2011-12-04–Faithful Waiting

Faithful Waiting

Last week, we reflected on the prophet’s prayer that began, “O that You would tear open the heavens and come down!” Today, as our Gospel lesson opens, the time of that tearing has come. It has come in a way unexpected and, although foretold, in a way unforeseen. But  not unannounced. Our Gospel lesson is a both a story about announcement and an announcement itself. It is both the story of the preaching of John and the announcement of St Mark the evangelist—both proclaiming the single message that the one who would baptise with the Holy Spirit has come.

John and Mark. Both bringing the Good News. Both with a message for us who stand in their place; those of us who have been  charged by the same Lord to do the same thing—to announce the Good News .

And as we enter the story this morning, we are met by the herald of the of the first Advent. We are met by the one sent ahead. The one whom our Lord would call the last and the greatest, has come marching out of the wilderness, wearing the mantle (and the clothes!) of the prophet Elijah, and waded into the Jordan River, there to preach and to baptise.

John. John whose ministry was announced to his dumbstruck father Zechariah by no less than God’s messenger, the angel Gabriel. John, whose ministry began whilst still in utero. Before he was born, he leapt within his mother’s womb, thereby identifying the identity of the unborn baby borne by the Blessed Virgin and prompting Elizabeth’s announcement of blessing, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed if the fruit of your womb.”

John. Who from that point falls off the pages of sacred text until we meet him again knee deep in the muddy Jordan. John, who from his wet pulpit announced the judgment of God on those who harmed God’s people and the mercy of God freely given to all who would repent and wash themselves and turn away from their sins.

What is John’s message? His message, like any herald, is to announce the coming of someone else. He comes not in his own name and for his own sake. He comes not exalting the prophetic calling that was legitimately his. He comes to point to another. He comes, ironically, to decrease. He comes to increase another. He comes to point—as he does in the fourth Gospel—to the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.

The sixteenth century artist, Matthias Grünewald powerfully depicted the ministry of John the Baptist in his altarpiece painted for the monastery chapel at Eisenheim. There, John is portrayed as holding in his left hand an open book—symbolizing his vocation as prophet to declare the will of God—and pointing to the Crucified Lord. The index finger on his right hand is elongated—symbolizing the prophetic message he was sent to proclaim: this One is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. And beneath John is written in Latin, “He must increase and I must decrease.”

And John does decrease. Shortly after Jesus begins his own ministry, John is arrested on the whim of a king who didn’t want to hear that sleeping with his brother’s wife was a sin. John continued to preach—it was a fire shut up in his bones. He could not be silent, even if his audience  consisted only of his jailers and the conscience-pricked king who threw him in jail.

Perhaps when John entered into prison, he thought the Messiah would soon deliver his herald. Perhaps he thought that the end of the world was at hand (that was certainly what he preached). Perhaps he thought his time in prison would be brief and that he would soon be vindicated. Perhaps. But it did not happen. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. And months, in the back of John’s mind turned into doubts.

Doubt s that grew until he could keep them silent no longer. His last recorded words come in a message conveyed to Jesus by some of John’s disciples: “Are you the one who was to come or should we wait for another?”

Were the doubts still in his mind when Salome, prompted by her mother, made her horrific request? When John laid his head on the block, was he still wondering whether it had all been in vain? The text does not say. All we know is that Salome delivered to Herod the head of John on a plate.

So much for the story of John.

Now to him who tells the story. John Mark.

John Mark was probably born in what is today, Libya. He was a part of the Jewish dispersion that saw Jewish people, under Alexander and continuing as Greece gave way to Rome, spread throughout the Mediterranean world. Mark was an African. African Christianity has for many centuries remembered Mark’s story in this way.

Early in his life, however, he moved with his family back to Jerusalem, to be closer to family—his father’s cousins were Galilean fishermen named Simon and Andrew. And with his cousins and probably his parents, Mark became a follower of Jesus. Their home became a center of early Christian activity. It was at Mark’s family home that the disciples waited for the promise of the Holy Spirit. It was at Mark’s family home that the first followers of Jesus met to pray for the deliverance of Peter from prison. It was the door to Mark’s home that was slammed in Peter’s face by a terrified girl when he arrived in response to their intercessions.

