- Michael Minch
- Feb 24, 2024
Updated: Feb 25, 2024
Good News from Mark
This week we discussed the first half of chapter eight (8.1-21) which tells of the feeding of the four thousand and Jesus’ engagement with Pharisees sent from Jerusalem to report on him and his movement.
1-10: Feeding of the Four Thousand
This story is closely connected, of course, with the feeding of the five thousand in 6.32-44. Some scholars have thought they are two narratives about the same event. But that view is in the minority. Mark’s story of the second feeding references the first. There are differences that matter. The first feeding was “for” the Jews and Jesus presents himself as the new Moses. There, Jesus announces a blessing upon the food, in good Jewish fashion. In the first feeding, twelve baskets are left over (12 tribes of Israel) and five loaves (5 books of the Torah). And the baskets themselves, in the first feeding, are of a type associated with the Jews. The second feeding was “for” the Gentiles. This much is clear from the locations of the events, the first in Jewish Galilee, the second in Gentile Decapolis. Here, Jesus thanks God for the food, in good Gentile fashion. Seven loaves are left over (God gives Noah 7 laws). Here, the term for “baskets” is generic, different that that used in the first story.
Close verbal parallels with Mark’s story of the Lord’s Supper suggest that both stories are to be understood in connection with the Communion Table / Eucharist—implicitly, that the “loaf” (artos) that is broken for the multitudes is Jesus himself (cf. John’s Jesus: “I am the bread of life” and you must “eat of me”… ). Verse 8.4 “where we can we find enough bread for these people in this desolate place?” seems to indicate disciples with shallow faith, even a kind of pig-headedness, perhaps. They should have known from the first feeding that Jesus could take care of this…. The implicit but powerfully important question here is, Is there enough of that artos to feed the Gentiles too?
11-13: The Pharisees Seek a Sign
This exchange is tragic and there may be some comedy here too. In response to the Pharisees (v. 10), Jesus asks, “Why does this generation ask for a sign?” Jesus could be thinking: “I will not perform miracles in order to show my identity,” or “I have given them plenty of signs already. I am not going to jump through their hoops, act on their demand, like a puppet on their strings.” He might have thought “The sign from heaven you seek is right here talking with you.” The sense in which “no sign will be given” or “believe me, you will not see one” (v. 12) is that they are spiritually and morally blind to the sign(s) that has (have) already been given. Jesus, who has performed miracles, is the sign they keep missing. V. 12 holds the sensibility of a curse: “if x, then y”: if you refuse to see who I am and what I’m doing, then you will remain in the dark, in the captivity, in the emptiness of life disconnected from the transcendent, from God. It appears that Jesus reacts quite emotionally and strongly to the lack of faith of those around him, whether they be adversaries, crowds, disciples, friends, or family. The demand for a sign is, a confrontation, a disagreement, a refusal to see what Jesus expects people to see. It is a refusal of Jesus himself. Jesus is the Bread that sustains us. He is enough for all of us. John’s Gospel is explicit: Jesus is “the Bread of Life” and if we “eat of him” we will live forever (6.51). The Pharisees have come from Jerusalem to “test” Jesus, to confront him, not to have an honest inquiry or discovery, nor conversation. They came bent on unbelief, or having their already-held beliefs, unchanged. But it seems that this hardness of heart was not unique to the Pharisaic elite. It is important to note here that the fact that Jesus continually tells the crowds not to tell others about his miracles indicates that Jesus is not interested in people recognizing his power and divinity merely for egoistic or triumphal reasons. That would make Jesus petty and narcissistic. But Jesus is not only grieved, but also angry, when the healing and liberating power of his ministry is denied to some because it is denied by others. He is, after all, inaugurating God’s reign and all the radical goodness of a new community and a new politics. It is understandable, to say the least, that he would be emotional when his mission is not grasped, even more, when it is rejected out-of-hand.
14-21: The Leaven of the Pharisees
Leaven, to begin, is a metaphor for or synonym for corruption (cf. I Cor. 5.6-8, Gal. 5.9). In Matthew, it is equated with false teaching. In Luke, it is equated with hypocrisy. In Mark, it is equated with obtuseness.
This story continues the larger complex of stories that deal with the symbolic significance of the term artos (bread). Throughout this section, Mark has intertwined four themes. First, he develops the theme of the gospel to the Gentiles by drawing careful distinctions between the
Terms for baskets used in the two feeding stories, and by tracing Jesus’ deliberate movement out of Galilee and into Gentile territory, first to Tyre and Sidon (7.24-30), then by roundabout route to the Decapolis (7.31). Insofar as the theme of Jesus’ movement including the Gentiles is here, note his words in 6.4: “A prophet is not without honor, except in his own country, and among his own kin, and in his own house.”
