What Jesus Heard

Mark 1:21-28

Try to imagine being on the inside of the man in this story. You're in synagogue on Sabbath, so presumably you don't look that different from anyone else. Maybe you look like a perfectly good, godly Jew. Maybe you're wearing your tallit and yarmulke and phylacteries, same as the other men.

Or maybe everyone knows you're a little "different." If so, they probably consider you particularly sinful and stricken by God.

Anyway, this particular Sabbath in Capernaum, you have a guest speaker, Yeshua of Nazareth. Everybody is really impressed with him. The rabbinical tradition is to say, "This sage says. . ." or "According to Rabbi xyz. . ." This Yeshua just gets up and says things, as if he knows what he's talking about. He talks about spiritual things in terms of flowers, and birds, and crops, things everyone, even the women and children back behind the screen, understands.

Even you.

He calls God "Daddy." That's really weird. And it makes you feel weird. Upset. Afraid. Angry. But you don't know why. What you know is, you want to be closer to this man. You want to spend time with him. There's just something about him. . .

You open your mouth to ask him a question, an acceptable and expected practice in synagogue (since you're male, that is.) But what comes out of your mouth horrifies you.

"What have you to do with us, Yeshua of Nazareth?" It's that horrible screech again. The one you can't control. Your heart starts pounding, your hands are slick with sweat. "Have you come to destroy us?" you demand. Your stomach roils. No. No! This isn't what you want to say! He'll leave! He'll hate you, like the others do! Then comes the worst thing of all. "I know who you are, the Holy One of God!"

What??

You shut your eyes in sick dread.

"Be silent and come out of him!" It's a voice no one would dare disobey.

Something takes over your body. You fall to the floor, twisting and writhing. A howl of pain comes out of your mouth. Then, stillness.

You open your eyes.

He's still there. He's looking at you with that look, the one you imagine his "Daddy" God has. He holds out his hand to help you up, and smiles at you. You barely hear the buzz of astonishment in the room.

How do I know all this? you may ask. How do I know what's inside the mind of the man with the unclean spirit? Easy. It's because of Jesus' response. I don't believe he acts forcibly, against a person's will. I believe he heard what the man really was saying.

I believe he always does.

The Really Weird Story of Jonah

So, God says, "Hey, Jonah, go to Nineveh!"

Jonah says, "Uh-uh."

Big storm, scared sailors, "throw me in," fish-as-prayer-closet, Jonah lands (slightly the worse for wear) on the beach.

God says, "Hey, Jonah, go to Nineveh!"

Jonah rolls his eyes and says, "OK, fine. But I know what You're gonna do!"

Jonah goes to Nineveh. [Seven HUNDRED miles from Joppa as the crow flies, never mind how far on foot or donkey!!]

"Hey, guys, 40 days and you're toast."

Nineveh listens.

So next, Jonah--WAIT!!

Back up.

What just happened?

Nineveh listened?!

The Big City, the Hong Kong, the Big Apple, the London, the Rio of the ancient world, the Rome before Rome. . . the whole place, from king and nobles to water boy's donkey, put on sack cloth and fast and pray and beg God for mercy?!

That God listens to them is no surprise. Even Jonah knew He would.

That all Nineveh listens to this nobody from a teensy little country the other side of the Saudi peninsula--that's impossible!

Why? Why on earth did they pay the slightest attention to him? Why didn't they kill him in some brutal fashion, as was their Assyrian custom? Or just ignore him?

Everybody always talks about the fish. Is it true, is it myth, is it metaphor or allegory. . . I can't remember anyone ever paying much attention to the much bigger miracle in this story.

Or at least I didn't. What could make 120,000 people "who didn't know their right hand from their left" pay attention to some guy with fishy breath and a doomsday sandwich board?

Or. . . what would make anyone want to listen to me, with all my warts and foibles and irritating tendencies?

Or is the biggest miracle of all that the Creator of the universe deals personally, profoundly, and persistently with -- well. . . with whoever?

All-Seeing Eyes

Here is a thing I know. (There aren't that many, so pay attention, readers! :-)

You, Mighty, All-seeing One, see me. You know me.

You are watching faithfully over my children, and their friends and families and their friends and families. Your watchcare extends to over 7 billion on this planet alone.

Too big for me! Bring my mind back down to what I can. . . well, not comprehend, but accept and live by:

You made me. You love me. You dwell in this weary, battered, worn-out old body as in the most glorious, golden, jewel-encrusted temple!

I don't know why.

I don't know how.

I do know.

Love You back!

New Year, New Baptism

I've always found it strange that in the church liturgical calendar, Baptism of Christ Sunday is right after Christmas and Epiphany. But this year, as I've studied the texts from the Revised Common Lectionary, I've seen an interesting correlation between the texts, Christ's baptism and ours, and the beginning of a new year with all its unexplored possibilities and delights. (And sorrows, yes, I know, but let's not worry about them yet!)

If you could have been present when John baptized Jesus in the Jordan, what would you have experienced? Here are some of my imaginings on the subject.

I am a widow, trudging along with my face averted and my shoulders low. You can't see the burden, but I can feel it. It weighs me down, down. Maybe tomorrow I won't get up. I don't really know why I'm following along in this noisy crowd to "see the prophet!" What could any prophet say that would lift the weight? But it's something to do.

Some boys, big enough to know better, jostle me as they rush past, yelling. I catch my balance and keep trudging. Time was, I'd have yelled right back. Don't really care that much, today.

The mob begins to slow and push together, like sheep all trying to get in the door of the fold at the same time. I can't see a thing. Why did I come?

I hear a voice, and slowly the shouting around me quiets. Someone is calling, "Another one will come after me. I'm not even worthy to tie his shoes!"

The messiah, I suppose he means. They've been saying that since Moses' time. I remember when I used to pray, as a young girl, that I'd be the one who bore God's chosen one. Sure glad that prayer wasn't answered!

"I baptize you with water," the voice says, "but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit."

He has a really good speaking voice. I can hear him clearly. Don't know what he's talking about, but I can hear him, anyway.

Suddenly, inexplicably, the crowd parts and I have a clear view of the muddy Jordan. Everyone nearby turns and looks at me. At me? I look around and discover a young man passing me. He pauses as he passes, and looks right at me. I look back, and can feel my jaw dropping. I don't know why. Something is. . . something. . .

I back away and he walks on, going into the water where John is. They seem to be saying something, but I don't hear. I can still see those eyes. Feel those eyes. Feel them in my soul. I think my mouth is still open as I watch John put the young man under the water and help him back up.

He rises out of the river, hair plastered to his head, eyes blinking water, looking upward. The most brilliant--glorious--I can't find words. His eyes shine. His head shines. The sun is suddenly in my eyes, and they're wet, my eyes, I mean. There's a bird, I think. Or a flame. A voice! It vibrates my bones.

Sometime, a minute or a century later, I walk home. I walk tall. I've forgotten the burden.

But I remember the eyes.