[Here is a short essay from the last time North America witnessed a total solar eclipse: August 2017.]
This past Monday, the 21st, was the day of the solar eclipse, and verses from Mark came to mind:
But in those days, after that distress, the sun will be darkened, the moon will not give her light; the stars will come falling from the sky, the celestial powers will be shaken. Then they will see the Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power and glory, and he will send out the angels and gather his chosen from the four winds, from the farthest bounds of earth to the farthest bounds of heaven (13: 24-27).
The words are from Jesus to his disciples. Prompted by their admiration of impressive temple (and temporal) buildings, Jesus informs them that “Not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down” (2). The theme throughout this discourse in Mark 13 is great destruction precedes the coming of the Lord, and Jesus drives the idea home with metaphor after metaphor.
Of course, as always, Jesus is talking about the inward condition/nature of human beings, not about the outward condition of nature.
What is it that must be eclipsed within? What inward light of nature must be witnessed as dark futility, as death, before the new creation, the Son of Man, comes and replaces that old creation of human nature?
I had seen birth and death, But had thought they were different; this Birth was Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
==from “Journey of the Magi” by T.S. Eliot
The truth of our limitations is “hard and bitter agony for us” mortals, but choosing it over self-delusion leads to eternal life. It is the way, and when allowed daily to prevail, it will diminish us until the light of our nature—our hope and trust in our natural powers—is all but gone: “the celestial powers . . . shaken.” It is not the end, but only the end of the alienated condition: our nature eclipsed by the coming of the Son of Man. “And what I say unto you, I say unto all. Watch” (37).
Watch the light of nature undergo the eclipse . . . within.
The image is Albrecht Durer’s Adoration of the Lamb, created in 1498.
The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God (Mk. 1:1 KJV).
Humanity carries gifts given to no other creature, yet we have not been given power to justify our existence. The gospel, which is the power of God,1 supplies this necessity, so that we may give over faulty, fallen attempts to self-justify, and at last rest assured in the faith that makes us whole. In this gospel, we feel complete: Truth’s perfection is known; our ancient yearning is met and satisfied. In the first chapter of Mark, whose topic is “the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ,” the way is introduced.
As in much of Scripture, the text here brings types and figures of spiritual conditions and processes into view, so we can more easily recognize and name inward truths that otherwise might remain hidden and obscure. The text does provide historical and geographical information, but such objective facts lack spiritual significance if not related to inward realities. The Bible and early Friends writings are texts about humanity’s spiritual malaise and its return to vigor; to view these spiritual resources primarily as fields in which scholars harvest ideas to increase our store of knowledge is to disregard the value and purpose of the writings. Since the 1990s, spiritual exposition of biblical or Friends writings has been largely co-opted by academic reductionism that has kept pace with our society’s veering toward the materialism of technology. Should Friends return to gospel order, the present time in hindsight likely will be seen as a period in which scholarly pursuit stood in place of prophetic faith, and information pinch hit for wisdom. Friends knew “that being bred at Oxford and Cambridge was not enough to fit and qualify men to be ministers of Christ.”2 Yet in their time and in ours, the loss of the gospel allows scholars to step into the void. Early Friends were adept at drawing parallels between the events and persons in Scripture and inward, spiritual life, because they themselves had traveled the complete path to salvation. That inward journey opened Scripture’s imagery for them, and using that imagery, they were enabled to record and communicate their experiential discovery of Christ Within, a discovery they knew to have universal significance, beyond information that is intellectually gathered, dispersed, and received.
In the following paragraph, early Friend Margaret Fell provides an example of writing that offers spiritual wisdom about the human condition. She correlates the messenger-prophets referred to in the first chapter of Mark—those who prepare the way of the Lord—to the “measure of the Substance” present within each person.
So a measure of the Substance, and of the life of all the types and figures, thou hast in thee, if thou be faithful and obedient when it checks and calls thee to repentance. For the baptism of repentance, which washeth away the filth of the flesh, thou art not yet come to: no, nor the first principle that leads to it, which is the messenger that goes before him to prepare the way for him which baptized with the Holy Ghost and with fire.3
As do the outward messenger-prophets in Scripture,4 the inward “measure of the Substance . . . checks and calls [one] to repentance.” All must first come to this measure of the Substance in themselves, as all in Judea and Jerusalem outwardly came to John, “confessing their sins” (5). Fell states this is the “first principle that leads to being “baptize[d] with the Holy Ghost,” a work to be done by Jesus, says John (8): a work to be done inwardly by Christ, the Light.
Baptism indicates a new state has been entered, and John’s baptism of Jesus signals his divine acceptance: “Thou art my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased” (11). Inwardly, baptism with the Holy Ghost reveals this divine relationship. And entering into it, one “immediately” finds oneself driven by that same Spirit (12) into a solitude where there is longtime temptation (13) to become one among the many “wild beasts”5 (12). The badgering, hounding ploys of Satan, however, cannot degrade those who attend to the support heaven offers (13).
The beginning of Jesus’s ministry (15-20)
Jesus’s ministry begins with his announcement describing the spiritual situation: “[t]he time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand,” and it continues with instruction to his hearers to find their place within this new situation: “repent ye, and believe the gospel” (15).
His next step is to gather disciples, two sets of two brothers: Simon and Andrew, then James and John. Calling two simultaneously is a narrative devise to signify Jesus has the stature to lead. If only one disciple were called at a time, the reader’s attention would be diverted from Jesus to that disciple. (What was it about that particular man that made Jesus call him?) The intent here, however, is to present Jesus as the adept, rightful leader. That a second pair of brothers (James and John) is called immediately after the first pair (Simon and Andrew) simply underscores Jesus’s position as leader. “Come ye after me” is his call (17).
The nature of his work (21-39)
Both beginning and ending verses of this passage provide the same information: “[Jesus] entered into the synagogue, and taught” (21), and “he preached in their synagogues” (39). Teaching and preaching is his work (38), and he does so with authority (22), because he has the gospel, the power of God, to direct his speech. In the intervening verses (23-34), however, he does other work: he heals “them that were diseased, and them that were possessed with devils” (32). That these healings are sandwiched between the beginning and ending statements that describe his work as verbal communication is to say that the Word of God, Christ, heals the soul. The outward healings in this passage figuratively manifest the inward, spiritual healing that the Inward Christ effects.
The first healing is of a man with an unclean spirit (23-26). What distinguishes this man as devil-possessed is his conscious opposition to goodness. “I know thee who thou art, the Holy One of God,” he addresses Jesus. “[A]rt thou come to destroy us?” Fully aware of his own defiance, the demon is determined to continue unchallenged: “Let us alone,” he pleads. His use of plural pronouns, “us” and “we,” throughout indicates the presence of a divided self: he’s aware of the might and right of the holy (“the measure of the Substance”) within his conscience, and he rebels against it.
That Jesus commands the man to be silent (“[h]old thy peace” [25]) shows the first step toward healing is to block false gains afforded by the practice of evil. The demon’s speaking gains him control and power, an idol frequently worshiped by the devil-possessed. Jesus’s command to be silent, prepares the way, makes the path straight (3-4), so the demon can be dismissed (“come out of him” [25]). Having been deprived of power, the demon has no reason to remain. This story is an example of an inward, spiritual process that is described through figurative imagery.
The second type of healing that Jesus does is simpler: it is healing of a disease. Peter’s mother-in-law “lay sick of a fever” (30). A disease differs from devil-possession, in that there is nothing to be gained from being ill: one is simply unable to feel and function well; there is a loss of power, not a false gain. Jesus heals the woman by taking her hand and lifting her up (31). Unlike the devil-possessed man, she doesn’t speak; there is no false assertion of power. Once healed, however, she is empowered to minister (31). There is a self-awareness in the woman; she feels her debilitated state, and thus Jesus can return her to health in a simple manner: by taking her hand, a gesture of comfort, and lifting her up (31), signifying resurrection to life.
At the end of the day, as both “the diseased and them that were possessed with devils” (32) are brought to Jesus, we understand that all humanity is in need of healing and to be found in one of the two groups described: the “diseased” figuratively representing the suffering of those who are dispirited, not knowing the Spirit of Christ; and those “possessed with devils” figuratively representing all who defy their consciences for some illicit gain. Jesus extends healing to both.
The leper (40-45)
In the final passage of the chapter, both Jesus’s work and social position becomes more complex. He is now approached by someone who has heard of his healing power and beseeches him to heal him of leprosy. The leper exhibits the salient traits found in each of the two former healings: like the devil-possessed (23, 26-27), he’s said to be unclean (40-42), and like the humble woman, he shows humility in kneeling before Jesus. The combined features of the two in the one to be healed indicate the onset of the increasing complexity Jesus will be required to handle as his ministry expands.
Further complications become evident when the leper disregards Jesus’s instruction to “say nothing to any man” and to honor the tradition by following its prescriptions (44). Jesus has power to heal, but he does not control the social ramifications of his healing, and this passage foreshadows the conflict with the worldly religious hierarchy that will beset and complicate his mission.
This chapter’s telling of the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ began with its prophetic context, revealed its origin to be divine acceptance, and intimated that there are predatory temptations in a spiritually deserted world. Jesus showed himself adept as a leader, a preacher and teacher, and a healer. The chapter details a steady increase of Jesus’s power and scope but concludes on an ambiguous note. His success is described in terms of limitation: he “could no more openly enter into the city, but was without in desert places: and they came to him from every quarter” (45). May we each “from every quarter” go to the inward, “desert places” where Christ and his teaching and healing are found.
“The gospel is the power of God which turns against that which bondageth, to wit, the corruptions, and so gives liberty and freedom to the captives; and this, which is the power of God, is glad tidings . . . that which gives liberty and freedom to all, is glad tidings.” George Fox, The Works of George Fox (Philadelphia: Marcus T. C. Gould, 1831), 3:442.
Works, 1:71.
Margaret Fell, Undaunted Zeal, ed. Elsa F. Glines (Richmond, Ind.: Friends United Press, 1974), 58-59.
Verse 2 echoes Malachi 3:1a: “Behold I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me: and the Lord, whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple.” Verse 3 echoes Isaiah 40:3: “The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.”
“Some men have the nature of swine wallowing in the mire. Some have the nature of dogs, to bite both the sheep and one another. Some have the nature of lions, to tear, devour, and destroy. Some the nature of wolves, to tear and devour the lambs and sheep of Christ: and some the nature of the serpent, (that old adversary,) to sting, envenom and poison. . . . Some men have the natures of other beasts and creatures, minding nothing but earthly and visible things, and feeding without the fear of God. Some have the nature of a horse, to prance and vapour in their strength, and to be swift in doing evil. Some have the nature of tall sturdy oaks, to flourish and spread in wisdom and strength, who are strong in evil, which must perish and come to the fire.” Works, 1:106-7.
Time will say nothing but I told you so, Time only knows the price we have to pay; If I could tell you I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show, If we should stumble when musicians play, Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There are no fortunes to be told, although, Because I love you more than I can say, If I could tell you I would let you know.
The winds must come from somewhere when they blow, There must be reasons why the leaves decay; Time will say nothing but I told you so.
Perhaps the roses really want to grow, The vision seriously intends to stay; If I could tell you I would let you know.
Suppose all the lions get up and go, And all the brooks and soldiers run away; Will Time say nothing but I told you so? If I could tell you I would let you know.1
— W. H. Auden
I came across this poem a few days ago, and it reminded me of an incident in my life from decades ago. Since that time, the scene had lain dormant in my memory, never having made sense. The line in the poem that evoked the memory was “If we should weep when clowns put on their show.” This exact situation came about when I was in my early 30s and was assisting at my daughter’s kindergarten on the day a clown performed for the class. It was a special event for the kids, and once my tears began, I felt dread at the thought that the children might notice, and so kept to the back of the room. In front of the performing clown, the five- and six-year-olds sat on the floor, engrossed and completely silent. As I recall, neither did the clown make any sound throughout his performance.
