(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on January 28, 2017, Epiphany IV)
A Memorable Synagogue Gathering in Capernaum
Jesus must have made a real
impression on that sabbath day when he visited the synagogue in Capernaum. The way Mark tells it, that was the day
that people began talking about Jesus.
That was the day that “his fame began to spread.” The most memorable thing about that day,
the one detail that Mark repeats in his story, is how Jesus’ teaching impressed
his audience. The way Jesus taught
“astounded” and “amazed” them.
If I’m being honest, I’m not sure
I can distinctly recall more than a handful of sermons that I’ve heard in my
lifetime. That’s a harrowing observation
for a preacher. So when Mark twice
remarks that Jesus’ teaching astonished his audience, that it left a real mark
on their memory, naturally I’m interested to learn just what Jesus taught. What was his message that day in
Capernaum?
Mysteriously, Mark doesn’t say a
word about what Jesus taught that
day. I can hardly believe it. For someone who’s gone on and on about
how Jesus shocked the synagogue with his teaching, about how it left such an
impression on folks, to say nothing at all about what Jesus actually taught seems
rather odd. To me, it feels like a
puzzle piece is missing: what did Jesus teach?
A Memorable Church Gathering in England
One of the most memorable church
services from my time in England was an evening worship gathering in a small,
old-fashioned cathedral. All stone
and stained glass, drafty doorways and dark, dusty corners. Quiet, except for the reverberating
voice of the priest. The place
felt holy to me. Sacred.
Until about halfway through the
sermon, when a man on the aisle several pews ahead became visibly
agitated. As he writhed about in
his seat, a couple of crouched parishioners waddled to his side and began a
whispered conference.
All the while, the priest preached. He became noticeably upset
himself. With a look somewhere
between annoyance and impatience, he plodded on, occasionally stealing glances
at the gathering crowd on the end of the pew. Their voices were hushed, but nonetheless distracting. He had to have known that no one was
listening any longer to his sermon.
But he continued. Finally
the small crowd near the aisle dispersed, and several helpers escorted the
troubled man out of the sanctuary.
I learned later that the man had
a heart condition. He had been
taken to the hospital, where he eventually recovered.
What I remember most about that
night is not the disruption of the service. What I remember most is how the service itself continued as
though nothing was the matter.
What I can recall most clearly from that evening is the priest’s
face. It haunts me. It haunts me because I can’t help
wondering if that wouldn’t have been my face too. It haunts me because I wonder if his face wasn’t, in some
way, the face of the church. In
other words, I wonder if the church does not sometimes become so concerned with
its own program—its teachings, its plans, its customs—that it ignores the
suffering who are in its very midst.
That it becomes annoyed with the suffering for disrupting the program
and impatient for them to get in line.
From Disruption to the Only Care in the Room
I don’t know exactly what a
synagogue gathering would have looked like in first century Palestine. But I do know that the Pharisees and the
scribes valued law and order, and that they did their utmost to honor a number
of rules and traditions. So I
imagine that a synagogue gathering would actually have looked rather similar to
a church worship service today. There would have been assigned roles and prescribed rituals
and a general aura of sanctity. There
would have been a program.
And so I can’t help but wonder if
disruptions back then would not have been addressed with a similar measure of
annoyance and impatience.
All of which leads me to ponder
the disruption that Jesus encounters in the synagogue in Capernaum, where a man
with an “unclean spirit” interrupts the program with loud cries. The synagogue
leaders would probably have considered this troubled man to be an unwelcome
disruption. But for Jesus, it is
the opposite. This troubled man becomes
the only person in the room whom he cares about. Rather than ignoring the man and waiting for him to be
escorted out, rather than plowing on imperiously with his teaching, Jesus
responds to the man. “Be silent,”
he says to the unclean spirit that torments the man, “And come out of
him.”
Have you ever had someone speak
so directly and caringly to your pain and your trouble that it felt like their
words were actually touching your skin and healing you as perhaps a doctor’s
sure and steady hand would? Have
you ever had that feeling of catharsis?
Because that’s essentially what happens in today’s scripture. The word for “unclean” in the Greek is akarthatos. To be “unclean” is to be akarthatos,
to be in need of catharsis, cleansing, release. When Jesus stopped and spoke to the troubled man, it was a
moment of holy catharsis: his heartfelt attention and words touched the man,
cleansed him, released him.
The Different Authority of Jesus: Love
Mark says that Jesus taught in a
manner that was different from the other teachers—that he taught with
authority. At first, I wondered if
this meant that he simply taught with a greater knowledge of the scriptures or
with a bolder tone of voice. But
that, of course, is what authority means to us humans: power and knowledge. And Mark says that Jesus’ authority is different.
How, then? How is his authority different from the
priest in England who plowed on preaching amid the disruption? How is it different from the scribes
and Pharisees who had great knowledge to expound and boldly? What exactly is Jesus’ authority that
astounded and amazed?
In one of our other lectionary
scriptures for the day, Paul exclaims, “Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up”
(1 Cor 8:1). Is there any better
description of the difference between the authority of our world and the
authority of God? Just like the
synagogues of old, the church boasts great knowledge. Pharisees and priests alike preach with bold voices. Their authority is knowledge and power. How strange indeed, then, is an
authority that would actually stop its own preaching and care for the very
thing that disrupts it. How
otherworldly. How divine.
Consider what the gospel of Mark
remembers from that day in Capernaum.
What is so great about Jesus’ teaching is not his teaching itself—Mark
doesn’t say a word about that.
What is so astonishing and so memorable is the way that he loves. The way that he stops and sees to the
man who is troubled. The way he
stops to speak solely to him who needs speaking to.
What is it that liberates that
troubled man in Capernaum? Is it
great knowledge? Is it a voice
that overpowers? Or is it a love
that stops and looks him square in the face, that cares for him and will not
rest until he does? What our world
needs is an authority entirely different from its own. Not an authority that puffs itself up,
but that builds up others. An
authority that cares for people over principles and programs. What our world needs, is exactly what
Jesus shows us: love.
Follow the Leader
I still wish I knew just what
Jesus taught that day in
Capernaum. But maybe that’s beside
the point. Maybe there’s a reason
Mark is silent about that. Maybe
what Jesus really taught had less to do with the scripture he read and the
words that he preached, and more to do with the astounding authority by which
he stopped the gathering in its tracks in order to see and speak to the
suffering man. To love him and
build him up.
Last week, when Jesus called his
disciples, he said, “Follow me.” Let
us follow our leader, then, as strange as his authority may be. Let us relinquish our claims to
knowledge and power, so that we might stop and see to the holy disruptions in
our midst. Let us renounce our
quest to be right and to prevail, so that we might love the suffering and build
them up.
Prayer
Christ,
Whose lesson is not a discourse
But a life to be lived:
Love incarnate—
Disarm us
Of the need
To be right and to be strong;
Disrupt us
With your cry
For love;
And move us to see to
The suffering among us. Amen.