It seems, in fact, that family connections were the main reason for Mark’s discipleship. Tradition tells us that it was his mother that sent him straight from bed in the dead of night to the garden of Gethsemane to warn Jesus and the 12 that the soldiers were coming to arrest them. The same tradition also tells us that it was because the early Christian missionary Barnabas was his uncle that Mark played tag-along to the missionary journey of Barnabas and Saint Paul.

In fact, it seems that only family connections could account for Mark’s discipleship. For, we know that Mark—upon seeing the soldiers come to the garden, fled. He fled so quickly, in fact, he ran out of his clothes. Tradition tells us that when Mark himself writes about the one disciple who fled the garden naked, he was talking about himself. We know from the book of Acts that Mark’s journey with Paul did not go well. It went so badly, in fact, that Mark left the journey early to go back home, but not without splitting up the missionary partnership of Barnabas and Paul.

But something happened. Something after that disastrous missionary trip transformed Mark. For when we meet him later in the New Testament, he is a valued companion of Paul when Paul is finally imprisoned in Rome and a leader, with Peter, in the Church that is found in the coded city of Babylon.

Something happened that turned Mark into a missionary in his own right—an apostle to Africa, where he planted churches in both Libya and Alexandria. Something happened that allowed his leadership and calling to be recognized as became Alexandria’s first bishop and the founder of African Christianity. He became the apostle who recorded the preaching of Peter so that the church would have the living memories of the Lord on the page when they gathered for worship. Living memories that began with the words, “The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God.” Something happened that, when faced with his own coming martyrdom, he did not cower anymore, but appointed a successor—Anianus—and went on to die for his faith.

No longer a coward, looking to run home, the Church remembers Mark as her first evangelist, a great missionary, and early bishop.

What happened? What happened, I can only surmise, was that at some point, Mark stopped being a follower of his cousins and his parents. He stopped running errands for his mother and tagging along with his uncle. He started being a follower of Jesus in his own right. Like John the Baptist, to whom he introduces us this morning, he became a witness, a herald. Someone called to point to the Christ, whose coming was indeed, the very best news of all.

So we have in front of us today a story about a witness by a witness, a story of an announcement that is itself an announcement. What does it have to do with us on the Second Sunday of Advent?

First of all their stories tell us that witnesses are real people with real doubts. John the Baptist’s faith was not impervious to circumstance. Close to the end, he wondered whether his message was proclaimed in vain. We have no record in the text of whether his doubts were resolved. Similarly, Mark’s journey was marked by nothing like a stellar beginning—fleeing the soldiers in Gethsemane, fleeing home mid-missionary trip.

So, having doubts, it seems, is not incompatible with being a follower of Jesus. Having doubts does not conflict with being one called to point to the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.

What are your doubts today? Are they big? Are they as big as John the Baptist’s as he sat in his cell? Doubts don’t disqualify you. Doubts, indeed, can sharpen and strengthen your faith. They certainly seem to have done that for Mark.

So, this Advent, let us in our prayers give voice to our doubts and ask the heavenly Father so to take and use them that they might be the spur into a deeper, more vital trust in his Son. A push into a fuller life in the Holy Spirit. A better life of witness.

Second, their stories tell us that witness is always incomplete. For John, Christ had yet to come. For Mark, he had. Both were faithful in their witness. Both had to wait—and still do wait—for their final vindication. To use the language of the book of Hebrews, Mark and John died without having received what was promised. Both died waiting for the coming of the kingdom. Their witness was vital and it was true and it was costly and it was incomplete.

So it is that John and Mark both are examples of the waiting we spoke of last week. The waiting that his to define our lives, not just in Advent, but throughout the year and every day. Waiting that is impatient for the coming of the Lord, finally to right all that is wrong. Waiting that is repentant for the sins our times and of ourselves. Waiting that is expectant for an end that could come at any time.

Do you want to know what such waiting looks like? IN real life? Look at John. Look at Mark. It is a waiting that is real. A waiting that is honest. A waiting that is faithful.

And so today, we join our prayers with Mark and John, with Angels and Archangels and all the company of heaven: “Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus.”