I think it was the silence of both performer and audience that largely affected me. Perhaps the silence signaled to me the children’s keen drive to learn; to take in this and all new information; instinctively, to prepare themselves for life to come. Perhaps it was the performing man’s utter humility in presenting himself as a clown, and his generosity in giving the children some new experience that he was able to offer. Whatever it was, the situation overwhelmed me, and though I tried, I could not hold back my tears.
I checked the Internet just now to see if there was any information on why people weep when seeing a clown perform, and could find nothing. Neither had I seen anything written on this topic in the more than four decades since the incident had occurred, nor had I heard mention of it prior to discovering the line in this Auden poem. So I thought that if I analyzed the poem, I might come to understand what had evoked my strange response from long ago.
One of the refrains—“If I could tell you, I would let you know”—suggested to me a word-encased wisdom that the loving speaker knew could not be taken in or absorbed. The other refrain—“Time will say nothing but I told you so”—said to me that in time, we learn that the old, impenetrable words contained wisdom all along.
Perhaps that was it: the children who were so attentive and so open would come in time to undergo the common, inevitable strain that each must endure, the slow emptying into meaninglessness of all that had been built up within: as Auden called it, “the price we have to pay.” Only then could they come to the humble generosity of the clown before them that day. Then might they find the worthy words, and perhaps, like Auden, give forth the old understanding in yet a new form.
That year, 1982, was the final, intense stage of a depression that had plagued me for nearly two decades. The difficult time would finally end one year later in what our tradition calls “the second birth,” also known as being “born of the Spirit.” In late January in the middle of the night—a cold, dark time—came great peace and astonishment: I was given the answer to the question for which I had had no words.
If I could make it known to the children who are innocent, silent, and eager to learn, if I could tell them, I would let them know. Still, I think there is better wisdom in the difficult way it has been arranged . . . that after the weeping at the tomb, true peace and understanding ascends.
This past month my daughter sent me a podcast in which was recounted the life history of Benjamin Lay, an early abolitionist and Quaker of the 18th century. Lay often acted as would a modern performance artist, engaging in inventive acts for a political cause: he sought to shame slaveholding Quakers into an awareness of their cruelty and hypocrisy. Unsurprisingly, his performances were not well-received, and in 1738, he was disowned by Abington (Pa.) Meeting. Lay retreated from Quaker society to live in a cave not far from the meetinghouse, his abode furnished with a private library of two hundred books. Centuries have passed, and Lay, once deemed a gadfly, is now hailed a hero.
How does the sequence of Lay’s critique of and then retreat from society pertain to chapter 15 of the Gospel of Mark? In both instances, the light of the Word exposed the dark spirit, which, in turn, strove to overcome it by silencing the speaker through banishment or death. With the darkness exposed and his work done, the prophet in each case became silent, leaving the corrupted social body to itself: either to acknowledge the reality the light had revealed, or to refuse to see and to remain in darkness.1
In the several decades following the testimony of Benjamin Lay, the Society of Friends slowly moved toward accepting the reality that slaveholding is sin, and in 1776 (17 years after Lay’s death), Philadelphia Yearly Meeting deemed the owning of slaves to be an offense requiring disownment.
In Mark 15, which tells of Jesus’s crucifixion and death, we find the same pattern that regularly occurs when light has shone forth in darkness: there follows worldly persecution; prophetic silence; and ultimately, the world’s acknowledgment of truth. In this narrative, however, the sequence is greatly compressed in time: the apprehension of truth comes moments after Jesus’s death. First to speak, a centurion, seeing “how [Jesus] died . . . said, ‘Truly this man was a son of God’” (39). That this expression of convincement was uttered by one so greatly averse to the Way (being a supporter of empire as well as an executioner) portends the universal restoration of humanity to its true state of seeing and becoming sons of God.
Contagion (1-32)
Before reaching the centurion’s words, however, the chapter reviews the labyrinth of iniquity through which Jesus, silent and unresisting, is dragged. The first two-thirds of chapter 15 illustrate the spread of corruption and ignorance—up, down, and throughout the social hierarchy. Pilate, a Roman prefect (governor), wields imperial power and therefore is in society’s highest echelon; he is petitioned by the chief priests to treat Jesus as a criminal (1-3). At the other end of the social spectrum are the people, whom the priests stir up to cry out for Jesus’s crucifixion (11, 13-14). So tainted is the society with the dark, demonic spirit that nowhere can be found the pure light of truth, and Jesus is all but silent, knowing that this is the way of things.
His one statement throughout his captivity is in response to Pilate’s question: “Are you the king of the Jews?” Jesus doesn’t answer him directly yes or no (thereby denying the prefect’s power) but instead makes Pilate himself an unwitting exponent of truth when he answers: “The words are yours” (2).
Jesus’s refusal to speak in his own defense during the remainder of his ordeal implies his early statement to Pilate stands applicable to every opposition he encounters. His continuous silence drives home the fact that the violators’ words and actions are their own—their responsibility alone—and not his. He will not take part in, cooperate, nor assert himself (5); neither does he engage them nor accept their tender mercies (23), for to do so would give latitude to yet more self-deception in their already corrupted souls. If Jesus were to take part in the proceedings—even to resist—his participation would allow the persecutors to claim that he had brought upon himself the treatment he receives, and as such, that he should bear the burden for what is, in fact, their sin. Even Pilate can see that the responsibility for this travesty lies upon the chief priests and their malice (10).
This glimmer of insight shown by Pilate does not absolve him of corruption, only of ignorance. His interaction with the mob regarding Barabbas, the prisoner to be released (6-15), recalls the populist politician who can “whip up the crowd into a mob frenzy.”2 In his first receiving Jesus from the chief priests and then delivering him to the soldiers to be flogged and crucified (15), Pilate is the center link in the chain of crime. It is this “division of labor” that allows each party to deceive themselves into thinking they are absolved of responsibility for wrong-doing; thus Jesus’s arrest, trial, persecution, and death illustrates the most spiritually dangerous, destructive configuration of “the prince of this world”: collusion among the wicked.
Darkness over the whole land (33-37)
That Jesus is the “king of the Jews” is a motif woven throughout chapter 15. Early in the chapter in verse 2, Pilate asks Jesus directly: “Are you the king of the Jews?” Later before the crowd, Pilate uses the phrase to rile the mob (9, 12). For the soldiers, it provides opportunity to address Jesus mockingly (18), and as a criminal charge, it is inscribed above Jesus’s body on the cross (26). Finally, in a vile culmination of corruption and ignorance, the chief priests and scribes use the term “king of Israel” to mock Jesus as he dies:
Let the Messiah, the king of Israel, come down now from the cross. If we see that, we shall believe (32).3
This chapter has steadily, increasingly brought the darkness of moral and intellectual error to the fore. That is to say, corruption and ignorance have become acute. So severe does the darkness become that it envelopes the land, though the sun be at its zenith in “the sixth hour” (33). Lasting three hours (three, in Hebrew, being the number of completeness) “until the ninth hour,” we are being told that the darkness is at its greatest intensity. At this point, Jesus’s words come forth: “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” (34) Sensing abandonment, being forsaken by God, is to have lost sight and hope: the darkness is absolute.
That Jesus speaks these despairing words in Aramaic, his native tongue, rather than the Hebrew in which Psalm 22 (from which these words come) was written is interpreted in this way: individual, personal experience of the typology of Scripture is required of everyone. The Cross is personal and inward, as early Friends knew and preached.4
Though the corruption of the priests is no longer on view at this point in the narrative, the darkness of ignorance remains, and verse 36 gives us the chapter’s final expression of spiritual blindness as portrayed by the bystanders who mistake Jesus’s words for a call to Elijah: “Hark, he is calling Elijah. . . . Let us see . . . if Elijah will come to take him down” (35-36). With Jesus’s death (37), even the darkness of ignorance is overcome: following the rending of the temple veil that figuratively separated God and man, the centurion states: “Truly this man was a son of God” (39).
Outspreading (40-47)
First evidenced in the centurion, awareness of and right regard for Jesus grows steadily throughout the remainder of this chapter and into the next. The growth is first seen in numbers, as women—many women—who followed, ministered, or came with Jesus to Jerusalem look on, though they be far off, and thus their vision is but small. Yet watchful from a distance, the women see the Son of man, the master of the house (Mk.13:33-37).
Right regard for Jesus gains ground within the social hierarchy when next appears one who is individuated by name: Joseph of Arimathaea. As an individual and a male, Joseph not only stands in patriarchally favored contrast to the group of women, but more significantly, as an individual who is named, Joseph stands apart from the undifferentiated cackle of corrupt priests. The contrast between them and Joseph is further heightened by the fact that though both the priests and Joseph are peers in the Council (the Sanhedrin, which was the supreme court of the Jews), only Joseph is described as “a respected member of the Council” (43).
As a “respected” member of the highest court, Joseph is distinguished as having good judgment. In the same verse, we learn that he “waitedfor the kingdom of God” (43 KJV). That these two facts occur in the same verse suggests there is a correlation between good judgment and waiting to receive God’s kingdom.
Joseph understands that God and his kingdom must be waited for: that he himself is not a god, and therefore he does not exalt himself by claiming that he need not wait but perpetually inhabits the kingdom. In contrast, the priests (neither differentiated nor esteemed) see themselves “as gods knowing good and evil,” thus claiming for themselves a power of judgement that they do not have. The text implies that one must wait for and receive the virtue and power of God to judge righteously: to be enabled to distinguish good from evil, King from subject, and Christ from self. One must know the difference experientially before one can make a distinction intellectually (1 Cor. 6:2 KJV).
Joseph makes this distinction, and therefore he waits for the kingdom of God, thereby showing the good judgment for which he is respected. To reinforce the idea that Joseph’s waiting is the preparation needed to receive the kingdom, he appears on “Preparation-day (that is, the day before the Sabbath)” (42), which suggests that Joseph judiciously prepares for the Rest to come: he prepares and waits for the kingdom of God (43).
Second, we see that Joseph is not only a man of humility and good judgment but also a man of courage and one who takes responsibility: Joseph “bravely went in to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus” (43); he, at his own cost, then provides Jesus with a respectful burial (46). Joseph’s actions mirror in reverse those of the priests who delivered Jesus to Pilate (1) and treated him disrespectfully (32).
In verse 44, we see Pilate continue his policy of questioning others (2, 4, 9, 12, and 14) and letting their answers determine his actions: he thus equips himself at every turn with opportunity to deny personal responsibility. (And therein is he contrasted with Joseph.) In this passage, after questioning the centurion (44), Pilate—ever the middleman—releases the body to Joseph: the death effected as much by his lack of moral responsibility as by the priests’ and people’s villainy.
In the next and final chapter of the Gospel of Mark, we will see a continuation and acceleration of the forward momentum toward regard for and knowledge of Jesus as Lord. In this chapter, however, the story ends with the women standing by: women who are named, individuated; waiting; alert and watchful.
And Mary Magdala and Mary the mother of Joseph were watching and saw where he was laid (47).
1. “Here lies the test: the light has come into the world, but men preferred darkness to light because their deeds were evil” (Jn. 3:19). I’ve relied primarily on the New English Bible throughout this essay. When I’ve used the King James Version, I’ve so indicated in the text.
