Firewood Man spent some time with his family today, so we are not yet done. Tomorrow, he says. I think maybe next week. But I am much, much, much more at ease because all the post supports have now been replaced.
See that post on the left?? Tim asked me to come watch its replacement. Now, I was not at all interested in seeing the jack being used, but I knew he had something in mind. Yep ... let's twit Myrtle further. After the roof was jacked up the merest smidgeon, Firewood Man pushed on the post with a single finger. It fell off. That shimmed and glued post had not a single screw, nail, or bolt in it. All that had held it in place was the 1x4 framing for the lattice. GULP.
How do you like that support post?? There's not much left of it. Firewood Man brought his brother-in-law by, and Ben about near had a heart attack looking over the bits and pieces that Tim has replaced. He was horrified that I had been piling entire ranks of firewood upon the porch.
Such a blessing Tim's idea to replace the lattice (actually hand nailed lathe) instead of my attempting to scrape it and paint has been to me. I shudder to think of what would have happened after a few more loads of firewood.
My goal for the morrow is the framing and lattice on the base of the porch and the airing porch. I can wait on the handrail, but I very much dislike having full view of the very creepy space beneath the porch. And I would like the "upstairs" finished off.
One good thing about today was that the homeowner across the alley one house over asked Tim to come look at this rather dilapidated tree house (really ... it's just got to be a duck blind ... a square building on four 10-feet high posts) that is at the corner of her property, right against the alley. She wants him to take it down!!!! Man, my view from the airing porch will be ever so much more pleasant with that ginormous eyesore. My neighbor commented that she bet most of the homeowners around would have pitched in to have it removed. I am happy Tim got more work and I am happy our alley (which is rather unattractive) will be losing its worst eyesore.
After Tim left, I spent time (after I took the photo) going outside and doing 5-minute clean-ups with 30-minutes rests between. All the wood bits are gone from around the porch. The garbage bin of bits is on the sidewalk, as are all the longer pieces to be carted away. All of the new wood pieces and uncut boards are on the upper sidewalk, while the trash wood is on the lower sidewalk. The porch is swept. The recycling bin emptied. The grill cleaned. And all tools no longer needed are back in their place. I left the stray bricks in the places they landed and did not crawl beneath the porch for the wood remaining there. In the end, though it was too dark to photograph, I felt easier about the chaos out my back door.
And I took a nap.
Then, I finished Michael Card's commentary on Mark.
I continue to learn about the story of the Gospel, which has been both helpful to me as I have learned about the Good News of Jesus Christ as told by Mark and a salve to my scholarly self who is so oft neglected now that I am ill. And I continued to be greeted by the fellowship of fear. I am not the only one for whom the enormity of Jesus the Son of Man, Jesus the Messiah brings fear.
There were a few standout for me with regard to scholarship, beginning with Pilate:
The most important piece of background in understanding Pilate's mindset is how he obtained his position—or, more to the point, through whom he obtained it. His name was Aelius Sejanus. Next to Tiberius himself, he was the most powerful man in Rome. In A.D. 31 he was appointed consul, virtually a co-ruler with the emperor. On October 18 of that same year, it was discovered that he had been plotting against Tiberius, planning a takeover. Without hours he was executed. Sejanus had been well-knob for his anti-Semitic policies, and upon his death Tiberius ordered, "Hostilities against the Jews will cease." This is a vital piece to the puzzle for understanding Pilate.
Pilate is now standing before the most influential men in Jerusalem. He loathes them and all they stand for. He sees through their duplicity and jealousy. Yet in order to keep his position, he must be seen as unbiased and fair, otherwise he will come under the scrutiny of Tiberisu, a scrutiny that has increased exponentially since the Sejanus affair. Pilate would in fact be recalled to Rome in A.D. 36 to answer for the atrocities committed against the Samaritans. While he was on his way to stand trial, Tiberius died and Pilate simply disappeared.
History ... contextual history ... is important. I have learned about Mark's audience, the different factions among the religious leadership, and here. In a way, you could say that Pilate's hands were tied.
Jesus came at this time, specifically. He came to earth and lived precisely where He meant to live. His ministry took place where He intended. And He died where He intended. I mean, if God is the Almighty, the death of His Son was not going to be at the whim of man, right?
