This is another in the series of responses to requests for reflection. Mark’s Gospel, the first gospel, and model for the other gospels, is primarily a theological document, as all four gospels are. Jesus is presented by the author of Mark as most fully human – demonstrating a wider range of emotions. And his disciples, including Peter, come across as clueless, no matter what Jesus says or does. The other synoptic authors of Matthew and Luke “clean up” Jesus’ image and go gentler on the disciples.

Having taken shape over the course of the first thirty to forty years of the primitive Christian community, the Gospel of Mark is an extended reflection on the passion and death of Jesus. In our human imagination we like to picture our heroes as conquering and triumphant, overcoming all obstacles and enemies. Jesus, dying on a Roman cross, is an utter failure. The haunting question that the early Christians tried to answer was, “How could this happen to God’s Anointed One?”

In the Tenth Chapter of Mark, Jesus and his closest followers are on the road to Jerusalem to proclaim the Good News of God’s Reign there, and to accept what will come of this. He has just announced to the twelve for the third time what was to be the most likely outcome for him considering the history of the prophets, the opposition of the religious and priestly establishment, and Rome’s rapid reactivity to any hint of uprising or rebellion. Punishment! Suffering! Death! Jesus knew how to read the signs of the times.

While Jesus is out in front of the group, the two Sons of Zebedee, James and John, come up to him privately to request: “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you?” That’s a very broad petition, “whatever we want you to do for us!”  He wants to know where they are coming from so he asks them, “What specifically do you want me to do for you?”

“Since you are going to be sitting on your glorious throne very soon, place one of us at your right and one at your left,” James and John respond. This translates to, “Make us your most trusted and honored and powerful lieutenants.” Jesus has just warned his disciples basically to be ready for him to be arrested, tortured and killed. Jesus responds to this clumsy and tone-deaf demand, perhaps with some sadness, “You don’t know what you are asking for. Can you possibly drink the cup I am about to drink, be baptized with the baptism in which I am about to baptized?”

The images of the cup and the baptism joined in this way are an example of Hebrew parallelism. They need to be understood as one reality, not as two separate ideas. Together they make a stronger emphasis. “I am about to be plunged into deep suffering, leading most certainly to my death. Is this what you’re ready and able to take on your selves?” Naively, the two brothers quickly and enthusiastically assure Jesus, “Of course we can!” But where are they when the Romans drag Jesus up Calvary Hill? Cowering behind locked doors out of fear for their lives.

Following Jesus, Christian discipleship, is not a stroll in the park. Being faithful to Jesus’ Way of love, as with all true love, involves difficulty and suffering. Being committed to service to others rather than to seeking recognition is not a popular route to take. There can be misunderstanding and ridicule. Maybe we won’t be as well thought of, wealthy or successful as we might have been if we had chosen a different path. We need to be careful to not be too quick with our “Yes” to Jesus’ invitation to follow him. Maybe it’s better to reply, “I’ll try to do the best I can.”

My request for suggestions for possible reflections received several responses. Thank you. I will try to address these as I can. Here is the first.

One of the most radical and defining teachings of Jesus was found in the collection of sayings named the Quelle (German for source) document, referred to as Q. This saying was inserted in both the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. Obviously the writers of Matthew and Luke had access to this Q, and used the sayings they discovered there to help shape and express the particular theological emphasis of their respective gospels.

“Love your enemies” is placed in Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:43-45) and Luke’s Sermon on the Plain (Luke 6:27-28). The version in Matthew goes,”You have heard that it was taught, ‘You shall love your neighbor, and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Abba in heaven; for the Holy One makes the sun shine on the evil and on the good, and sends rain down on those who are just and on those who are unjust.”  

Matthew presents Jesus to his Jewish audience as the new Lawgiver – like Moses. So Jesus in this gospel, on his own authority, offers the fuller meaning of the Law, using the phrase, “you have heard it taught, but I say…” several times. Whom you were to love was to be restricted to those with whom you have a personal relationship: family, tribe, nation, friends and those who live nearby, if they were good. If they were labeled as sinners, you need not, and should not, love them. Jesus requires more.

Among the tribes of what we now call the Middle East it was accepted wisdom that the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but the friend of my enemy is my enemy. They believed that this attitude would help to strengthen and to preserve the tribe. Have we grown much beyond this way of thinking?

In contrast, the Gospel of Matthew presents God as an equal-opportunity lover. One who shares the necessities for life – sun, rain – with everyone: friend, enemy, our tribe, their tribe, good, evil… This is the high bar set for us to reach.

The version in the Gospel of Luke goes like this: “But I say to you who are listening, ‘Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.”  The first requirement here is that we listen, that we pay attention, that we take in and take to heart what Jesus says. Then we are invited to act like God does, doing good to those who hate us, blessing those who curse us, and praying for our abusers – anyone who doesn’t treat us well. 

We are not to repay hurt with hurt, offense with offense, hate with hate. If anyone harms us, we are to help them. If someone utters false and evil words about us, we are to find kind and good things to say to them and about them. If a person treats us in hurtful and damaging ways, we are to pray for all good for them. (Think of Jesus, on the cross, asking Abba to forgive those responsible for his cruel and unjust treatment.) The evil stops with us when we transform it into good rather than returning it, or escalating it against anyone. 

