Passion Passion Passion [Proper 24B]
The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
Mark 10:35-45
Passion Passion Passion
Three times. This has happened three times. In the verses immediately preceding today's
Gospel reading, Jesus predicts his passion and death for the third time. And for the third time, his disciples just
don't get it.
After the first passion prediction
in Mark's Gospel, Peter took Jesus aside and rebuked him – which Jesus did not
love. You might remember Jesus gave
Peter the less-than-desirable nickname “Satan” after that little
encounter. Peter expected big things
from Jesus; that is why he was following Jesus.
He was sure Jesus was selling himself short. Surely he could do better than death on a
cross. That was a pretty low bar.
The first try didn't take, so Jesus
tries again. Still not successful. After the second passion prediction in Mark's
Gospel, the disciples argue about which of them is the greatest; they spent the
road trip jockeying for position in Jesus' crew. Again the disciples just don't understand
that being number one is Jesus' crew does not look great on the resume. History will show that all one earns for
being Jesus' number two is a death like his.
The disciples once again fail to understand what Jesus is all about.
And so we get this third and final
passion prediction – because, you know, the third time's the charm. Jesus says to his disciples, “See, we are
going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief
priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will
hand him over to the Gentiles; they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog
him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again.” That sounds pretty clear – and pretty
painful. This time there were no parables.
There were no stories. Instead
just a plain and simple description of the suffering and death that Jesus would
find in Jerusalem.
Though almost impossible to accept
perhaps, it should have been very easy to understand. At this point Jesus has three times shared
with his disciples the same dour, heartbreaking vision. And despite the repetition, despite the
clarity, Jesus' followers once again fail to understand or properly acknowledge
the gravity of Jesus' message. Whether
they are not hearing, not listening, or simply in denial, somehow the twelve
still seem oblivious to the reality before them. Jesus is saying 'cross'; they are hearing
'throne'.
This time, this third and final
time, it is James and John – two members of Jesus' inner circle inner
circle. Unlike Peter, they do not rebuke
Jesus for his words. This time they are
not caught up in a superficial debate with the rest of the group. They have something else in mind. They want something. And so they go to Jesus with a rather
juvenile request: We want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.
It is hard to imagine they even
listened to a word Jesus said, because after this final passion prediction,
with Jesus' death practically hanging over them, they make their big power
play. They want to be great. It seems like bad timing. Jesus is going to die in Jerusalem, not reign
in Jerusalem. That seemed really clear. If they tuned out the words, they should have
at least been able to read the tone. And
yet, in a moment that should have been dominated by intense sadness, they are
thinking about power and glory. They are
looking to take the thrones – not the golden throne but the silver and the
bronze – the thrones on the right and the left of their soon-to-be-crucified
King.
Power is a great temptation and
Jesus' disciples are not immune to this temptation. They are human; they want to be strong; they
want to be great. They are banking on
Jesus to be their ticket. James and John
are, perhaps, just the most honest of the crew.
The others are angry that they didn't ask first.
This is three for three. Three
times Jesus tells them that he is marching to his death – a brutal,
premeditated murder at the hands of powerful people. Three times his disciples
tune him out, ignore his warnings, and make fools of themselves.
You might wonder how that is even
possible; not once, not twice, but three times.
It seems they would have learned by now; they didn't.
So once again Jesus calls them
together – this fractured, flawed, floundering group of humans. He sits them down and, rather than belittle
or rebuke them, he offers them a different way, a better way, a very subversive
picture of greatness. It is an extremely
generous offer to a rather dense audience.
Jesus probably should have been annoyed; he probably should have just
walked away – maybe found some disciples who were better listeners.
But of course that is not how this
story goes. Jesus lives his life to give
his life – even for those of us who never quite seem to get it. Jesus gave his life long before the
cross. And long after it. Jesus is always giving life.
During his life and ministry with
them, the disciples never really understood Jesus, never understood his
way. Mark's Gospel makes this very
clear; the disciples often look bad – like they do in today's Gospel. Jesus did it all wrong; he never looked the
part. They had ideas of what a great
Messiah should be from their Jewish background – strong and powerful, a
political liberator. They had ideas of
what a great king should be from their Roman context – strong and powerful, a
person of dominance.
And Jesus understood that; he lived
in the same place, the same context. And
so he said them, “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as
their rulers lord is over them, and their great ones are tyrants over
them.” That was not necessarily a
critique; it was an observation; it was just taken for granted. One scholar notes: “Gentile (that is, Roman)
power was exercised primarily through force, intimidation, and a network of
patronage that tried to insure absolute loyalty to the emperor.”[1]
It was just how things were. Jesus
promised a kingdom. And kings ruled by power and dominance, by taking life away
from others. Jesus' passion predictions did not make sense to the disciples
because power doesn't die on a cross.
But Jesus did. He was walking to Jerusalem, not to take
power but to give his life. Those on his
right and left would not be princes on their thrones, but bandits on the other two
crosses.
That trip to Jerusalem looked like
a failure. The disciples scattered. The passersby mocked. The powerful gloated. And Jesus died.
The Christ came and he lived like a
slave – until he died like a criminal.
It didn't make sense. The world
was looking for a powerful God, a strong conqueror on a golden throne, a
dominant Messiah. That was the
expectation. That made sense.
But that would never do. Bennett
Sims writes in his book Servanthood: “If
God were not vulnerable, if God could be protected from suffering and enthroned
in [impenetrable] majesty, such a god would be inferior…. Humanity has the
right to be skeptical of any god incapable of pain. Such a god is less powerful
and less noble than humanity, because humanity takes on suffering and endures
greatly for the very sake of loves that are imperfect. What this comes down to
is that Jesus, in servant vulnerability to the pain of loving, is a God who can
weep with us and for us. Human intuition knows that this is not weakness,
but...strength.”[2]
But we had to see it, to know
it. Three times Jesus tried to tell his
followers the way; they didn't get it.
And so he showed us. He showed us
how to be strong. And, to some, it
looked like weakness. But we know it
wasn't.
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