I think, before reading this, in thinking about Pilate I probably assigned him to the category of those whom God hardened hearts. But that isn't the case. He was walking such fine line politically and that fine line makes his push-back at the chief priests believable and almost sensible. As does, after trying to right the wrong he knew was being committed by offering a choice as whom to be set free, Pilate's expediency with filling the duties of his job. He had Jesus flogged and sent for crucifixion.
There were two moments that struck me as ... curious ... both because Pilate was "amazed/surprised." He was amazed at Jesus' silence and He was surprised at the quickness of Jesus' death, going so far to having it confirmed before granting Joseph the right to take Jesus' body for burial.
Both were unusual, I suppose. I suppose that in his courts, folk usually tried their darnedest to avoid what was coming and that during crucifixions folk usually took longer to die.
Reading about the trial, it also occurred to me how very cowardly it was for the chief priests put off on Pilate what they were not willing to do themselves. They could have arranged for Jesus' death. A convenient accident. An outright murder. But they kept their hands clean by twisting their religious beef with Jesus to fit the letter of a civil law that could be presented as being broken and thus deserving of civil justice.
I did like the lesson about Jesus' flogging not being as shown in movies ... not being 39 lashes. Again, that would have been the Jewish punishment, but Jesus was in Roman courts. Thus, Jesus was not lashed with rods, but flogged with flagellum. The first left stripes upon the body. The second stripped away the flesh and could even expose the viscera.
A second bit of history, supposition thought it be, interested me:
Along the way the soldiers take advantage of a Roman law that allows them to "impress" anyone, forcing them to carry a burden for the stipulated distance of one mile (see Mt 5:41). If our ears are sensitively tuned to Mark's Gospel, at this point we should be startled to hear the personal name of someone from the crowd. Mark, normally reluctant to name names, introduces Simon of Cyrene into the narrative. Simon was probably a member of the Cyrenean synagogue in Jerusalem, whose members will come into conflict with Stephen in Acts 6:9. We are also given the names of his two sons, Rufus and Alexander. Mark almost certainly mentions them because they were known to the first readers of his Gospel. In Romans 16:13, in the midst of a long list of greetings, Paul refers to a man named Rufus. If we are correct that Mark is writing his Gospel to the Christians in Rome, chances are good that the Rufas Paul greets is the same Rufus whose father carried the cross for Jesus. It is a fascinating though uncertain connection.
Then there is the cry of Jesus:
Both Mark and Matthew tell us that Jesus died with a loud cry. The Roman centurion, who would have been assigned the role of overseeing the crucifixion, had doubtless seen hundreds of men die on the cross, perhaps even thousands. He had never seen anyone die like this, with a shout and not a whimper or a groan.
Do not miss this moment. Along with Peter's confession in Mark 8:29, this is the other climax of Mark's Gospel. Stop and take some time to engage with the text at the level of your imagination. Imagine the centurion covered in the blood of three men, a hardened warrior of the Italian cohort far from his home. "Son of God" is a tittle that belongs solely to the emperor he has sworn to serve. Imagine the response of Mark's first Roman readers as they hear this glorious confession coming from the lips of a Roman soldier: "Surely this man was the Son of God!" (Mk 15:39 NIV).
A part of me almost expected Jesus to die with a shout ... was He not taking victory over eternal death due mankind at that very moment??
Some other things I learned:
- Although all the Gospels mention that the curtain is torn upon the death of Jesus, which curtain is not made clear. The outer curtain would have been most visible, but the inner curtain (separating the holy of holies from all but the priests) would have made more sense as to the outcome of His death. But, again, the certitude that I had been taught about the inner curtain is not actually textually supported.
- Joseph of Arimathea was a member of the Sanhedrin, so it was rather courageous of him to claim Jesus' body, to do so openly and boldly.
- The woman came to Jesus' tomb with spices to cover the oder of a decaying body. In that they came expecting a dead Jesus, rather that a risen Jesus, as He taught them He would be.
- It was the women, not any of Jesus' disciples, who were given the first words of the Gospel revealed to share: "He has risen!"
- Mark is the only Gospel in which the angel mentions Peter, the one who was certain he had forfeited his right to be a disciple. And it was to Peter that the first resurrection appearance happened. [My conclusion: The first message to be conveyed, thus, was the message of forgiveness. Even you who deny Jesus can be forgiven, will be forgiven.]