Who can do this? I can’t, and I don’t believe anyone can – without the infusion of God’s Holy Spirit. The grace is always there, but we need to go beyond our immediate reaction to run away or to fight back, to be paralyzed or to try to stop the attacks by defensively and insincerely flattering those causing us harm.

Jesus calls us to be imitators of our good God by making compassion, mercy, our response.  This compassion wells up in us when we step back and see the brokenness of the one who despises us and does bad things against us. They, too, are wounded, hurting, in deep need. And, they really do not know what they are doing, even if they (and we) think they do. When we are able to respond in these ways, enemies do not remain enemies. There will be no enemies – at least from our side…

Tevye, the milkman, protagonist of the musical, The Fiddler on the Roof, reflects on tradition in song. Tradition is that which holds and binds together the lives of his little Jewish community in Tzarist Russia in the nineteenth century. Every aspect of their days and weeks is dictated by tradition. Yet, Tevye experiences the tension between the way they live, rooted in the past, not really understanding why it is this way, and the changes that are forcing the present upon them. 

The word tradition comes from the Latin verb traducere, which can be translated as to hand on, to deliver, to entrust. What do we hand on from generation to generation? Customs, practices, formulations of ideas?  It is easy to take traditions for granted, not think too much about them. 

In the Gospel of Mark (Mark 7:1-13) Jesus is having a heated discussion (argument) with some Pharisees and teachers of the Law – those who were entrusted with honoring the tradition handed down to them, they believed, from Moses. These guardians of the interpretation of God’s instructions to their people gathered around Jesus to see if he was faithfully keeping the traditions of the ancestors. They had their suspicions.

They noticed that some of the disciples of Jesus were eating without having washed their hands. (Many of the ancient traditions had to do with practical hygiene and avoiding food-borne illnesses.) This doesn’t necessarily mean that the disciples hadn’t washed their hands, but that they hadn’t washed in the way the teachers of the Law and the Pharisees thought was correct. The tradition was to wash your arms all the way up to your elbows. Since the disciples were doing this wrong, it must be that Jesus hadn’t taught them according to the practice of their forebears.

Jesus responds to this criticism by pointing out that these accusers constantly insert human rules into their interpretation of the Law of God. In fact, their rules often became more important than God’s commands. These authorities had a very intricate and comprehensive set of precepts, which they imposed on the people, to basically cover all aspects of life. Jesus was inviting them back to the Source from which all their detailed instructions supposedly had been derived. 

The teachers of the Law and the Pharisees were much more concerned with “doing it right,” to maintain ritual purity, than with God’s intent that people be well – to the point where it became impossible for ordinary folks to comply. Jesus reduced all the commandments to these essentials: love God, love neighbor, love yourself (Mark 12:29-31). And he extended the concept of neighbor to be radically inclusive – anyone in need. 

This argument between those entrusted with interpreting the Law and Jesus reminded me of a quote that has stayed with me for about 40 years. “Tradition is the living faith of the dead; traditionalism is the dead faith of the living.” I didn’t know, at that time, who had first said these words, but they resonate with truth.

Here is the rest of the quote:  “Tradition lives in conversation with the past, while remembering where we are and when we are and that it is we who have to decide. Traditionalism supposes that nothing should ever be done for the first time, so all that is needed to solve any problem is to arrive at the supposedly unanimous testimony of this homogenized tradition.” (Jaroslav Pelikan – American, Christian Theologian and Professor)

Much has been entrusted to us by those who have gone before us. Are we to carve these customs, ideas and ways of acting in gold and set them up, untouchable, on an altar? Isn’t that idolatry? To hold on to the past as if it can adequately help us to navigate our times is traditionalism – clinging to dead faith for dear life. We’ve always done it this way! It was good enough for them, so it’s all we need.

Life is constant change. The reality now is markedly different from the times of Moses, or Jesus, or any other previous religious authority. God has given us intelligence and the ability to choose. We are meant to use these gifts to discern what are God’s ways for us in the world today. Tradition, in its richest and fullest sense, requires that we respectfully take what we have been given and make it efficacious for our times.

Scripture scholars, with their careful study, indicate that what we call the Infancy Narratives of Jesus (Matthew chapters 1-2, and Luke chapters 1-2) were added after the remainder of their respective gospels were completed. And, of course, as with all the gospel accounts, the Infancy Narratives are theological statements directed to each one’s (Jewish or Gentile Christian) audience. They are composed to support the faith of their communities.

The Scripture readings for Advent have been selected to help move believers through this season with increasing awareness of the various comings of the Christ (in history, in each moment, at the end of times as we know them). This past week I was struck by the two “annunciations” almost at the beginning of Luke’s Gospel (Luke 1:5-25 and Luke 1:26-38). The angel Gabriel is sent by God, first to the elderly priest, Zechariah, while he burned incense in the Temple at Jerusalem, and then to the very young woman in Nazareth, just going about her daily chores, named Mary.