3.The priests’ insistence upon Jesus meeting their skewed criterion of Messiahship is tantamount to their claiming themselves to be the arbiters of good and evil, that is, to “be as gods, knowing good and evil” (Gen. 3:5). This lie is the serpent’s temptation that led to humanity’s fall from grace. It is appropriate that this particular offense (which is echoed in the same verse by the thieves’ taunting) appears in the narrative at the point of greatest darkness, for it was the first sin in Eden and is shown to be the last at Golgotha: suggesting that—first and last—to exalt the limited, natural perspective is the root of all sin, the sin of pride. That the error issues from both the priests and the thieves tells us that whether high-up or low-down, all are guilty who presume to judge—to discern good from evil—while constrained by the fallen nature of the first Adam.
4. That the Cross must be borne by everyone is suggested by the figure of Simon the Cyrenian, an everyman passerby, who was required to carry the cross (21).
It is conceived in sorrow, and brought forth without any to pity it; nor does it murmur at grief and oppression. It never rejoices but through sufferings, for with the world’s joy it is murdered. I found it alone, being forsaken.1 – James Nayler
In chapter 13 of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus used figurative language to describe the suffering each and every soul must endure prior to receiving the Light of Christ Within. In chapter 14, we see Jesus enter into his own particular tribulation, and thus we are provided with the archetype for each of our own journeys through the world. In chapter 13, we were told of the way forward; in chapter 14, we are being shown that way.
Though the circumstances of Jesus’s tribulation will be uniquely his own, the particulars point to the universal formation that every person must undergo, each in his own distinct time and place, each with her own unique history and circumstances. Chapter 14 presents a template of the conflict; error; corruption, both personal and institutional; violence; cruelty; pain; shame; abandonment; and isolation that one suffers in a life that is lived over the decades. For Jesus, however, all the injury happens within a few days. Regardless of the intensity of his ordeal, he steadily assures us – and perhaps himself – throughout the account that this apparent calamity is in accord with God’s will; it is all to be expected, for this is the one and only true way to eternal life.
Trouble without and within (1-11)
In this chapter, there are two groups of characters that bring about Jesus’s suffering and death: the corrupt religious establishment and the uncomprehending disciples. Judas’s betrayal is the act which brings the two groups’ determinants – corruption and ignorance – together and amalgamates them into a force capable of inflicting the suffering Jesus will endure. The opening passage of the chapter, verses 1 through 11, introduces all three of these components: (1) the corruption of the religious establishment, (2) the ignorance of the disciples, and (3) the betrayal of Judas.
The chief priests’ and scribes’ treachery is exposed immediately in the first two verses of the chapter: “After two days was the feast of the passover, and of unleavened bread: and the chief priests and the scribes sought how they might take him by craft, and put him to death” (1).2 While Israel makes plans to celebrate its historic deliverance from captivity and oppression (the exodus from Egypt), its chief priests plot to destroy the one who would have all know deliverance from inward captivity and oppression. These religious leaders should be celebrating and advancing the people’s freedom, but instead they plot their continued captivity, and thus is the institution corrupted.
Next in this introductory passage is a short story (3-9) that reveals the disciples’ failure to understand Jesus. In “the anointing at Bethany,” the disciples criticize a woman who has honored Jesus by anointing him with costly oil; the disciples see the act as wasteful and would have had the money used to serve the poor. Jesus justifies the woman’s having “done what lay in her power” (8), thereby siding with one who acts with personal initiative, understanding, and love for him. The disciples argue that virtue is the function of principle and outward, social action while Jesus teaches virtue is an expression of the heart. Furthermore, Jesus sides with a woman who is jointly criticized by a group of men. His claim that the whole world will honor her act wherever the gospel is proclaimed (9) reverses the power imbalance begun with the disciples’ joint castigation. The disciples find power in the crowd; Jesus finds power in righteousness.3
Finally, completing the introductory passage, are two verses that bring together the corruption of the religious leaders and the ignorance of the disciples: Judas Iscariot is “one of the twelve [and he] went unto the chief priests, to betray [Jesus] unto them” (10). The priests’ and Judas’s complicity is registered in the next verse, and their joint force is now complete and active: “And he sought how he might conveniently betray him” (11).
Just as he had told them (12-31)
Given that the destructive force is now in place and set to act, it is imperative to show that Jesus is aware of all that has passed, is passing, and will come to pass. The narrator must show that Jesus has a higher, truer grasp of reality, beyond mere human capacity. To the human and limited understanding, Jesus will be broken and killed; however, on the true, divine platform of reality, Jesus is supreme; unconquered; and wholly, fully in control.4 These expansive, divine qualities are shown figuratively in his ability to foresee the future.
In the first five verses of this section (12-16), the narrator depicts Jesus as having a more-than-human foresight of the complex sequence of events that will allow him and his disciples to conveniently organize and enjoy the Passover supper. The implication is that if Jesus has such detailed prescience of this minor accommodation, he certainly is able to foresee events of major importance. And during the Passover meal, this implication is borne out when he alerts his disciples that one of them will betray him (18), that he [Jesus] will die (25), that all of the disciples will fail him (27), that he will be resurrected and lead the way into Galilee (28), and that the cock will crow twice and Peter deny him thrice (30).
Not only does Jesus’s envisioning the future designate him as having divine power, but when all that he has forecasted has come to pass, his disciples (and we readers) must conclude that this trial of suffering and death is, in fact, the will of God. That Jesus twice refers to Scriptures as having foretold the course set out for the Son of man (21, 27) again confirms that an amendatory tribulation is in fact God’s will throughout time.5
Acceptance (32-52)
Hitherto in the stories of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus has led and taught his disciples, and he has shown all his opponents to be no match for him in virtue and power. We have seen Jesus in this role of the god-like man, and have rightly attributed his greater-than-human ability to his knowledge of; reliance upon; and unity with God, the Father. In this passage, however, that knowledge of, reliance upon, and unity with “Abba, Father” (36) requires him to forfeit all the preeminence that has been given him in the world, and thus outward manifestations of his commanding strength are largely absent. He is unable to summon his three closest disciples to stay alert while he prays, and he is betrayed by another who’s in league with his long-standing, corrupt opponents. Arrested upon their orders, Jesus is treated as a lowly thief (48).
In this passage, strength of spirit is not exhibited outwardly by directing or defeating others; rather the fleshly will is directed inward to subdue or discipline itself that God may rule. Jesus yields: “nevertheless not what I will, but what thou wilt” (36). The movement from following his own will to accepting the Father’s is replicated in his response to both groups: the disciples and the religious leaders (through the proxy of the armed crowd sent to arrest him).
Jesus instructs his disciples to stay awake while he struggles and prays: once and again, praying the same words (39) with utmost determination. A third time he returns to the disciples after praying, and this time he accepts their failure and says, “Sleep on now, and take your rest: it is enough” (41). Similarly, with the posse sent by the religious leaders, Jesus at first challenges them, but then reverses himself and tolerates their duplicity, stating it’s been preordained in the Scriptures: “I was daily with you in the temple teaching, and ye took me not; but the scriptures must be fulfilled” (49). Once Jesus has inwardly accepted the Father’s will, he is able to “endure unto the end” (13:13b) the weakness, failure, and corrupt abuse of the world.
Conclusion (53-72)
The final passage in chapter 14 takes place within the stronghold of corruption: the high priest’s palace where all the religious leaders – the priests, elders, and scribes – are assembled, with the intent to find an excuse to put Jesus to death. In this passage, which comprises more than a quarter of this long chapter’s length, Jesus speaks little. He knows what is to happen, has accepted and will not oppose it, for it is God’s will. Only once does he speak, and with words that will enrage the religious leaders and give them the “evidence” they seek to condemn him of blasphemy. Jesus answers the high priest’s question “Art thou the Christ, the Son of the most Blessed?” (61) with these words: “I am: and ye shall see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven” (62).6
We have seen the corrupt force of the leaders gather momentum throughout chapter 14: first the plotting of Jesus’s death, then colluding with Judas, followed by the false arrest and condemning Jesus “to be guilty of death” (64). Finally, these corrupted ones abuse the dignity and person of Jesus (65). Only killing him remains to be done in this most extreme portrayal of human suffering at the hand of the corrupt.
As the religious leaders have done their worst, so likewise must the other group, the disciples, be shown to fail Jesus in the most extreme way. Through a kiss (45), a gesture of love, one disciple has betrayed Jesus, and during the arrest, “all [his disciples] forsook him, and fled” (50). Peter, the most ardently outspoken of the Twelve, follows Jesus to the high priest’s palace, and while Jesus is tried within by the kangaroo court, Peter warms his flesh by a courtyard fire. Accused by a serving girl, Peter’s three-time cowardly denial is in high contrast to his earlier claims of loyalty (29, 31). His shamed weeping ends the story, a fitting conclusion to the chapter in which Jesus has entered knowingly into his great tribulation, subject to all the failure, corruption, cruelty, pain, shame, abandonment, and desolation that the world can muster against a living soul.
1. James Nayler, Works of James Nayler (Glenside, Pa.: Quaker Heritage Press, 2009), 4:382.
2. The King James Version of the Bible is used throughout the essay.
3. The prophecy in this passage of the gospel’s spread throughout the world through preaching (9) not only underscores the disciples’ future responsibility but also tells of the ultimate triumph of the gospel, the power of God. The accuracy of Jesus’s prophecies in this chapter shows him to be knowledgeable and in control, though by the end of the chapter, all will appear to be in disarray.
4. Unity with God – wherever that leads – is synonymous with victory. Where one stands in the worldly hierarchy is ultimately inconsequential.
5. The suffering and death is scandalous to the person who refuses the God of Truth; God does not align with any imposed fantasy of what constitutes divine love.
6. It is interesting to note that Jesus’s claim would not be a threat to the innocent; for speaking to his disciples previously, he used some of the same words to describe salvation: “And then shall they see the Son of man coming in the clouds with great power and glory” (13:26). To these corrupt leaders, however, these words cannot be heard but as a threat of their damnation. That the same words (voice) can effect different responses – depending upon the soul’s guilt or innocence – is the meaning of these verses:
Marvel not at this: for the hour is coming, in the which all that are in the graves shall hear his voice, And shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation (Jn. 5:28-29).
These are all figures; and as the sun without thee, so the sun of righteousness arising with healing in his wings within thee. All who mind the measure which God hath given you, it will open unto you these outward figures which God spake, and will teach you; as you go up and down you shall read your figures. —George Fox
The tract from which this epigraph was taken begins by telling the reader that it is “A Word from the Lord, to All the World and All Professors in the World; Spoken in Parables.”1 That is to say, Fox’s message in this writing will be given largely in figurative language: in parables or figures of speech. Throughout this seven-page document, Fox repeatedly moves in and out of lists in which he compares the inward nature of man with outward things. Here is one example:
As the night without thee and darkness, so there is night within; and as stars without thee, so there are stars within thee; as moon without thee, so there is moon within thee; and as clouds without thee, so there are clouds within thee. These are all figures.2
“Figures,” Fox writes elsewhere in this tract, “are spoken to the carnal part in man,”3 that is to say, the unredeemed nature that has not yet known the appearance of Christ Within. Here in chapter 13 of Mark, Jesus—likewise using figurative language—informs four of his disciples of that which must befall them and every soul as it inwardly journeys from the unredeemed, carnal nature into the awareness of the “Lord of all . . . [who] is coming to fill his with the knowledge of himself.”4 As each soul progresses from the earthly, carnal state, it will come—figuratively speaking—to “see the Son of man coming in the clouds with great power and glory”5 (Mk. 13:26).
