Two years ago, when Russia first invaded Ukraine, and Putin was throwing ominous threats to anybody who dared stop him, somebody posted a message on Twitter for younger folks who were listening to him and scared. The message said, “Go find your nearest GenXer and hold on for dear life.”
March 10, 2024 (4th Sunday in Lent) “The Greatest Commandment” Mark 12:28-44
“What do you want me to do for you?”
The question, with a very slight variation in wording, appears twice in our reading today. Once it’s addressed to James and John, who ask for something that demonstrates how very blind they are to who Jesus is and what he came to do. He has just finished saying, for the third time, that when they get to Jerusalem, things are going to get really scary and really bad, and Jesus would be arrested and crucified—but then on the third day he would rise again. And their immediate response was to ask to sit on his right hand and his left, when he is in his glory and sitting on his eternal throne.
As they walked home to Capernaum, Jesus and his disciples had some time alone. Jesus had made sure of it, because there were some things he wanted to talk to them about.
For the second time, he tried to explain to them what would be coming up for him—telling them about his betrayal, crucifixion, and resurrection. But as before, it didn’t compute.
This is the last Sunday of the season of Epiphany. Epiphany is the word for when we suddenly and dramatically become aware of some new reality, aware that all is not as it seems. The season begins with the story of Magi traveling across the desert to see the new King of the Jews—a story that is found only in Matthew’s Gospel. It’s a high point in the story of Jesus, and it’s followed immediately by a terrible and tragic low point, when Jesus and his parents are forced to flee for their lives because King Herod (not the same Herod that was in our reading last week, but his father, or maybe grandfather) cannot abide the thought of a new king coming to take his place.
Quite some time ago, I was driving somewhere and had the car radio tuned to NPR. It was a Saturday morning, so I was listening to “Car Talk.” I didn’t really care one way or another about that program, but it was on, so I listened to it.
One of Leonard Cohen’s early songs includes this line: “Jesus was a sailor.” But after hearing this text from Mark, I have to wonder.
My friend Levi invited me to his house for supper not too long ago. “Hey, I’m going to have a barbecue Sunday. We’ll eat around 6:30, but there will be drinks and snacks before that. It won’t be fancy; we’ll have hamburgers and kosher sausages, and somebody’s going to make that salad I know you like, and there’ll be plenty of desserts. There’s somebody coming that I want you to meet.”
Have you made any New Year’s resolutions? What have you resolved to stop doing, or start doing, tomorrow?
A lot of people choose to have a “dry January,” giving up alcohol, if they generally indulge, for the month; and others will make a plan to diet or exercise more. I suspect that many resolutions like that are motivated by guilt, or just not feeling too great, after the overindulgences of the holiday season. And I daresay that if that’s the motivation for a resolution, it won’t last. Guilt just isn’t a good motivator for real, lasting change.
I’m not sure if it was Fred Craddock or Tony Campolo who told the story of a woman of questionable morals who showed up at church.
The woman was a fixture at local bars, hard-drinking and -smoking, heavily made up, going home with a different man nearly every night. Her several children—all with different fathers and different last names—lived with their grandmother, who did her best to counter the bad influence of their mother.
Notifications