A second theme is intertwined with the first— the question of Jesus’ identity. This question is first posed in the synagogue at Nazareth (6.2f) but posed again (.14-16) related to the death of John the Baptist (.17-29). Speculations about Jesus as John the Baptist raised from the dead (.14), or Elijah (.15a), or another of the prophets (.15b)—will be repeated at the end of this section (8.27-30). The Pharisees demand a “sign from heaven” not knowing the irony of their demand—an admission that they do not recognize the “sign” who stands before them. (See above).
The third theme is the series of coded allusions to the Last Supper.
The fourth theme is that to all of this, the disciples are quite blind. Like the Pharisees, the disciples in one way or another expressed the worry and incomprehension: “we have no bread”(e.g., 7.18f, 8.4).
These are four complex and intertwined themes. The readers and listeners of Mark’s Gospel are meant to see what the Jewish leaders and the disciples do not see. The narrative is written to put the audience of the Gospel in the know. Mark invites his readers into the narrative, where they can, in effect, answer the questions and set the doubt, disbelief, and obtuseness straight. But for Mark’s audience to fit into this narrative schematic and make this contribution, so to speak, they must share Mark’s point of view.
That one loaf of bread in the boat? The one the disciples think is not enough? That’s Jesus, and he is more than enough. But no one sees it (except, hopefully, Mark’s audience). The “leaven” Jesus has warned them against is, whatever else it might be, the blindness shared by so many. The disciples’ lack of understanding in v. 15 sets up Jesus’ response in vv. 17-19: “What are you talking about having no bread?! Do you still not understand… ?” This is, it turns out, an extension of Jesus’ refusal to provide a sign for the Pharisees. Jesus uses Isaiah 6.9: “Don’t you yet understand? “Do you have your heart hardened? Having eyes, don’t you see? Having ears, don’t you hear?”
It’s not mere misunderstanding, lack of cognitive power. Jesus adds, “are you so hard-hearted”? (.17). Oftentimes in life, our inability to understand and our will to not understand are connected. Sometimes we choose ignorance, our will, our desire is not really given over to moral understanding, because we suspect, predict, and fear the consequence of true understanding—if we understand deeply, something, perhaps much, will be asked of us, called for, demanded. So, to avoid the demands of morality (and often, theology and spirituality) we make sure we do not understand. Upton Sinclair observed specifically that it is difficult to get a man to understand something when his wealth depends on his not understanding it. Relatedly, Aristotle discussed the vice of akrasia—weakness of the will.
This phenomenon has been seen, historically, as a key ingredient of the reactionary and authoritarian-embracing politics characteristic of the right. Although, of course, as human beings, we are all prone to this form of sin. Our moral wills are often weak in conjunction with a weakness of curiosity and intellectual verve and veracity. The New Testament’s call for us to live with and in “the mind of Christ” is intrinsically connected with the call to live with a new heart. We are invited to “eat,” “consume,” “partake” of Jesus our artos, the very Bread of Life.
Thanks for reading,
Michael
- Michael Minch
- Jan 12, 2024
In the proceeding passage (Mark 7.1-23) Jesus “declared all foods clean” (7.19). In these two stories he declares all persons clean. The stories advance Jesus’ repudiation of traditional codes and their taboos and advance the building of an inclusive community of faith.
The first story (7.24-30) is set in Tyre, a large Phoenician port city of Syria. The focus of the story is not simply on the healing, but on the Gentile question: Does God’s care and healing mission extend to all people? Everyone? In a world of tribal, nationalistic, culture-bound gods, this is a crucial, even an arresting and radical question. Jesus’ rebuff of this woman seems to make use of an aphorism. Inside of Judaism, Gentiles were labeled “dogs.” Dogs were not cute, they were not pets, they were not domesticated, they were not fed. They were dismissed, disgusting scavengers. This is obviously a racist insult, a slur. The point in this passage is clear: “Jews first.” Historically, God’s incursion into human history did work through the Jews first. Cf. Paul’s explication of this in Romans.