Two overriding ideas (Mk. 13:1-6)
In the opening passage of Mark 13, two overriding ideas preface the many allusions to the inward journey that comprise the bulk of the chapter. The first idea is presented in the opening exchange as Jesus and his disciples exit the temple; one of the disciples, marveling at the new buildings, says, “Master, see what manner of stones and what buildings are here!“ (1). The new temple buildings were man-made structures whose purpose was to house the society’s religious and legal practices. In this exchange, however, they stand as figures for man-made religion: communal ideas of the nature of God, faith, salvation, sacrifice, prayer, virtue, ethics, laws, hierarchy, custom, and practice: in sum, everything, every idea pertaining to religion that has been formed or housed in the mind, soul, and heart of the people. All of it, says Jesus, must go: every idea comprising the religious bulwark is to be so thoroughly stripped of meaning and allegiance that “there shall not be left one stone upon another” (2). The outward or fleshly system of belief by which one had hitherto structured one’s life must tumble down in this time of personal apocalypse, of moving from man-made religion (or from a philosophy) to revealed faith.
The second idea that opens this chapter anticipates the natural but faulty response to this bewildering loss of spiritual bearings. Jesus warns those who find themselves in this empty, precarious position to resist any replacement ideology that is touted by others. “Take heed lest any man deceive you: For many shall come in my name, saying, I am Christ; and shall deceive many” (5-6). Accepting that one has no solid footing during this time is as essential as it is distressing, and one must reject and ignore any whose eagerness to exalt themselves drives them to seek the adulation of others, as well as reject the urge to integrate oneself into communities that offer ready-made identity to the estranged self.
The beginnings of sorrows (7-9)
Having set out the overriding ideas that the soul’s desolation is a sign that inward transformation is at hand and that one must guard against false prophets and conformity at this precarious time, Jesus turns to figurative language to convey the magnitude of disturbance that is to be expected. In severity, the inward trauma will be akin to the effects of war, multiple earthquakes, and famine, and “these are [only] the beginnings” (7-8).
A testimony against them (9-11)
There is a widespread notion that in the apocalyptic discourse found in each of the three synoptic gospels6 Jesus speaks literally, foretelling an outward event: that the catastrophe he describes will occur at a single point in time, and will be experienced simultaneously throughout the world. In verse 9, that notion is dispelled as Jesus tells his disciples that during this great tribulation they should expect persecution from “rulers and kings” and in “councils and in the synagogues.” Obviously, were this time he speaks of to be a single, global event, these authorities would likewise be affected, whereas they are not and instead retain the avidity to persecute those who minister the gospel. Anticipating the persecution his disciples will face, Jesus rehearses the mission, method, and credentials that they, as apostles, must take on:
[A]nd ye shall be brought before rulers and kings for my sake, for a testimony against them. And the gospel must first be published among all nations. But when they shall lead you and deliver you up, take no thought beforehand what ye shall speak, neither do ye premeditate: but whatsoever shall be given you in that hour, that speak ye: for it is not ye that speak, but the Holy Ghost (9b-11).
The Soul’s Affliction (12-14)
Jesus then begins to funnel the outward, grand-scale catastrophes (figuratively described as war, earthquakes, and famine) into their true and actual location: the individual soul. The great devastation will be experienced inwardly—within each individual and at a particular time. This is indicated by the type of figurative language Jesus begins to use: it is personal. Example after example is given of the most personal and extreme devastation: betrayal and murder within the family. “Now the brother shall betray the brother to death, and the father the son; and children shall rise up against their parents, and shall cause them to be put to death” (12).
Listing affliction upon affliction, Jesus goes on: “And ye shall be hated of all men for my name’s sake” (13a). He here expresses the utter isolation and alienation one must undergo in fidelity to—at this low point of emptiness and confusion—one knows not what. Only in hindsight can one piece together words to describe the experience of “enduring unto the end” (13b) as a lonely fidelity to the heart or core of one’s being in its inviolable purity and life; perhaps it could be called fidelity to the nameless, intrinsic holy covenant. The harrowing experience of dying to the self is regularly recorded in seventeenth-century Friends’ journals, and Fox, in his Journal, describes it in this way:
When I was in the deep, under all shut up, I could not believe that I should ever overcome; my troubles, my sorrows, and my temptations were so great, that I often thought I should have despaired, I was so tempted.7
In verse 14, Jesus returns to the prophet Daniel’s words to describe this universal, desolate, and pivotal condition as seeing “the abomination of desolation.”8
Leaving the worldly self (14b-23)
In this passage, Jesus uses figurative language to convey the idea that the old, worldly way must be totally left behind. In verses 14b through 18, he uses the figure of a refugee, abandoning his or her home for a better, higher place: “flee to the mountains” (14); “on the housetop [don’t] go down into the house” (15). All that one clings to as one’s own, all that has defined and distinguished one, no longer applies: the covering garment of the constructed self can no longer be taken up (16). Leaving the old worldly self, dying to that self, will occur at the farthest edge of our capacity to endure, and we should pray that no additional difficulty be added during this transition; carrying or nursing a child (17) or traveling in winter (18) are figures that convey added difficulty.
For each person, the severity of the plight is an unparalleled “affliction, such as was not from the beginning of the creation which God created unto this time, neither shall be” (19). For in this void, this formless darkness of the soul, the spirit of God is moving upon face of the waters. His is the wisdom, His is the judgment to measure out the time the flesh can endure before salvation is given: that is to say, before the elect Seed, Christ Within, is known (20). As He wills, will He pronounce: “Let there be light” (Gen. 1:3), and with that pronouncement, Christ, “the beginning of the creation of God” (Rev. 3:14), is revealed within: the Inward Christ is now seen and known.
Jesus warns once again: at the height of one’s tribulation, one may be tempted to attach oneself to a teacher whose doctrine appears sound or whose manner is charismatic (“Lo, here is Christ; or lo, he is there” [21]). There will be such a longing for relief from this greatest of troubles, this unsought nihilism, that temptation to settle “for false Christs and false prophets” will be strong. We have been warned (23).
Coming to the end (24-25)
But in those days, after that tribulation, the sun shall be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, And the stars of heaven shall fall, and the powers that are in heaven shall be shaken (24-25).
The imagery in these two verses is of light found in nature—the sun, moon, and stars. We are being told in a figurative way that the nature previously relied upon, our human nature, is no longer adequate: no longer is our nature capable of lighting our way, as the sun does in the day and the moon at night. The lights of nature are now darkened and giving no light. What we had previously looked up to guide our way through the dark night (as historically, man has looked to the stars) has now fallen; the values we had exalted, that we had deemed “heavenly,” are shaken and no longer seen as reliable. Through having endured the long suffering of dying to the self, dying to the first birth, the person comes to a standstill: the worldly, carnal life has been downed and darkened, and one is without hope.
The beginning of the creation of God (26-27)
And then shall they see the Son of man coming in the clouds with great power and glory. And then shall he send his angels, and shall gather together his elect from the four winds, from the uttermost part of the earth to the uttermost part of heaven (26-27).
The Son of man comes from beyond: not by earthly means and not from the earthly realm, for the Son of man is not of the earth. He is transcendent and bears the image of God, for he is the Son of God and is become the Son of man: the one who comes after the first man, the first birth, the first Adam. The elect Seed will gather all together who have known this miraculous second birth, this second Adam, as they will recognize him when he is manifested in the writings and speech of others, though they be far distant from one another in worldly, fleshly similitude: different in race, gender, language, age, nationality, time, and place; the elect Seed shall be gathered by his messengers (27): that which informs the mind with Truth.
Jesus provides context (28-31)
Early in this chapter, the disciples had asked for a sign that would indicate the approaching fulfillment or completion of all things (4). Jesus has answered their request in this long discourse, which he then caps with a short parable about a fig tree leafing out as a sign summer is near (28). This brief parable is a reminder that all he has said “in like manner” (29) has been spoken in figures.
The words “this generation shall not pass, till all these things be done” (30) has been used to support the interpretation that throughout this discourse Jesus has been predicting an event in time: the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem that will occur in 70 A.D. That is to say, the word “generation” is interpreted to mean those present whose life spans will enable them to witness the temporal event of the temple’s destruction. Continuing the thought begun in verse 30, however, the following verse 31, (“Heaven and earth shall pass away; but my words shall not pass away.”) places Jesus’s words in these two verses within a timeless context, not the temporal one that has been touted by literalists. Jesus speaks of God’s redemptive activity within the generation (the Greek word is genea9) of the first Adam, and His will for fallen humankind’s redemption continues constant “till all these things be done”: that is, until each and all are of the genea of the second Adam, as told us by “the faithful and true witness” (Rev. 3:14) whose “words shall not pass away” (31).
I say unto all. (32-37)
The final passage in this chapter contains a parable that not only underscores the figurative use of language throughout the discourse, but also tells of our worldly predicament. Only God the Father can redeem/perfect us by sending his Son into our hearts that we too may become, as daughters and sons of God, His own creation, bearing His image. Until then, Jesus names us “servants” (34) who are to await the arrival of “the master of the house” (35), the “house” being a figure for our fleshly habitation. We have “every man his work”—courageous fidelity to truth in the heart—and must watch for our master, the Son of man (34), to arrive. That this instruction is not solely addressed to Jesus’s disciples but applies universally to everyone is the final idea in this powerful discourse on the inward progress of each soul as it journeys through the great tribulation and into the great joy: “And what I say unto you I say unto all, Watch” (37).
Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you: But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy (1 Pet. 4:12-13).
1. The Works of George Fox (Philadelphia: Marcus T. C. Gould, 1831), 4:32.
2. Ibid., 34.
3. Ibid.
4. Ibid.
5. The King James Version of the Bible is used throughout the essay.
6. The three synoptic gospels each have an apocalyptic chapter: chapter 24 in Matthew, chapter 13 in Mark, and chapter 21:5-36 in Luke.
7. Fox, op. cit. 1:74.
8.“When Daniel undertook to specify an abomination so surpassingly disgusting to the sense of morality and decency, and so aggressive against every thing that was godly as to drive all from its presence and leave its abode desolate, he chose this as the strongest among several synonyms, adding the qualification ‘that maketh desolate.’ (Dnl 11:31; 12:11).” The International Standard Bible Encyclopaedia [Grand Rapids, Mich.: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1939], 1:16).
9. The two paragraphs at the end of this footnote are taken from a Wikipedia article titled “Olivet Discourse” (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olivet_Discourse [accessed September 26, 2023]) where two scholars (Iver Larsen and Philip La Grange du Toit) are referenced. Each scholar supports the idea that the word “generation” in verse 30 is used to mean a “kind of people”; they agree that the word does not refer to those whose life spans coincide in time. Though the two scholars quoted below agree the Greek word genea (in the KJV translated as “generation”) means a “kind of people,” they disagree on whether Jesus refers to “the ‘good’ kind of people . . . who . . . will endure through all the tribulations” (Larsen) or “the ‘bad’ kind of people” (La Grange du Toit).
In my essay, I specify that the “kind of people” to which Jesus refers when he uses the word “generation” in verse 30 are the unredeemed: those living in the first birth, the first Adam “kind of people.” Jesus is saying each human being (that is, all humankind) will remain in his present unredeemed state—not knowing Christ, the Light Within—until he or she has undergone the dying to the self that Jesus has laid out figuratively in this discourse. (I would paraphrase verses 30 and 31 in this prosaic way: I tell you the kind of people who are in the unredeemed condition will remain unredeemed until they’ve gone through this great tribulation that I’ve told you about. This fact will not change but will be forever true for all humankind.) In verses 30-31, Jesus is emphasizing the necessity of undergoing the inward Cross: that there is no other way for a human being (humankind) to come to know resurrection in Christ (the second birth), and never will there be another way: his “words shall not pass away” (31).