The last is ... a shocker: The original text of Mark ends at 16:8, "So they went out and started running from the tomb, because trembling and astonishment overwhelmed them. And they said nothing to anyone, since they were afraid."
I read the commentary, the appendices, and all the notes. Because Michael Card believes, as do others, that Mark ends with 16:8, his commentary ends with that verse. In Appendix E, Michael Card lays out why it is scholars believe that verses 9-20 were added later by those who were disconcerted with Mark's abrupt ending.
For me, I was struck by how common it is that the appearance of God and His messengers causes fear in humans, even the faithful. Fear is not abnormal, not even among the faithful.
We need to linger with the women in Mark 16:8. Their experience, so close to the resurrection, is nothing like ours. We tend to be joyful and confident. They are trembling, overwhelmed. They flee from the tomb. It is the same verb Mark uses to describe the disciples fleeing in fear in Mark 14:50. They revert back to what they know. Had not Jesus again and again told them to keep quiet, to maintain the secret of who he was?
In leaving us with the women fleeing on their errand, we are left with the continuing message of Mark, to believe without seeing. Jesus tells the father before he sees his healed daughter, "Don't be afraid, only believe." (Mark 5:36); Peter's confession of Christ came before the proof of the transfiguration (Mark 8:27-9:13); and the father cried out that he believed and asked for help believing before his son was healed (Mark 9:24). An empty tomb in and of itself is not evidence, is not seeing. Anyone could have stolen the body.
Believe.
Believe without seeing.
Believe and spread the Good News.
It is interesting that even though the women are given the message to share, the message that Jesus is risen from the dead, the words are not spoken in the Gospel (in the original ending).
When at last, exhausted, they come to the cowering disciples, the women will be privileged to speak for the first time those words on which the faith of millions is founded: "He is risen!" Like Peter's confession, which Jesus said the church is founded on, the women's words were spoken before the final proof. By not recording those words himself, Mark corners us, he leaves us out of breath, running beside the women, perhaps trying to keep up with them. He hopes we too will be left trembling and astonished at having read his testimony of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
The abrupt ending, which intends to leave us in the place of believing without seeing, reflects Mark's original witness and father in the faith, Simon Peter. I close with his words, spoken to us today. They are his invitation to continue to engage with our imaginations:
"You love Him, though you have not seen Him. And though not seeing Him now, you believe in Him and rejoice with inexpressible and glorious joy." (I Pet 1:8).
There is ever so much history and scholarship and cross references that I did not mention, as I tried to capture what I read in Michael Card's commentary.
It is a bit strange, for me, having read the case for the Gospel ending at verse 8, that I do not have a problem with ceasing there. Mark, the shortest testimony, the testimony of what is needful to know, the focus on Jesus' ministry and training, the bookend devices to highlight and underscore the salient points. From the opening words until that strange pause on the Mount of Olives, you hear the testimony at a torrid pace, albeit an intimate and passionate one. Then, the shift is away from Jesus' living to His death, a standing back at watching. It boggles my mind how even at the very end, the women believe all is lost. Even Jesus' disciples believe all is lost. The women watch from a distance, but His disciples are scattered. In a way, it is as if there is a severing of His followers that mirrors the severing Jesus Himself experiences on the cross. And then they are joined to Him, just as Christians today are joined to Him, having been cut off because of the consequence of original sin and unbelief.
Perhaps severing is not an apt metaphor. But it is what came to my mind as I read the end of the Gospel.
Whilst there are 1,001 bits of the commentary that have caused me to savor the text of the the Gospel of Mark more deeply, that have caused a knowing I had not thought possible of the One who is the Living Word, there is one part that rang the siren call for me. The part where Michael Card writes of the darkness that befell Golgotha.
I tend to imagine the three hours of darkness at Golgotha as having been the result of a terrific storm. At least that is how it is portrayed in the Jesus movies. But read the text clearly. There's no word of thunder or lightning in any of the Gospels, only of darkness. I've come to imagine a more terrifying experience than thunder and lightning: absolute stillness. The three ominous hours of darkness accompanied by an ominous silence over Jerusalem. The prophet Amos describes the darkness like this:
I will make the sun go down at noon;
I will darken the land in the daytime.
I will turn your feasts into mourning ....