This is one of the “hard sayings” of Jesus. So sharp and troublesome that is nearly impossible to imagine a largely Gentile church wound invent it. A question is obvious: Was Jesus engaged in racism and bigotry in his use of this insult, or does he use it for ironic purposes? Scholars are divided on this question. The majority, it seems (and most are Christians, after all) seem to think that given all of Jesus’ sayings and all of his ministry, and his inclusion of Gentiles in God’s care and work and community—make the idea of a racist, bigoted Jesus completely incongruous with everything we know about him on the whole. Many scholars think this is an example of “peirastic irony” (from peiradzein—“to put to the test”). Along these lines, since Jesus is here demonstrating his commitment to Gentiles, Mark would have left out this insult altogether if he thought the irony would have been missed. A second reason to see this as an ironical statement meant to provoke a reaction is the wit evident in the construction of the episode itself. In this exchange, the woman gets the better of Jesus. So, did Jesus fall into this short end of the dialogue because he’s stupid or morally obtuse or spiritually stunted? Or did Jesus set it up this way? One view is that Jesus “was caught with his compassion down” (Sharon Ringe, “A Gentile Woman’s Story,” in Feminist Interpretation of the Bible, Letty Russell, ed. (1984), 69. The other view, is that Jesus set it up, he knew what he was doing.
In this story Jesus is crossing a variety of boundaries—geographical, ethnic, gender, theological, and cultural. This is the only passage I Mark where the healed person is definitely a Gentile (pagan). Matthew calls this woman a Canaanite, which seems to be a focus on her religious affiliation (Mt. 15.21-28). Mark’s emphasis seems to be that she is not a Jew and is someone situated on the western edge of the Roman empire. This woman addresses Jesus as “Lord”—
the first and only person to address Jesus with this word.
This unit (7.31-37) is the last of a sequence of miracle stories concerned with the question of Jesus’ identity. It leads up to the christological affirmation of Peter in 8.29. The man has a speech impediment, he’s not entirely mute (mogilalon, .32). In order to get to this location—“the region of the Decapolis”—Jesus took a very indirect route (.31)! Jesus returns to his home province by such an extensive detour that the only objective can be deeper penetration into Gentile territory. “Jews first”—but not at the expense or negligence of the Gentiles.
Spit was thought in both the Jewish and Greco-Roman world to have healing properties. And when Jesus applies saliva to the tongue and puts his fingers in the ears of this man, he may have been acting like a physician utilizing the technique of healing that was common at the time among the “lower classes.” He sighs or groans (the Greek can mean either) as he “looks up to heaven” and proclaims, “Be opened!” and this can be a signification of anguish or concentration or passion of a positive kind—or some mix of all these emotions. We see here a Jesus who is deeply, totally engaged in the act of healing.
After the healing the narrator employs an adverb of a superlative degree, “He has done all things well… .” The word, hyperperissos, means “beyond all measure” or “superabundantly.” This is the Gentile response to Jesus’ work: “they were astounded beyond measure” (.37). His healing work among the Gentiles is a reminder and extension of the work of Elijah and Elisha who extended the benefits of salvation, liberation, of God’s healing love— to outsiders.
Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped;
then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.
(Isaiah 35.5-6)
The clean/unclean theme begun earlier, is continued in this passage. It is hard to overstate how important this conception and question is. Think of connotations (worthy/unworthy, set apart/not set apart, ordained/subordinate, etc.) very much at work in Israel, Gaza and West Bank, in the US, and elsewhere at this very moment.
Mark wants to insist on two things: Jesus does not want to be known in respect to his true identity until and unless it is clear that suffering rather than sheer power lies at the core of that identity. Yet, Jesus’ charismatic accomplishments are so great that they cannot be hidden. There is an inevitable tension between these. Mark is not unaware of the tension, rather he lays it out and thinks that there is something valuable in it (rather than trying to hide or resolve it). This tension is good spirituality as well. As we think of the “clean”/”unclean” distinction—in all its connotations—and all the ways it lies hidden (when not explicit) in our narratives, identities, politics, and religions—let us keep the value of the tension found in Jesus close to our hearts. How can I be a vessel of God’s accomplishments? For what am I willing to suffer?
These questions are not unrelated.
Thanks for reading,
Michael
- Michael Minch
- Dec 21, 2023
Good News from Mark
Mark 7.1-23 engages us in a consideration of contending holiness movements. The text is about tradition, defilement, and holiness/wholeness. One tradition, that of the Pharisees and the scribes, is filled with purity codes, regulations guiding use of food, and other quantitative measurements, restrictions, and permissions. Mark has already presented Jesus as rejecting traditional purity codes/laws, but until now, however, he has not moved from particular actions to a general principle or truth. In this episode he reformulates the very idea of holiness, defilement, and purity. The conversation begins with what might be seen as a trivial point—the washing of one’s hands. But hand washing and dietary laws are about more than they seem. They are about the maintenance of strict boundaries between people. The Pharisees defended their purity codes as fundamental to ethnic and national identity. Jesus, on the other hand, repudiates these exclusivist definitions by attacking their ideological foundations.