Here is the excerpt from Wikipedia’s “Olivet Discourse” that describes the two scholars’ views:
The Danish linguist Iver Larsen argues that the word “generation” as it was used in the English King James Version of the Bible (1611) had a much wider meaning than it has today, and that the correct current translation of genea (in the specific context of the second coming story) should be “kind of people” (specifically the “good” kind of people; the disciple’s kind of people, who, like the words of Jesus, will endure through all the tribulations). In Psalm 14, the King James version clearly uses “generation” in this now outdated sense, when it declares that “God is in the generation of the righteous.” According to Larsen, the Oxford Universal Dictionary states that the latest attested use of genea in the sense of “class, kind or set of persons” took place in 1727. Larsen concludes that the meaning of “generation” in the English language has narrowed considerably since then.
Bible scholar Philip La Grange du Toit argues that genea is mostly used to describe a timeless and spiritual family/lineage of good or bad people in The New Testament, and that this is the case also for the second coming discourse in Matthew 24. In contrast to Larsen however, he argues that the word genea here denotes the “bad” kind of people, because Jesus had used the word in that pejorative sense in the preceding context (chapter 23).
And the Lord God of their fathers sent to them by his messengers, rising up betimes, and sending; because he had compassion on his people, and on his dwelling place: But they mocked the messengers of God, and despised his words, and misused his prophets, until the wrath of the Lord arose against his people, till there was no remedy (2 Chron. 36:15-16).
In chapter 12 of the Gospel of Mark, Jesus stands in the Father’s authority and counsel against an onslaught of religious and political factions that resent his influence with the people. His strength arises from the Almighty; mere fleshly will succumbs in His Presence. We readers need to see this utter rout, to see Jesus run circles around his adversaries, for the events that shortly will come to pass would tell of defeat and death at the hands of “the rulers of darkness of this world” (Eph. 6:12). The chief priests, scribes, and elders; the Pharisees and the Herodians; and the Sadducees all approach Jesus with deceit and lust for power defiling their hearts and mouths. Jesus sees and exposes the specific errors that characterize each group.
Priests, elders, scribes (1-12)
[H]e sent him also last unto them, saying, They will reverence my son (6).
Chapter 11 ended with Jesus’s refusal to give the chief priests, scribes, and elders an answer to their demand to name the authority by which he acts. In the first nine verses of chapter 12, he answers this question in a roundabout way: by presenting these religious leaders with a parable. In this parable, the owner, builder, and lord of the vineyard (1) is God; the tenants or managers to whom He has rented the vineyard (1) are the chief priests, scribes, and elders; the servants sent to gather the fruits of the vineyard (2-5) are the prophets; and “his own dear son”(6) is Jesus himself. Jesus has not only conveyed that he, as son, acts upon his Father’s authority but that these religious leaders oppose that authority, and consequently, “the lord of the vineyard” will destroy them and give their position of privilege and responsibility to others (9).
But the tenants said to one another, “This is the heir; come on, let us kill him, and the property will be ours.” So they seized him and killed him, and flung his body out of the vineyard. What will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and put the tenants to death and give the vineyard to others (7-9 NEB).1
Jesus adds to this damning parable by quoting verses from a psalm,2 which squarely puts him in line with the tradition, thereby dislodging these religious leaders from their alleged stronghold. He completes the drubbing by attributing all to “the Lord’s doing,” depicting himself simply as an astonished onlooker: “This was the Lord’s doing and it is marvellous in our eyes” (11). That he presents himself as an observer rather than the proprietor of his words tells us that throughout this lengthy monologue (1-11), he has never lost sight of this group’s initial challenge to name the authority by which he acts: it is “the Lord’s doing,” not his own. His intelligence is dizzyingly brilliant and is itself proof of his reliance upon divine power and authority.
The scribes, whom he addresses in this parable, were those whose profession was to know the Law. This work required a scholarly intelligence: one that is agile and diligent in recollection, analysis, and research. The intelligence that Jesus manifests is not scholarly; it is instead grounded in the Source of intelligence, and as such, surpasses all delimited expressions of that power: scholarly, sensory, social, technical, or creative intelligence.
Scholars, such as the scribes, have tried throughout history to put themselves forward in matters of spiritual discernment, not grasping that revelation given through the prophetic sensibility is distinct from and beyond their own intellectual capacities.3 Accustomed to their natural, fleshly knowledge securing for themselves a position of repute among the fleshly minded (38-39), some scholars4 become unsettled when shown that their type of knowledge is not key to spiritual understanding. As the poet said,
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? / Where is the knowledge we have lost in information? The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries / Bring us farther from God and nearer to the Dust.5
Herodians and Pharisees (13-17)
Whose is this image and superscription? And they said unto him, Caesar’s. And Jesus answering said unto them, Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s (17).
In this brief interaction, Jesus brings into view the primary moral fault of both groups that approach him: the Herodians and the Pharisees. The Herodians were not a religious sect but a small political party that had joined forces with the larger, more powerful Pharisees.6 Solely concerned with political power, they had thus rendered themselves in totality unto “Caesar,” and thus had failed to render “to God the things that are God’s.”
The Pharisees here and elsewhere are shown to attend solely to the externalities of religion7 (Mk. 7:1-23); inwardly they are at variance with their outward demeanor and claims. In this passage, their hypocrisy is evident in their true but malevolent words (14) that cloak the intent “to catch [Jesus] in his words” (13). In keeping to their outward orientation, they ask Jesus about the act of giving tribute to Caesar: “Shall we give, or shall we not give?” (15) Jesus not only escapes the trap they lay for him8 but also points to the Pharisees’ failure to give tribute to God. For just as the penny is imprinted with Caesar’s image, so is man created in the image of God: “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them” (Gen. 1:27). And as the penny bearing Caesar’s image belongs to Caesar, so man, created in the image of God, belongs to Him. Jesus has moved the Pharisees’ attention from outward activity – paying or not paying tribute – to the inward, core obligation of man: to render himself unto God.
Sadducees (18-27)
The one defining mark of the Sadducees that is given in this passage is that they “say there is no resurrection” (18). According to the historian Josephus, they also denied divine Providence.9 Because the Sadducees’ understanding is stunted and their ignorance made insufferable by their smug, contemptuous manner, Jesus offers them nothing but a mirror to their mockery.10
The scribe (28-34)
In this passage, a thoughtful, earnest scribe asks Jesus, “Which is the first commandment of all?” (28) Up to this point, the chapter has featured one group of people after another, all claiming to revere and follow the Law yet all perverting the intent of the Law, which is to prepare its adherents to receive the kingdom of God. In contrast, this sole scribe, this individual, displays all the qualities necessary for entry into the kingdom: He has good discernment, “perceiv[ing] that he [Jesus] had answered them [the Sadducees] well” (28). He has an active desire to know, asking, “Which is the first commandment of all?” (28) He has a regard for truth, stating, “Well, Master, thou hast said the truth” (32). He is receptive, capable of learning, showing his grasp through his repetition of Jesus’s teaching (32-33).
Chapter 12 has presented a hornets’ nest of adversaries: the chief priests, the scribes, the elders, the Herodians, the Pharisees, and the Sadducees. After Jesus has defeated and dismissed them all, however, there appears one, lone scribe who rises to the challenge of being, who faithfully responds to Truth; he, in his inward life, is thus prepared: “And when Jesus saw that he answered discreetly, he said unto him, Thou art not far from the kingdom of God” (34). This story of the single individual exemplifies the promise that the human being can rise in response to his calling, despite the surrounding wickedness or apathy to which humanity largely succumbs.
David’s Lord or son
As if to quell any mistaken assumption that he supports the scribes as a group, Jesus directs his next two speeches against them (35, 38). In the first speech (35-37), Jesus shows his deep comprehension of the tradition’s writings and contrasts that understanding with that of the scribes as a group, who can go no deeper than face-value literalism: the Messiah is to be “the son of David” (35), which to the scribes means that the Messiah is to be in the Davidic line. Jesus taunts them and their literalness by pointing out the contradiction: “David therefore himself calleth him Lord; and whence is he then his son?” (37)
The deeper, spiritual meaning of sonship is to have the essential nature of one who has come before. David and Jesus both manifested their kingship in Israel in that they each relied upon their Lord God; sat at His right hand, heard and carried out His commands; and thus saw their enemies defeated beneath their feet. It is this Lord that David, in large measure, consulted and that Jesus, without measure, embodied. That his flesh embodied the spirit of the Lord without measure qualifies Jesus as the Messiah and Lord.
This vignette has another function: it alludes to the many enemies Jesus has defeated earlier, as if to say, his sitting at the Lord’s right hand – his attending to the Father’s counsel – is the means by which he has vanquished the chief priests, scribes, elders, Pharisees, etc. Jesus has demonstrated and now teaches the people that in righteousness and reliance upon the Lord God, their strength to overcome worldly oppression is realized. “And the common people heard him gladly” (37).
The practice of religion (38-44)
The final two teachings in this chapter consist of contrasting examples of the practice of religion: practice that is corrupt or superficial (38-41) as opposed to practice that is genuine and profound (42-44). Briefly summarized, the corruption in the scribes consists of relishing the perks that come with their privileged profession, using their power to take from the weak, and hiding their sin behind sanctimony. “These shall receive greater damnation,” (38-40) Jesus avers. Superficial practice of religion entails proportioning some of one’s worldly assets to its service (41), and perhaps in return enjoying an easy conscience and the esteemed aura of social respectability.
True expression of Christ-knowing religion arises in those who have realized that the world contains neither power nor riches to inwardly suffice (a condition symbolized by “the poor widow” [42]).11 Suffering this truth, they willingly with gladness give over “even all [one’s] living” (44). That is to say, we eagerly give over every resource of our personhood in love to God: “And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is the first commandment” (30).
All Friends and brethren every where, walk in the truth, and know one another in the measure of life, that in it your minds may be guided up to the Father of life; and stand in his counsel, that he alone may be loved with all your strength, with all your minds, and with all your souls; so that ye may all know one another in the life and light, that ye may all be kept from idols. For if ye know one another in the flesh only, that love which will rise out of that knowledge is feigned, and that will wither, and under the condemnation of the light must come.12 — George Fox
1 The King James Version is used except where otherwise noted, such as here where I used The New EnglishBible.
2 “And have ye not read this scripture; The stone which the builders rejected is become the head of the corner: This was the Lord’s doing and it is marvellous in our eyes” (10-11). Jesus is quoting Psalm 118, verses 22 and 23.
3 In his Journal, Fox tells of man who intended to set up a college to make ministers of Christ by making them scholars of “Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and the seven arts, which [Fox writes] were all but the teachings of the natural man, [and] not the way to make them ministers of Christ. . . . Then we showed him further, that Christ made his ministers himself, gave gifts unto them, and bid them ‘Pray to the Lord of the harvest to send forth labourers’” (The Works of George Fox [Philadelphia: Marcus T. C. Gould, 1831], 1:362-3). A reading of this passage can be found at patradallmann.com/2020/10/14/in-spirit-and-in-truth/.
4 Not every scholar is unsettled by the prophetic sensibility; some welcome the contribution, as is shown by the scribe who appears in verses 28 through 34.
6 “Whatever their [unknown] political aims, [the Herodians] early perceived that Christ’s pure and spiritual teaching on the kingdom of God was irreconcilable with these, and that Christ’s influence with the people was antagonistic to their interests” (The International Standard Bible Encyclopaedia [Grand Rapids, Mich.: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1939], 3:1383).
