Proper 11B, July 22, 2012

O God of compassion, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.

I know it’s summertime, but I’ve got homework for you both this week and next. This week’s assignment is to take the Mark 6:30-56 sheet, which you got with your bulletin and announcement sheet this morning and study the middle part when you get home. Read it out loud. See what jumps out at you. Listen to what speaks to you. Wonder what difference it might make.

Our lectionary selection for the Gospel this morning is Mark 6:30-34 and 53-36. There’s a big chunk taken out of the middle that seems pretty critical to me. We’re reading through the Gospel of Mark, fairly sequentially, so you might think maybe this missing part was read last week or maybe it will be read next week. But no. Next week there will be a feeding story, but it will be the version told in the Gospel of John. That’s completely baffling to me because Mark has not one but two perfectly good stories about huge hungry crowds being fed by Jesus’ disciples at his direction – one in Jewish territory and one in Gentile territory. But more about the loaves and fishes next week.

This week we are invited to think about what happened after the twelve who had been sent out to proclaim the message and cast out demons and heal people who were ailing, returned to tell Jesus how it had gone. Jesus had sent them out two by two with a heaping helping of authority over unclean spirits, but strict instructions not to take spare change or a spare tunic. They were to travel light – and not to even carry dust on their feet from a place where they had not been welcomed. “Shake it off and keep going,” Jesus had instructed.

They taught that all should repent – return to God – remember the Holy One who longs to be remembered. They cast out many demons and healed many sick people (not all, but many) and one by one they started changing the world. Surely Jesus had already heard about their successes, because even Herod had gotten word that people all over the place were being healed by those whom Jesus had sent out to spread the Word. But I’m sure the ones sent out wanted to tell Jesus themselves what they had done and what they had taught about the grace-filled realm of God, about what they had experienced of the grace-filled realm of God.

What Jesus says next is one of my favorite lines of scripture: “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” “Rest a while” is more literally, “be restored.” They must have been depleted, exhausted, spent. Be restored is a Sabbath commandment – an invitation to experience refreshment and it includes the leisure to eat. “For many were the comers and the goers and they were finding no opportunity to eat,”[1] the text says. I understand what seems like the lectionary designers’ temptation to encourage preaching about the need for Sabbath, for time away, especially in the summer. And I bet that’s why the lectionary completely excises the part about how even though the disciples tried to rest, they couldn’t get away from the desperate crowds. If you keep those twenty verses in, it takes the oomph out of the argument to keep the commandment to rest.

The exhausted disciples waited patiently (maybe tapping their feet) for Jesus to teach the people whom he found to be harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. At the end of the day, when the disciples couldn’t take it any more, they asked Jesus to send the people away. “Please tell them to leave.” The followers of Jesus had had more than enough. They appealed to Jesus’ compassion and added, send them away to get food – it’s very late — they must be hungry. Jesus’ response, “you give them something to eat” is really over the top. “You give them something to eat” out of your own meager resources. “Figure out how much you’ve got,” Jesus says. Jesus seems long on compassion for the crowds and short on compassion for his own brothers and sisters. Remember, just a few weeks ago we heard Jesus say about his companions, “this is my family now.” (I’m no Jesus, but as a minister of the Gospel, I can relate to this apparent shortcoming and I can tell you that my wife and daughters experience my shortcomings more than anyone.) Here the disciples are tired and Jesus has offered them rest and time away together – just with him — but because of his compassion for the crowds, those closest to him never get time away with him. They get none of it. I understand why the lectionary might leave that out. It’s like an anti-recruiting discipleship story.

Jesus’ followers are called to cast out demons, teach, heal, feed, share all of their food however limited, and to somehow keep their fear at bay. Not all illnesses are healed. Not all demons are cast out. They get tired from their successes and their failures. No wonder they are hard-hearted and are unable to recognize revelations when they happen right in front of them. Later, in the boat, struggling against an adverse wind, rowing all night, the Gospel of Mark says, “Jesus came towards them early in the morning, walking on the sea. He intended to pass them by, but they saw him and thought it was a ghost and cried out.” He saw their terror and said “take heart, it is I; do not be afraid. He got into the boat and the wind stopped at once.” I feel mad on their behalf, don’t you? They make it to the other side and once again are mobbed by people bringing their ailing loved ones on mats, begging to touch even the fringe of his cloak, and all who touched it were healed. By the way, the fringe of his cloak is an unmistakable sign that Jesus was observing a Torah commandment to wear fringe at the four corners of his clothing (Numbers 15:37-40). According to Mark, Jesus wore visible evidence that he was a faithful and observant Jew. That’s just an aside here, but it matters because what happens next in Mark is an argument with other faithful and observant Jews – and it’s important to remember that Jesus was one too.

The Gospel story without including the feeding and storm scenes, doesn’t demand as much from me as the whole narrative does when the missing verses are added back in. Without the missing verses, I can be grateful for the reminder to rest. I can marvel at Jesus’ great compassion and great patience with crowds. I can wonder about how people who touched the fringe of his garment might have felt instantly healed, but it doesn’t seem to have much to do with me. It feels like a story of long ago and far away. But the feeding story with its command to the disciples, “you give them something to eat,” the Eucharistic language, and then the evocative scene of the disciples straining at the oars against an adverse wind engage me at a deeper level. It doesn’t feel like long ago and far away. It feels more like this past week.

What I find most helpful is to be reminded of how much I have much in common with the folks in the crowd, helpless and harassed, like a sheep without a shepherd, carrying loved ones who are sick, not on mats, but on my heart, praying for healing – or carrying the sorrows of violence of every kind that weigh me down – whether it’s in Aurora, Colorado or Detroit or Damascus or Burgas or Boston. As one parishioner recently said to me, “At times I shake my fist at God in Job-like fashion demanding that someone be helped. Hah: those are my favorite, loud and clear admonitions to the heavens!” What I find most helpful is to be reminded that I, myself, am in dire need of a shepherd — and that I have one in Jesus. What I find most helpful is to be reminded that whether I live or die, I am the Lord’s possession. Whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s possession.