I will make that grief
like mourning for an only son. (Amos 8:9-11)
Abraham experiences the terror of this darkness in Genesis 15:12. Once the Lord has blown the noisy locusts away from Egypt, he sent the plague of darkness, "a darkness that can be felt" (Ex 10:21). In the Old Testament this deep darkness was indicative of the presence of God (see Ex 14:20; 20:21), When Jesus hangs on the cross, God is somehow separated from him (Hab 1:13). His cry in Mark 15:34 confirms it. The silent, deep darkness points to the possibility that God's presence is hovering; perhaps his back is turned. Though we have heard God's voice twice in Mark's Gospel (Mk 1:9; 9:7), he is now silent. It may have been the most severe part of Jesus' suffering.
Jesus calls out in his own native Aramaic the words of Psalm 22:1 as the three hours of suffering in the dark come to a close. He is not delirious or confused. God forsakes him when he becomes sin for us. Hell is a price to pay for sin, and God hiding his face is hell.
I think about those first five verse of John that are so sweet, so magnificent. That in Jesus there is no darkness and the darkness did not (does not) overcome Him. I think about how Psalm 139 says that there is no where one can flee (I would specify both physically and mentally) where God will not find him and that there is no night in which God can make as bright as day.
But what Michael Card points out is that even thought Jesus is the Light of the world, He did, in fact, experience darkness and all its horrors. For me, I thought, "There really is no temptation that Jesus fails to understand."
I read an article the other day about doubt being a sign of faith. I sent it to Mary to see what she thought. I have many thoughts about it. One of the author's points was that, when Jesus cried out on the cross about God forsaking Him, He was, at that moment, in doubt. The point being that doubt and faith coexist, even in the Son of God.
Perhaps I am wrong, but I do not see Jesus' cry as evidence of doubt. I see it as statement of fact buried in a cry of anguish that came out as a question, but was not, in fact, an interrogative. I mean, it would be absurd to think that Jesus is really asking the question "why" because Jesus is God, Jesus is the Living Word of God, and Jesus knew fully what it would mean and what would happen when He stepped into time and into humanity to save us from our sin, to keep the Law we are unable to keep. Plus, I have learned that it is not uncommon, in the New Testament, for something to sound like an imperative, but is not (e.g., "be holy" is not a command to go out and make yourself holy or to act in a holy manner).
I think that it is easier to talk about doubt than it is to talk about darkness.
I think it is easier to admit to doubt than it is to admit to darkness.
But I think that darkness is at the heart of suffering, the suffering of both Jesus and man.
As a final note, something I took issue with is saying that Peter wept bitterly. That is, I did until I spent some time exploring the definition of the word "bitter." In doing so, I think we also should talk more clearly (in the church) about bitterness. It is my belief that we classify bitter as either the unpleasant taste or anger and unhappiness caused by unfair treatment. Peter had no foul taste in his mouth as he wept after betraying, denying Jesus. Nor was he expressing his feelings about unfair treatment. Nay. There is is a third definition of bitter: causing painful emotions, felt or experienced in a strong and unpleasant way. It is a definition we skip right over, a definition that evokes and calls for compassion, not reproach or recrimination.
I think...
I think that Peter's tears and Jesus' cry were both bitter.
I think that both were faithful.
And, as I understand the weeping of bitter tears most intimately, I might possibly have gained a smidgeon of hope.
Anyway, it was very helpful, along the commentary journey, when Michael Card pointed out what Luke or Matthew or John noted. Having had Mark framed so very well, having encountered a Jesus whose focus was on the gifts He came to bring and ensuring that the ministry of bringing those gifts would continue past His departure from our world, I do wonder how Matthew, Luke, and John will be framed. I wonder how Mark will be contrasted within their Gospels, as they were in his.
I will admit that I struggled with Michael's omission of the serial comma in his commentary. At times, I thought I could read no further. However, something that leapt off the page for me time and time again was his encouragement for the reader of his commentary to listen to the text, to the Word of God. Listen to Mark's Gospel. Listen to Jesus.
Faith comes through hearing.
Clearly Michael Card understands that.
Such is more important that his egregious comma usage error.
~~~
The first known use of bitter came from the 12th century.
I wonder the impetus.
Would that it were I lived in a world where language was made richer, more complex by the addition of new words. Pols. Vols. Photogs. The new words of today break my literary heart.
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