7 “Jesus denounced the Pharisees more than He denounced any other class of the people. This seems strange when we remember that the main body of the religious people, those who looked for the Messiah, belonged to the Pharisees, and His teaching and theirs had a strong external resemblance. It was this external resemblance, united as it was with a profound spiritual difference, which made it incumbent on Jesus to mark Himself off from them. All righteousness with them was external, it lay in meats and drinks and divers washings. . . . He placed religion on a different footing, removed it into another region. With Him it was the heart that must be right with God, not merely the external actions; not only the outside of the cup and platter was to be cleansed, but the inside first of all” (Encyclopaedia, 4:2365).
8 For Jesus to advise not to give tribute would put him at odds with the ruling political power, the Romans, while to advise giving tribute to Rome (Caesar) would alienate him from the people.
9 The encyclopedia goes on to say that “[t]heir theology might be called ‘religion within the limits of mere sensation,’” (Encyclopaedia, 4:2660), making the Sadducees the philosophical materialists of their day.
10 Closer examination of this passage can be found in an earlier essay titled “Right Use of Our Tradition (Some Observations on Mark 12:18-34).” In that essay, the Sadducees’ superficial understanding of the tradition is contrasted with the deeper understanding of a single scribe; the two passages are back-to-back: the Sadducees passage running from verses 18 to 27, and the single scribe passage beginning at 28 and ending at 34.
11 This same idea was expressed by George Fox: “[A]nd I saw all the world could do me no good. If I had had a king’s diet, palace, and attendance, all would have been as nothing, for nothing gave me comfort but the Lord by his power” (Works, 1:75).
12 Thanks to Esther Murer and John Edminster for their work on the Quaker Bible Index where I found this particular quotation (Works, 7:129).
“Whatsoever is excellent, whatsoever is noble, whatsoever is worthy, whatsoever is desirable” in the Christian faith, is ascribed to this Spirit, without which it could no more subsist than the outward world without the sun. Hereunto have all true Christians, in all ages, attributed their strength and life. It is by this Spirit that they avouch themselves to have been converted to God, to have been redeemed from the world, to have been strengthened in their weakness, comforted in their afflictions, confirmed in their temptations, emboldened in their sufferings, and triumphed in the midst of all their persecutions. Yea, the writings of all true Christians are full of the great and notable things which they all affirm themselves to have done, by the power, and virtue, and efficacy of the Spirit of God working in them.- Robert Barclay
In this excerpt from the Second Proposition of the Apology,1 Barclay distinguishes between the Spirit itself and those in whom it is revealed or received. In being given this Spirit’s power and goodness, “true Christians” are thereby enabled to act with “strength and life.” Seventeenth-century Friends saw that the Spirit was a distinct, enabling power that superseded whatever virtues and values they had chosen to adopt for themselves in their reliance upon their natural powers of reason and conscience. Chapter 11 in the Gospel of Mark aims to clarify the difference between the Spirit and the flesh, the flesh being all that figures into natural human capacity in and of itself: including thinking, feeling, and sensing.
The previous chapter in Mark taught that we human beings are prone to assigning life’s meaning to that which is attainable by and through our own fleshly nature, and that this is the error of idolatry and a misuse of the gift of life. In this chapter, Spirit and flesh are metaphorically and repeatedly distinguished one from the other, always with the intent to show the flesh is to be subsidiary and attendant to the quickening Spirit. The function of the flesh is to assist, carry, and house a Spirit distinct from itself: that is, the flesh is to assist, carry, and house the Spirit of God.
The colt
[Y]e shall find a colt tied, whereon never man sat; loose him, and bring him (Mk. 11:2).
At the beginning of chapter 11, we are immediately launched into a metaphor that illustrates the difference between the Spirit of God and fleshly human nature. The donkey, a beast of burden, is commandeered to bear “the Lord [who] hath need of him” (3): just as the human being, in all that comprises his nature, is called to bear the Spirit of God. Human nature is distinct from this Spirit but is to carry and serve it as the donkey is to carry and serve the Lord.
In commentaries on this passage, much is made of the Messianic prophecy in Zechariah 9:9.2 What interests me about the link between the two passages, however, is not that the Mark passage confirms Jesus as the Messiah whom prophets anticipated, but that the lowliness of the animal is emphasized. Not only is the Lord and King’s transport a donkey but even less than a donkey: it is a donkey colt, not even a fully grown animal. This detail suggests that that which carries the Lord is a creature not fully matured, not fully realized, which is to say, in his fleshly nature, unredeemed Man is the not-fully-realized Creation.
Historically, the animal on which a person rode indicated his nature or status. (And this has carried over even into our own day in the type of car one drives!) The emphasis on the lowliness of the animal that transports Jesus – not simply a donkey but a donkey colt – augments the contrast between the creaturely flesh and that which it is called to carry: “thy King” (Zech. 9:9), “the Lord” (Mk. 11:3).
That the donkey is one upon which “never man sat” (2) suggests the newness and forward movement in the human endeavor that Jesus’s ride into Jerusalem signals, sometimes called the “Messianic Age.” Never before has the (fleshly) creature been loosed and brought into the service of the One who commandeers him. Well do onlookers cast their garments and branches – worldly possessions and nature – and shout “Hosanna” to the One “that cometh in the name [power] of the Lord” (8-9). It is a new era in which humanity may now enter into holiness “[b]y the new and living way which he hath consecrated for us, through the veil, that is to say, his flesh” (Heb. 10:20). The “forerunner” (6:20) is to bridle the fleshly nature that he – and thus, by implication, all humankind – may carry and serve the living God.
The temple and the fig tree (11-21)
The next 11 verses in this chapter weave together two strands of metaphor, each conveying in its own way the distinction between flesh and Spirit. The two metaphors are interlaced as are the two locations in which they occur: Jerusalem and Bethany (the road from Bethany). That the two metaphors are to be considered variations of the same idea is set out in verse 11, which has no substantial content other than to establish there are two locations – and two incidents – where the flesh has failed to serve the Spirit. That there are two incidents to describe this failure rather than the single success shown earlier with the colt suggests failure is prevalent. The two strands of this passage – the defiled temple and the barren fig tree – illustrate this disorder or failure through metaphor.
In Jerusalem, the defiled temple does not house the activity of prayer but has become a place to buy and sell (15) and a throughway for other concerns (16). The temple is a building where the Spirit is to be housed, just as the creaturely flesh is to house the Spirit. To misappropriate one’s life to secure worldly, fleshly gain is to make the temple of the Lord – to make of oneself – a thief-inhabited den (17).
Secondly, the fig tree’s primary function is to produce fruit, just as human beings when rightly ordered will produce fruits of the Spirit. The tree – or flesh – that produces nothing of value to the Lord – no fruit but only leaves – is cursed to be eternally without true purpose or meaning: “No man eat fruit of thee hereafter for ever” (14). Absent his true purpose and meaning, the human being withers away, as does this fig tree (21).
Faith (22-26)
Up to this point in the chapter, we have been given one illustration of rightly ordered flesh bearing the commanding Spirit (the colt bearing the Lord), as well as two intertwined examples of fleshly failure to house or bear that Spirit (the defiled temple and the barren fig tree): failures that Jesus condemned by violent act and word (14-17). The short sermon that follows these illustrations contains Jesus’s admonition and guidance for making the changeover from the fleshly nature to a Spirit-led state, where the Spirit of God is manifested through the flesh. It is a condition called by many names: “second birth”; “incarnation”; “the kingdom of heaven”; “Christ Within”; “Way”; “Truth”; “Life”; or simply, as in this passage, “faith.”
Have faith in God. For verily I say unto you. That whosoever shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall believe that those things which he saith shall come to pass; he shall have whatsoever he saith. Therefore I say unto you, what things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them (22-24).
A mountain cast into the sea at the behest of one who wholeheartedly believes his words ensure the event will happen is figurative language. It is an imaginative way of saying that through faith we experience our human nature transcended: we enter prayer by calling the mountainous ego to be set aside, having no doubt Christ will appear to replace our now absent self-centeredness with his own commanding presence. Confident expectation, Jesus teaches here, is the right frame of mind for entering into prayerful communion with God.
A literal interpretation of verses 22-24 could arise solely in a fleshly mind, a mind in which Scriptures’ miracles do not recall inward experience but instead are used to violate reason and, consequently, conscience. (Cognitive dissonance goes unchecked in minds not given to truth.) Heavenly gifts of reason and conscience are violated when one compels oneself to believe literally that a mountain could be cast into the sea at one’s behest. (Furthermore, Jesus reminds us elsewhere of the limits to our natural powers [Mt. 5:36].) The reasoning of the flesh is inadequate to interpret miracles in Scripture, which are experientially understood by those who have known the Spirit’s visitation.3
What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them (24).
How easily the fleshly mind can make of verse 24 a genie-in-a-lamp situation! One does not petition God for worldly goods or power. When flesh is rightly ordered, we pray to receive God’s Spirit, which is of supreme value beyond all fleshly accommodation. This is the primary lesson that Jesus’s acceptance of the Cross teaches: the mountainous, fleshly nature is settled low or cast aside and the Spirit received, as it is known and believed in.
In the final two verses of this short sermon, Jesus offers us a kind of litmus test to discern whether one is oriented to the flesh or to the Spirit:
And when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have ought against any: that your Father also which is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses. But if ye do not forgive, neither will your Father which is in heaven forgive your trespasses (25-26).
The passage of time can lessen the pain of having been victimized, yet judgment and contempt may linger on, taking their toll upon the soul. Forgiveness is a gift from God that accompanies entry into the inward state where worldly advantage or deprivation do not figure, and we judge not at all: neither self nor others. (Yet, any judgment of self or others given therein is right judgment [Jn. 8:15-16].) In that inward state, one bears no ill will toward those who have trespassed, as our well-being is as inviolate as the One who presides within. It is only when faith has been bestowed upon us that dark resentment for harm done disappears, subsumed in the brightness of his glory. To attempt to forgive without heavenly power is like jumping from the earth and expecting to remain airborne. The gravity of our fallen estate does not allow it.
That both admonitions – to have faith and to forgive – are presented as though it were a person’s choice to have or do either of them functions to direct the person toward these goals. He is to do his utmost to regulate himself that he may be prepared to receive these heavenly gifts. The flesh is to be directed toward virtue and truth, but of itself, can do no more.
Authority (27-33)
In the time since Jesus’s disruption of idolatrous activity in the temple (15-16), the scribes and chief priests have been conniving to “destroy” him, for he has amazed the people with his powerful teaching (18). As is typical of these religious leaders, they come to Jesus with prepared trick questions: “By what authority doest thou these things? and who gave thee this authority to do these things?” (29) These questions continue the chapter’s theme of distinguishing between two forces known within – the Spirit which commands and empowers (the authority), and the flesh which assists, carries, or houses that Spirit. The leaders are challenging Jesus to name the Spirit, or authority, that he carries within.
Any direct response to the leaders’ questions would station that cohort as the authority that must be answered. Furthermore, in answering their questions, Jesus would open the issue to argument and refutation, thus elevating the priests in people’s eyes through Jesus’s willingness to engage them. Jesus neither answers their question directly, nor allows them the opportunity to refute or argue. He instead puts them back on their heels by asking, in turn, an unanswerable question: “The baptism of John, was it from heaven, or of men?” And he caps his authoritative stance with an imperative: “answer me” (30).
