, these windows show these big flashy moments in the life of Jesus, but its Mark who tries to remind us that the flash isn’t the real thing. It isn’t what Jesus is really trying to do.
Remember that when we think about the shepherd.
Compassion
One of the most important words in Mark is this funny word: immediately. Mark is always racing and demanding the reader catch up. Jesus is moving. He’s saying Jesus was here. Awesome. Now, here’s what’s next!
And when you read Mark, you don’t just get this sense of immediacy, you get this sense of connection. It keeps building. It’s like Mark is that teacher in the room getting the class to make the first connection and then the second and then the third. Do you see it?
And the most telling line in this morning’s reading is verse 34 which ends
“he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.”
See that window, with Jesus gently holding the sheep? That’s not what Mark is saying here. How does Jesus, the Good Shepherd tend to his sheep? He teaches them.
Back in Mark 1:27, what astounds the people and first draws them to Jesus isn’t the healings. It’s the teaching.
All the miracles distract from the teaching. These big, powerful moments with the demoniac and stilling of the storm aren’t the point. It’s about who Jesus is calling them to be. When facing a legion and the fear overcoming their senses! It’s about the very path of discipleship.
Jesus has compassion because they need someone to guide them, not carry them. So they don’t need him to take care of the storm for them.
The Ghosts of Fear
What the lectionary cuts out are two of those miracles Jesus tells them to look past and tell nobody about. The first is really familiar—the feeding of the five thousand. Since Deby’ll cover that next week, I won’t get into it. But the other involves another trip across the water.
Jesus sent the disciples on ahead so that he can go up the mountain alone to pray. And then he comes to them, walking over the water. They think he’s a ghost. Just like King Herod in this very same chapter. The story Mark has buttressed with the sending of the disciples. The one in which Herod mistakes Jesus for a ghost of John the Baptizer.
Another ghost, another apparition; it’s a visual manifestation of how the people misunderstand who Jesus is! Verses 51 and 52:
“Then he got into the boat with them and the wind ceased. And they were utterly astounded, for they did not understand about the loaves, but their hearts were hardened.”
Even after teaching them everything, showing them what God is doing in the world. Even after the demoniac and their terror at the storm and their own healing of strangers in the name of Jesus, they still can’t hear his call to not be afraid?!
The kin-dom is offering something different to us.
In light of all the teaching, the disciples respond like Herod.
This is how chapter 6 can end with this vision of great power and prestige. That people continue to flock to Jesus and all they have to do is touch his cloak and get healed. We’re here not merely because God is revealing the God-Man as Jesus. But because they’re failing to listen to the teaching.
He keeps telling them to stop being surprised and afraid and they just keep showing their astonishment.
And soon they’ll all abandon him. Everyone. Because they aren’t listening now. They’re coming for the majesty and the spectacle; they’re coming for the show. But when Jesus tells them they will have to sacrifice, well…would you like to hear that message?
Hard-Hearted
This is the danger of our blue-eyed Jesus and our focusing on the miracles. It’s the danger Mark is warning us about. That God’s revelation in Jesus isn’t the point. It’s what is supposed to help reveal the point.
God is here! Here to change things up! Why can’t we hear that?
That we are called to this heavy work; every one of us. Work of reconciling the world. Not to protect all that tradition of filling in the gaps or putting calming pictures on our walls, pretending like Jesus only ever makes us feel good. Like his very teachings aren’t meant to change us every time we encounter them.
Jesus wants us questioning all these things we take for granted about the world. About power. Safety. Security. Knowing what’s going to happen.
The heavy weight of discipleship isn’t the insecurity that comes with it but the beautiful affirmation that yes, this is how it goes. Yes, this is how it all works. We will sacrifice. And it’s going to hurt, certainly. But this isn’t how the story ends.
We aren’t stuck with racism and bigotry, poverty and inequality. This isn’t the world as God created it. God didn’t ordain this. We did this. We put people in shackles and we put people in cages. And we refuse to deal with that truth. It’s always somebody else. Never us.
A Never Ending Story
I don’t think we need a story about a fallen angel to fill in the gaps. Paul didn’t. The Psalmist didn’t. The writer of Samuel didn’t. We need a lot less arrogant explanation about God, about miracles, about Trinitarian theology. And we need a lot more listening to our teacher.
The one who taught in parables and in acts of mercy. Who revealed the truth of the kin-dom in word and deed. He protected the faith by breaking the calcified parts and by standing up for the heart of the gospel: love. The earthly Jesus continues to teach us this through these stories.
But the Christ, the eternal word reaches right into our hearts and calls us to turn and return. To love and relove. To hope and rehope over and over again.
They keep reminding us of our blessing in birth and baptism; created as love to love the world. A world which isn’t finished, a story still unfolding, a drama staged all over the world and we are merely the players.
And at the heart of it all is our own hearts which don’t have to remain hardened, calcified, full of spite. We aren’t made this way. And we may be stubborn and willful, but we can let go of our vanity and hear. And be changed. Love can change any of us. All of us. Love is changing us. Now and forever.