Peculiar Preacher

             When I was growing up, I had no desire to go to the Holy Land—which is what we always called it at our church, never “Israel,” always “The Holy Land,” as if there were no flies there.  People came back with what might be considered tacky souvenirs—holy water drawn by the woman at the well, tiny crowns of thorns and Lily of the Valley perfume.  The excited travelers made us watch slides of them making funny faces while eating strange food, riding on a donkey that is “the direct descendant of the one Jesus rode into Jerusalem,” and pointing at the empty tomb as though they are angels in the Easter pageant.  They usually had no pictures of Jewish people or poor people, but they had multiple shots of Floridians baptizing one another.  When my fourth grade Sunday school teacher went she brought back yarmulkes for everyone.  (The previous summer we got mouse ears from Disneyworld.)

            Veterans of the Holy Land decorated their living rooms with commemorative mustard seeds, widow’s mites, and wooden donkeys.  They made Israel seem like a theme park—“Jesusland.”  I pictured the Holy Land like “Six Flags Over Palestine” with rides where you climb “Zacchaeus’ Tree,” ride out a “Storm on the Sea of Galilee” or herd demon-possessed pigs.  I assumed there were “Loaves and Fishes” restaurants and police officers dressed like Roman soldiers—sort of a biblical Branson.  Mark Twain said that the second coming was never going to happen because Jesus would not want to go back to Israel.  The neighbors must have invited the Twains over to see their slides.

            It is, nonetheless, time for me to go to Israel, because I have started to feel like the French teacher who has never been to Paris (and I have not marked anything off my bucket list since I went to a Jimmy Buffett concert).  I think I can be trusted not to give little shakers of Dead Sea salt as Christmas presents.  If I ride a camel I will not force someone to take a picture.  I realize I will have to be strong.  Clever salespeople with miniature wood nativity sets, praying hands and key chains made from the Cedars of Lebanon are waiting for people like me. 

Will I be able to resist Nazareth candles, Bethlehem incense, and Jerusalem honey?  What if I am offered what looks like a good deal—I am not good at math so I will not be completely sure—on Christmas tree ornaments, parchment scrolls or Song of Solomon Anointing Oil?  What if I see some fine-looking myrrh and know a friend back home needs some?  What if I come across Holy land soil inserts so that I can “walk on Holy Ground”? 

My trip with the inimitable church historian Loyd Allen and eighteen pastors is more of a pilgrimage than a tour.  We will spend a week in a monastery in Galilee and a week in Jerusalem.  Each day we will share morning prayers and then travel to a holy site.  Each afternoon we will study a biblical story that took place at the spot we have just visited.  The stereotypical trip to Israel is to hurriedly “run where Jesus walked.”  Our hope is to reverently “sit where Jesus walked.”

            I trust that the picture of Jesus in my head will soon look more like a Middle Eastern Jew and less like the pictures in children’s books.  When I sing “born is the King of Israel” it may seem different.        

            I want to see the Garden of Gethsemane, the Jordan River and the Mount of Olives, but I may appreciate the common sights more than the crowded sites.  I look forward to praying where Jesus prayed, worshipping where Jesus worshipped, and listening where Jesus listened. 

            I am not planning to come home and kill conversations by starting every sentence with “When I was in the Holy Land . . . , ” but the more I think about it, I cannot make any promises.

To Sit Where Jesus Walked

by Brett Younger

When our friends at Smyth & Helwys asked us to write a book for their annual Bible study, Carol and I were delighted to say yes.  When they said this was a year to study a Gospel, we were even more pleased.  When they said it was Mark, we thought, “At least it is not Leviticus.”  As Gospels go, Mark is not many people’s first choice.

Matthew has the visit of the Magi, the Lord’s Prayer and the Sermon on the Mount.  Luke has the shepherds, the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son.  John has the wedding at Cana, the woman at the well, and the washing of the disciples’ feet.  We will not be writing about these stories, because Mark does not mention any of them.  If Mark went to a writer’s conference, the other writers would want to know what Mark’s editor was thinking.  Mark is not going to be the first Gospel featured on Oprah’s Book Club.

What Mark does have is lots of verses that will never be cross-stitched.

 “As you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them” (6:11).

“Some of his disciples were eating with defiled hands, that is, without washing them” (7:2).

“He had put saliva on his eyes” (8:22).

“How much longer must I put up with you?” (9:19).

 “In the resurrection whose wife will she be?  For the seven had married her” (12:23)

“He left the linen cloth and ran off naked” (14:52).

The next time you are visiting a Christian book store ask the clerk if they have any of these verses from Mark on a T-shirt. 

We have been thinking about a title.  My first suggestion was Mark: Your Fourth Favorite Gospel—which is true for many, but Carol feels like that is not a name that jumps off the shelf.  My second idea was Mark:  Shorter than the Others, which is also true and would appeal to those with short attention spans, but not the most positive spin either.  If we focused on the lack of a nativity scene, we could call the book Mark:  Skipping Christmas.  Another option was to concentrate on the story of Jesus sending swine off a cliff.  We could call it The Gospel of Mark: When Pigs Fly.  Carol quickly rejected all of these as well as one centering on the cursing of the fig tree, When Jesus Doesn’t Give a Fig.

Bach wrote, “The Passion according to St. Matthew” and “The Passion according to St. John,” but never got around to “The Passion of St. Mark.”  In the new Celebrating Grace hymnal’s “Index of Scriptural Bases of Hymns,” Matthew has forty-two listings, Luke has forty-one, and Mark has sixteen.  Mark does not lend itself to music.  This is not the gospel for people who stop to sing, but for people in a hurry to get where they need to go.  Mark uses the word “immediately” twenty-seven times.

Jesus covers a lot of ground.  He does not do much teaching—only four parables.  Things are frightening, and Jesus, like Mark, is in a hurry to do what has to be done.  Jesus keeps moving, scattering miracles.  The second Gospel includes lots of miracles, especially healing ones.

Mark is not about explaining details.  His purpose is to make it clear who Jesus is.  Mark says it right in the first sentence.  Jesus is the Son of God, come to change all of creation, come to change us.  Mark—which is moving up on our list of favorite Gospels—wants us to be in a hurry, too, to follow Christ and share the good news.