Though the question is about John the Baptist, Jesus holds the like esteem of the people as well as the antipathy of the priests, so any answer the priests give regarding John will, to the people, apply equally to Jesus. Thus Jesus turns the tables on the priests by compelling them to answer the same question they have asked and he has refused to answer. This they cannot do and still maintain their authority with the people. Privy to their reasoning, we see that truth figures not one whit; high social position is uppermost in their calculations. This firmly categorizes these leaders as idolators, who corrupt themselves by instrumental use of speech in service to their fleshly will:
And they reasoned with themselves, saying, If we shall say, From heaven; he will say, Why then did ye not believe him? But if we shall say, Of men, they feared the people: for all men counted John, that he was a prophet indeed (31-32).
Chapter 11 has taught that flesh and Spirit are two distinct powers and that the flesh is to be subsidiary to the commanding authority of Spirit. In the final passage of this chapter, we saw these two powers -flesh and Spirit – come face to face, contesting which had the upper hand. The religious leaders, in practice, regarded the flesh to be the authority they serve, having made for themselves an idol of their position within society. They have corrupted the right order of Spirit commanding flesh and instead made flesh its own purpose and rule. Jesus refused to give way to the imposition of their corruption: his defiance is evident throughout the exchange. He vanquished these contenders, therein demonstrating the true power and authority of the Spirit of God that he carries within and, through his flesh, has manifested. In Jesus’s final statement, we see the same distinction made that has imbued this chapter from start to finish: the distinction between the subsidiary, manifesting flesh (the “I”) and the animating authority of the Spirit of God. “Neither do I tell you by what authority I do these things” (33).
1 Robert Barclay, Apology for the True Christian Divinity (Glenside, Pa.: Quaker Heritage Press, 2002), 42-43.
2 “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion; shout, O daughter of Jerusalem: behold, thy King cometh unto thee: he is just, and having salvation; lowly and riding upon an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass” (Zech. 9:9). The King James Version of the Bible was used throughout this essay.
3 Another common error of the fleshly mind is its denouncing the flesh (usually meaning the body or the intellect) as being opposed to God. The intellect and the body are gifts from God and as such are not evil; it is their idolatrous misuse that is wrong. To understand this fallacy, consider this analogy: a hammer is a tool that is intended for use in construction; that it can also be used destructively as a weapon does not make the hammer in itself evil. The rightly used intellect is likewise a tool that constructively carries, assists, and houses (gives expression to) the Spirit of truth. Wrongly used, the intellect corruptly turns from the authority of the Spirit of truth and instead acts out its rebellion by destructively trafficking in lies and confusion, that its chosen idol might be served. Chapter 11 teaches flesh must be subsidiary to the Spirit, and therein is it of good service to God. Truth (Spirit) manifesting in and through the intellect (flesh) is the prophets’ way of bringing heaven to earth. The “Word made flesh” (Jn. 1:14) is a phrase that tells of the essential, necessary role flesh has to play in God’s Providence.
4 There are two earlier essays on this blog that I wrote on Chapter 11 of Mark. They both focus on a single passage in the chapter and therefore allow for a closer examination than was given to either of them in this essay, which addresses the theme that ran throughout the entire chapter. The first essay (“The Lesson of the Fig Tree”) looks at the failure of the fleshly nature to bear spiritual fruit, and the other (“From Heaven or of Men: An Essay on Discernment”) focuses on our capacity to distinguish between flesh and Spirit. “Fig tree” is based on ministry I gave in a Philadelphia meeting in May 2018 (thanks to Helene Pollack for her assistance in recollecting the ministry), and “From Heaven or of Men” was written sometime before 2010, though not published on this site until June 2016.
[T]he lack of meaning in life is a soul-sickness whose full extent and import our age has not yet begun to comprehend. — Carl Jung
Today on my walk around the Philadelphia neighborhood where I live, I noticed several small garden sculptures: a trumpeting elephant made of stone; a butterfly fashioned from iron; a displaced fountain putto, also of stone; and, at the base of an old oak, a conclave of gnomes! It occurred to me that raw materials – such as stone, iron, and plaster – when given recognizable form, take on meaning, not only for the maker but also for the viewer. The fashioned shape elicits associations, calling to mind earlier events or periods in one’s life. It may provide a connection between past and present, enhancing one’s own unique life narrative. Thus, the form or image calls forth some sense of personal meaning. These garden ornaments did so in a minor, trivial way; nevertheless, they provided evidence that the need for and pursuit of meaning is a strong motive for us humans, one that animates our lives.
That the desire for and pursuit of meaning must be rightly ordered is the primary theme of Mark 10. When wrongly directed, this pursuit can lessen life’s quality and blunt its purpose. Chapter 10 presents our hero, Jesus, thwarting the idolatrous desires of many that he encounters, and often redirecting them toward life’s true, intended meaning.
Social dominance (1-9)
The first interchange in this chapter is with the Pharisees (2). This group assumes that their expert knowledge of their nation’s history and the Law of Moses entitles them to a position of authority within their society. Jesus has threatened their assumption and their social position by drawing the interest and admiration of the people away from them and to himself. Through their expertise, the Pharisees seek to retain their superior social status, which wrongfully gives meaning to their lives. Their intent in approaching Jesus in the beginning story of this chapter is to diminish him by showing that he’s out of keeping with the tradition (thereby alienating those who flock to his teaching). They present Jesus with a question, which if answered either yes or no would ensure their authority and dominance.
Their question was “Is it lawful for a man to put away his wife?”1 For Jesus to answer yes would have signaled submission to the Law’s authority as well as to the Pharisees whose expertise was knowledge of the Law; to answer no would have put Jesus at variance with Moses and the tradition, thus invalidating him with the people. Either answer would have put the Pharisees in a position of social dominance through authoritative knowledge. Jesus’s answer (“For the hardness of your heart [Moses] wrote you this precept”[5]) skirts their trap by placing the necessity for the precept upon the people’s shortcoming, for which Moses wisely made allowance. Thus, Jesus doesn’t discredit himself by denying Moses and the tradition but allies himself with them, while still noting the precept’s drawback. His superior grasp of the tradition then allows him to pronounce the earlier, holy intent of marriage: “Therefore shall man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh” (Gen. 2:24). He points to the prelapsarian perfect intent of God, while the Pharisees can offer up only a stop-gap rule for inhibiting ruined humanity’s further decline. Showing his unity with the Source of the tradition, Jesus disrupts the Pharisees’ idolatrous intent to generate meaning through social dominance that is based upon scholarly expertise.
Social attachment (10-12)
Keeping to the same topic of marriage when alone with his disciples (10-12), Jesus dislodges a different error: that life’s meaning is found in having the “right” partner or spouse. This belief often leads to one spouse divorcing the other in order to marry again, behavior that Jesus condemns. Interesting to note, it is not leaving the spouse that is condemned, for he sanctions that act when done “for [his] sake, and the gospel’s” (29). To leave the spouse, however, in order to “marry another” (11) is to believe that one’s well-being depends upon having the right spouse. There are good marriages and there are bad, but neither can the good ones excel nor the bad ones disrupt the essential, primary relationship with Christ Within (another way of saying being within the kingdom of God) wherein true meaning, and thus well-being, are found.
Jesus has now confuted two prominent forms of misplaced meaning (idolatry), both concerned with social relationships: (1) dominance over or (2) attachment to others. Neither yields the meaning we are to find.
The kingdom
As though to present a corrective to the Pharisees’ grab for social dominance and the misguided estimation of spousal attachment, the narrative turns to a short episode in which Jesus responds to young children (13-16). A young child longs for what it wants without considering barriers, costs, or conflicts. He hasn’t yet developed the ability to weigh, calculate, deliberate upon, postpone, or sublimate his desire: he simply wants what he wants, now and wholeheartedly. When this pure, simple condition of longing for the kingdom of God is known within (Mt. 6:22), entry is provided, to both the Giver’s and the given’s delight.
Riches (17-25)
Riches provide many kinds of power: opportunity, security, comfort, luxury, status, esteem, and influence are some. The numerous material and social goods that riches can provide have always made life more amenable in the many cultures of this world, and therein, acquisition and retention of wealth has widely figured as pre-eminently meaningful. Many have given over their lives to its pursuit. The man who “came running, and kneeled to [Jesus],” though wealthy, would add “eternal life” to his list of life-enhancing possessions (17). Jesus’s first words to him, however, hint that the man needs to discern and prioritize: he states, “[T]here is none good but one” (18). He again emphasizes singularity when he says, “One thing you lack” (21). Jesus is leading the man to realize eternal life is the one essential, and not an item to be grouped with the many worldly possessions already in hand. Eternal life is a separate category of its own2: it is the unique, original Substance, next to which great wealth, with all its advantages, is insignificant and can be relinquished.
Alone again with his disciples, Jesus lists the possessions and relationships in which humanity is prone to place life’s meaning, and he states their combined worth is not to be compared to the one essential that excels them all: eternal life (29-30). To show the error of placing meaning in the accumulation of worldly goods, Jesus offers the maxim “But many that are first shall be last; and the last first” (31). To be “first” in the world requires adopting cultural values and devoting life’s substance to their attainment; whereas to seek and find the kingdom, eternal life, is to receive from God a personal sense of meaning that is beyond that which the world has to offer (30).
Persecution (30-34)
Nestled within the list of abundance promised to those who forfeit worldly pursuits for the sake of the gospel is a sharp spike of warning: “[they] shall receive . . . persecutions” (30). Jesus expands upon this warning to his disciples on their walk toward Jerusalem, detailing the assault upon his dignity and person that will occur there. It will be an attack upon his power to sustain himself in the world; his human vulnerability is to be thoroughly exposed and compromised in every way: he is to be humiliated, mocked, scourged, and spat upon,3 and he is to be killed (34).
Jesus’s work is to present the way we humans are to gain meaning that withstands and overcomes the humiliation of being vulnerable creatures, driven by fear and desire. His teaching contradicts the ways and means by which societies fabricate meaning by lessening the mental impact of vulnerability and mortality. These societal ways simulate true, personal meaning in that they make tolerable the intolerable consciousness of weakness, temporality, and inevitable death. Jesus attacks these false formulations of meaning that man has imaged, constructed, and subjected himself to in worship. They hobble Man in his short spell of time upon the earth by waylaying and dulling the anxiety of having been created mortal: his anxious awareness that he, the man of sin,4 is not the uncreated, eternal God.
Exercising authority (35-45)
This chapter began with the Pharisees bid to gain social dominance, and, as if to show the stranglehold this particular idolatry has on humanity, the problem again presents itself: now within the small circle of disciples. The sons of Zebedee seek social status and authority: to sit one on each side of their leader “in [his] glory” (37), and the other disciples resent the two brothers’ request for privileged status (41). Unlike in the earlier confrontation with the Pharisees, Jesus here finds it worthwhile to explain rightly ordered social interaction. After acknowledging the worldly (Gentile [42]) way of hierarchical exercise of power, he explains the new order, which is its inverse: “whosoever will be great among you, shall be your minister” (43), and then applies the maxim to himself (45).
The healing (46-52).
In both the previous and final passages of this chapter, Jesus has asked petitioners what they would have him do for them (36, 51). The sons of Zebedee sought worldly gain in exalted social position, and they were denied. The blind beggar asked to receive his sight. Bartimaeus knows he’s blind; knows he’s a dependent beggar; knows Jesus is the son of David (the Messiah); and deeply, simply longs for wholeness. Though bullied (48), he refuses to be silenced, mollified, or co-opted. He continues to cry out for mercy: for sight, for wholeness, for well-being.