This passage is about Jesus’ final encounter with his Jewish adversaries in Galilee. A “fact-finding commission” seems to have been sent from Jerusalem to observe and report on Jesus and his movement. What does defilement and purity mean? What is the place and value of tradition? These questions are at the heart of the inquiry. To take the law (Torah) seriously, a faith community will build a system (or at least a structure) of regulations to guide members of the community. In Judaism, this “fence around the law” was Halakah—a body of case law built to allow the Torah to be protected and put into practice. But from Jesus’ standpoint, Halakah had become a burden and a problem. Jesus clearly and sharply opposes this “tradition of the elders.”
Yet, on the other hand, Jesus makes positive use of the terms “commandment of God” and “word of God,” referring to law (Torah) in the Hebrew Bible. Rather than attacking the Torah, he affirms it. Jesus does not abolish the concept of defilement or purity, the clean/unclean distinction. Rather, he interprets it differently than do the authorities from Jerusalem and their local representatives. Jesus sweeps away dietary laws and affirms ethical values (.21-22). Jesus levels two charges against his opponents. One, that they major in the minors (.6-8); and two, that their use of tradition masks their avoidance of the actual word of God (.9-13). He uses Isaiah 29.13 to argue that the word of God specifically repudiates “human precepts” and he uses the practice of korban (“dedicated”/“dedication”) to illustrate his point.
Korban named the practice Jews could use to give their wealth to the Jerusalem Temple and to Jewish authorities in general. We are familiar with this device insofar as we often pledge our wealth to an organization, specifying the ends of our lives as the point of this wealth transfer. Jesus noted that some used korban as a way of not taking care of their elderly parents. Korban was used to fund religious Judaism. In Jesus’ confrontation of the Temple treasury operation in 12.37-44, he accuses the scribal class of hiding economic exploitation behind public piety—again with the elderly as victims. For Jesus, Judaism had become built upon a political economy of exploitation and oppression of the poor. By conflating issues of table fellowship with the political economy of the Temple, Mark demonstrates his consciousness of the central
underpinning of oppression in the symbolic system of legalistic religion. This story, then, not only serves to legitimize Jesus’ community practice of integration with Gentiles, it also serves to persuade poorer Jews that the system that purports to protect their ethnic and national identity exploits them. Against the dominant group boundaries, Jesus offers a vision and a horizon of a new, radical, inclusive, morally powerful community and politics—one that upholds the radical moral demands of the scriptural tradition.
Jesus is laying out his contrast with those who give lip service to God and faithfulness, but whose hearts are, in fact, far removed from God. The tradition he rejects is one in which rituals and external observances have replaced true love for God registered in one’s “heart.” Thus, Jesus accuses the Pharisee leadership of “annulling” the commandments of God. Religion and religiousness have become an obstacle to God. The Levitical law code is now deprived of its authority because only that which “comes from the heart” can truly defile. (So Mark inserts the editorial comment, “thus, he [Jesus] declared all foods clean.”)
The legalism attacked by Jesus was not unique to Judaism, to be sure. Legalism has been part of the Christian story from the very beginning (note, for example, Paul’s anger with the Galatians for this very thing). I can count dozens if not hundreds of battles with legalism I have experienced in my own Christian journey (and I bet you can too). The issues under interrogation in this passage remain alive and vexing for us. Is everything about tradition “bad”? Of course not. Are all forms of innovation and newness “good”? Of course not. One way of putting the challenge is that when tradition is alienated or separated from the word of God— there’s the problem. But, of course, we argue about when this is and is not the case. One might say that traditions should have a secondary, ancillary, and buttressing relationship to the word of God—but again, this doesn’t make the matter simple. We might also say that whereas religion changes people “from the outside,” God changes people “from the inside.” But then, this does not simplify the matter either. We certainly need to humbly remember that “Jerusalem” tendencies lurk within each of us.
In verse 9, Jesus says, “You have a fine (kalos) way of setting aside the commandments of God in order to observe your own traditions.” Given the meaning of this Greek word, kalos, we might interpret this sentence: “How beautifully you do an ugly thing!” Religion and religiousness can be beautiful and ugly at the same time. The New Testament does not call us to be merely religious, and God did not enter human history in Jesus to bring us a new religion. Bonhoeffer wrote about “religionless Christianity” and he had it right (as does Kierkegaard, Karl Barth, Fleming Rutledge, and others). God forbid we would be reduced to religion! May this Advent and Christmas be for us, a liberation from religion as a concomitant embrace of God’s “tearing open the heavens and coming down” to us (Isaiah 64.1).
Thank you for reading,
Michael