Bartimaeus’s admission of need exhibited his faith in the truth. It is this faith that made him whole: “Go thy way; thy faith hath made thee whole” (52). In seeing the truth of his condition; casting away the garment that covered him (50), that symbol of worldly goods; and rising in response to being called (50), Bartimaeus expressed faith that the Creator intends goodness and truth for his creatures, for Creation. All who have been made whole through the same excruciating process know that to “go thy way” (as Jesus commands the now sighted) is to continue, as did Bartimaeus, to follow Jesus. “And immediately he received his sight, and followed Jesus in the way” (52).5
Longtime suffering awareness (“soul-sickness”) would teach us that we ourselves cannot heal our inward ills. Idolatry is humanity’s attempt to do so. Human beings cannot construct for themselves authentic meaning, in which all the divergent aspects of the self coherently integrate and rest upon a single, solid foundation, resulting in felt wholeness and peace. Truly meaningful life is gained only when the Light of Christ enters and integrates one’s being by means of his singular power and glory.
1 The King James Version of the Bible is used throughout this essay.
2 That “eternal life” is in a separate category apart from worldly goods is indicated by the phrase that precedes and separates it from the list: that is, “and in the world to come” (30). This phrase does not refer to a state to be known following the death of the body, as traditions other than Quaker would have it. Rather it refers to that state in which, having received inward knowledge of God – the Light of Christ – the recipient’s worldview is changed so dramatically that he appears to have entered a different world. That is the “world to come” to which Jesus refers in verse 30.
3 “Humiliate” comes from its Latin root “humus,” meaning earth or ground. To be humiliated is figuratively to be returned to the ground: to be put in mind of our mortality, our vulnerability. Note that Jesus ends this description of his humiliation with the words “and the third day he shall rise again” (34). This rising again affirms the superiority of the Way that he teaches and performs over the worldly way of attempting to gain meaning through elevating oneself over others. The rising from the dead (from the earth) seems impossible to the worldly, but those who have been raised to know eternal life can testify to its reality, as Jesus does at the end of verse 34.
4 “the man of sin . . . [w]ho opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God . . . so that he as God sitteth in the temple of God, shewing himself that he is God” (2 Thess. 2:3-4)
5 To “follow” or imitate “Jesus in the way” does not mean to use as one’s primary guide the words he spoke and the acts he performed while he walked upon the earth. Rather the phrase should be interpreted “in a deeper sense,” as Jung does in his book Alchemical Studies: “The imitation of Christ might well be understood in a deeper sense. It could be taken as the duty to realize one’s deepest conviction with the same courage and the same self-sacrifice shown by Jesus.” (I would add that for the Quaker, the “deepest conviction” is found in coming into unity with Christ Within.) The epigraph is from Jung’s work The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche. I came across both of the quotations used in this essay in a YouTube video fromAcademy of Ideas.
And he said unto them, Verily I say unto you, That there be some of them that stand here, which shall not taste of death, till they have seen the kingdom of God come with power (Mk. 9:1).
In chapter 8, we saw Jesus accepting his new role as Messiah, which then allowed him to call others to the same self-denial or taking up of the cross to which he himself had acceded. One might think this first verse of chapter 9 would be better placed in the preceding chapter, as it continues the scene begun a few verses earlier in 8:34. Chapter 9, however, features Jesus preparing for his earthly departure by educating his disciples to the end that they and others might come to see the kingdom of God. Thus it is appropriate to have stated at the beginning of this chapter the intent of the work for which the disciples are being trained: that some may come to see “the kingdom of God come with power.”
This teaching chapter has two main lessons: 1) there is a new vision of life that is above and beyond worldly capacity to know, and 2) its ways and means are distinct from worldly ways and means, and are taught by the Son of God.
The Transfiguration
How better to impress upon the three leading disciples (Peter, James, and John) that there is a reality hitherto beyond their ken than to bring them into a new space, “an high mountain” (2), and before their eyes to be moved into that brilliant reality, which is the Light! That this phenomenon is legitimately grounded in the tradition is affirmed by the appearance of Moses (the Law) and Elias (the Prophets). The disciples are desirous to normalize the event by building tabernacles, yet they are prevented from doing so. That is to say, they are prevented from taking an active hand in worship – worshiping in man’s will – and are instead instructed by God to worship in the new way: by hearing the Light that is the Son of God (7). Having witnessed the transfiguration from flesh to Light is the first and necessary lesson for these disciples, for until then only the darkness of worldly life had suffused their awareness. They had need to see, to experience the Light, for how could they bring others into the kingdom if they themselves did not know, had not seen, its reality.
In admonishing the disciples to “tell no man what things they had seen”(9), Jesus is taking steps to prevent speculation. It is essential that knowledge be gained in a manner more akin to sensory experience, i.e., hearing, seeing, tasting, rather than conjecture. For human pride often enthrones conjecture with a certainty that is not warranted, and thus usurps Truth’s rightful place.
It is conjecture about the meaning of “rising from the dead” that the three disciples engage in amongst themselves as they come down the mountain (10). That they then question Jesus about the prophet Elias tells of the tradition’s close association of Elias’s return – a prophet rising from the dead – with the subsequent coming of the Lord.1 Jesus identifies John the Baptist with Elias, in that the righteousness of which man is capable in and of himself was the necessary and core attribute of all prophets, and John exemplified this quality most fully. Ironically, in chapter 6, these several ideas of rising from the dead regarding Elias, John the Baptist, and Jesus are likewise linked by Herod, John’s executioner.2 In turn, Jesus obliquely links Elias, John, and Herod in the verse concluding this section: “But I say unto you, That Elias is indeed come, and they have done unto him whatsoever they listed as it is written of him” (13). That the messianic rising follows upon the prophetic diminishment is a motif presented repeatedly in this and the previous chapter where Jesus himself moved from one to the other: we are being told that the prophetic and the messianic are linked and similar but sufficiently distinct to have their difference noted repeatedly at various times and by disparate characters.
Thus in this first lesson Jesus gives to his disciples, the reality of the kingdom of God is shown in the transfiguration (2-3) where flesh becomes Light and the beloved Son is to be heard (7). Furthermore, the triumphant reign over inevitable worldly opposition is foreshadowed in the words “the Son of man were risen from the dead” (9). Having experienced the Light of Christ and having been taught the dynamics of opposition and triumph that are to be expected, the disciples are now ready to see a demonstration of the work they will do. They are to see humanity in its rebellion, its ignorance, pride, cruelty, helplessness, and grief, and they are to overcome it all.
The people and the authorities (14-16)
Increasingly, Jesus has become less willing to engage the authorities: in verse 16, he asks a question of them and does not stay to hear their answer. It would appear that his previous encounters with the authorities were predicated on weaning the people away from their influence. That is no longer necessary, as the people who have been speaking with the scribes quickly lose interest in them when Jesus appears (15). Diverting his attention from the scribes and moving on to those conscious of the need for help, Jesus models spiritual triage: for his disciples, a lesson in practicality. Time and resources are limited and must to be spent where most productive.
The healing (17-29)
Although this healing story features particular characters, a distraught father and his demon-possessed son, it serves, in fact, as a universal template for humanity’s unredeemed condition. In Scripture healing stories, a son or daughter – that which is most precious to us in our fleshly life – often functions as a symbol for the soul, that which is most precious to us in our spiritual life. That the son in this story is debilitated by a troubling spirit is to say that the human soul is troubled by a debilitating spirit. Upon hearing the father’s list of his son’s symptoms, Jesus immediately interjects the diagnosis: “O faithless generation”(19). Note his use of the word “generation”; he does not address the man directly but expands his particular problem to encompass many people: an indication that it is lack of faith that universally troubles and debilitates the human soul, the human life.
The father, brought to desperation in his fully exercised but inadequate power, cries out in tears from his earnest heart, “Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief” (24). All the elements for receiving faith are thus present: the recognition of the soul’s need, that all one’s earnest effort cannot meet that need, and the crying out for help. The Lord can then proceed to exorcise the demonic spirit from the soul and forever prevent its return (25). The son’s appearing dead at first but then lifted up to life (27) prefigures the resurrection to life that Jesus will model following his crucifixion and entombment, which he refers to a few verses later (31). His crucifixion, entombment, and resurrection, in turn, prefigures our inward, spiritual ascension to Life.
This healing episode is a lesson that provides a prototype for the work the disciples must come to do. We are reminded that it has been a lesson when they ask Jesus why they themselves could not cast out the demon (28). He replies, “This kind can come forth by nothing, but by prayer and fasting” (29). Fasting is the restriction of worldly appetite, and prayer is communion with God. Jesus is teaching his disciples that the demonic is cast out following the restriction of the worldly appetite and the ascension into heavenly communion.
How the disciples are to conduct themselves
Having shown the disciples the work they are to do in the world, Jesus then spends the remainder of this chapter on the inward discipline they are to maintain that they may perform this work, both individually and among themselves. Each disciple must consider his primary role to be serving others in their progress toward the kingdom (35); it is the kingdom that matters, not one’s position in the worldly hierarchy. To empathize with and assist the unworldly innocent is to integrate oneself into the way of Christ and God (37). Attend to the spirit a person manifests, not to the letter of his words (39-40). Those who provide relief to you (and you will need it!) shall be favored by God, and, conversely, for those who thwart the unworldly innocent, it were better for them to be without life altogether, for their souls are irrevocably sunk in the chaos of hell (42).
And if thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched:
Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.
And if thy foot offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter halt into life, than having two feet to be cast in hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched:
Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.
And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out: it is better for thee to enter into the kingdom of God with one eye, than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire:
Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched (43-48).
This passage near the end of chapter 9 differs in style from what has come before, and through its poetry indelibly stresses the necessity of disallowing worldly inclinations from interfering with one’s determination to enter the kingdom. For if a person does not enter the kingdom himself, he hardly can expect to assist others in the same pursuit. What one does (the hand), where one goes (the foot), what one desires (the eye) are to be kept aligned and purposeful to the end that the kingdom is entered. Maintaining this intent is essential, and so Jesus uses repetition and refrain to impress upon his disciples the all-important oversight and regulation of their inward state.
For every one shall be salted with fire, and every sacrifice shall be salted with salt. Salt is good, but if the salt have lost his saltness, wherewith will ye season it (49-50)?
Beautiful is Jesus’s play upon the word “salt” in the final two verses of this chapter. Continuing with the reference to the “fire” of hell from the prior admonitory passage, he speaks of the difficulty of making the sacrifice of one’s worldly self (everyone is “salted with fire”) while also alluding to the tradition’s practice of the salting of temple sacrifices.3 “Salt is good”; it is the essential seasoning: just as a vital soul seasons all one’s being. Life loses its palatability when not seasoned with a soul that lives in the Light. Jesus completes this teaching chapter by calling his disciples to keep this necessary seasoning, the living soul, in themselves, for it is that which allows for “peace one with another” (50).
Throughout this teaching chapter, Jesus has provided experiential knowledge of the kingdom, a demonstration of the work to be done, and numerous guidelines for maintaining the vitality of spiritual life within and among his disciples.
1 “Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the Lord” (Mal. 4:5). “Elijah” is the prophet’s name in the Hebrew language, while “Elias” is the Greek form.
2 And king Herod heard of him [Jesus] . . . and he said, That John the Baptist was risen from the dead, and therefore mighty works do shew forth themselves in him. Others said, That it is Elias. . . . But when Herod heard thereof, he said, It is John, whom I beheaded: he is risen from the dead (Mk. 6:14-16).
3 And every oblation of thy meat offering shalt thou season with salt; neither shalt thou suffer the salt of the covenant of thy God to be lacking from thy meat offering: with all thine offerings thou shalt offer salt (Lev. 2:13).
Abiding Quaker 