Zechariah and Mary are both disturbed by the sudden appearance of this heavenly messenger. Gabriel reassures them that they have nothing to fear. Easy for him to say! Neither of these two are used to God’s personal envoy showing up unannounced. But from there, the responses of Zechariah and of Mary differ greatly.

Gabriel announces to Zechariah that God has heard his prayer. He and his wife, Elizabeth, will be having a son who will have an important role in God’s process of salvation – like a second coming of the awesome prophet, Elijah. The mighty angel even gives a name for the son to come, John.

Instead of being immediately filled with joy, Zechariah asks, “How can I know this?” And reminds the angel that he and Elizabeth are old.  Gabriel replies, “Look man, God sent me to give you this good news, but since you doubt, you will not be able to speak until all this is fulfilled. Sure enough, the old priest becomes mute. 

Six months after Elizabeth becomes pregnant, Gabriel show up in the little insignificant Galilean village where Mary, fiancée of a man named Joseph, lives. The angel begins by greeting her as one who has “found favor with God.” Mary is taken aback. “What might this mean,” she wonders. Gabriel offers what he obviously considers to be comforting words, and explains that God is asking her to bear a son and to name this son, Jesus. He continues with how great this child will grow up to be – a new David who will rule God’s people forever.

Mary asks the very concrete and highly practical question, “How can this happen since I haven’t had intercourse?” Gabriel basically answers, “Leave that up to God. God will bring it about.” And quickly follows up with news that Elizabeth will be having a son, also, in about three months. That’s enough for Mary. She replies, “I am God’s servant, may it be so as you say.”

Zechariah asks for some kind of proof. “How can I know this?” He is more focused on what he imagines he and Elizabeth are capable of than on what God can do. Zechariah has been praying exactly for a son, but seems to have lost confidence that this is possible, even for God. He represents the wearied faith of his people. He hesitates, but God knows his deeper desire.

Mary asks a straightforward functional question. “How can this come about, given my reality as it is today?” There’s no indication that, at this point in her betrothal, she has been praying for a son, much less a “new David,” conceived through God’s grace. She represents the faithful response of her people and their deep longing for a Savior. Most likely that is what she would have been praying for. Mary, unlike Zechariah, is open to let God be God, to let God determine what can be.

Each day is given to us as an annunciation of new possibilities. Do we tend to respond like Mary, with openness and trust? Are we too used to reacting out of doubt and fear, like Zechariah? God is bigger than our expectations, emotions, and what feel like hard facts. We have a choice on how we will welcome God’s invitations to more.

The United States has just gone through one of the most tumultuous elections in recent history. Countless people are emotionally battered and bruised on all sides. A small majority of voters feel that they have “won”. For those who were wanting, with their whole being, their candidate to prevail, only to fall short, there are feelings of pain, loss, and maybe even fear with the outcome. Perhaps they are searching social media to discover how this “terrible thing” could have happened. The same media that had fueled their previous optimism! They had invested so much personal energy, and now sense that they have come up empty. The others, “them,” are rejoicing. 

We are trained to win, and to avoid losing at all costs. Where will those who feel defeated look for hope now? Will they turn again to the same less than reliable sources that brought them to believe that their side would, and had to, win, or else their world would fall to pieces? What now?

In the Eighth Chapter of the Gospel of Mark (Mark 8:11-13) Jesus has just recrossed the Sea of Galilee. He has been healing, liberating, and nourishing people’s spirits and bodies. The poor, simple people are beginning to feel that they have not been forgotten and abandoned by God. They have a basis for hope. They feel loved and cared for.

Some Pharisees meet Jesus and confront him. They demand that he produce for them a clear sign from heaven as proof of his legitimacy. They have been continually probing and testing him. Jesus sighs deeply in exasperation (know the feeling?). He responds, “Why does this generation demand a sign? The truth is, no sign shall be given it.” With that, Jesus gets back into the boat to go to the other side.

What credentials could Jesus have produced for those who had wholeheartedly committed themselves to proving that Jesus was a fraud? They wanted to show to all that Jesus was an enemy of the Law, therefore an enemy of the people, and of God. They were blinded by their total focus on the result they desired more than anything. 

Too many people in our time are suffering from depression. Where do we look for reasons to keep moving forward day after day? What do we rely on to lift us and to help us to see that life continues to be worth investing ourselves in? Have we, too, become blinded to all that is around and within us?

God is still alive and well. Jesus’ work of healing and lifting people out of their imposed misery goes on. Goodness is all around us, despite “the facts” that seem to define our world. If we are looking to ground our hope in anything or anyone other than God, we will miss the wonderful signs that fill our lives.

The narratives of Jesus’ birth in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke were added much later to the story of his life, ministry, teaching, crucifixion and resurrection. Maybe people were wondering about Jesus’ origins. As with everything about the Gospels, these depictions of Jesus’ infancy were not so much about historical facts, but were all about their theological message.

Matthew wanted to make it very clear that Jesus was the Messiah the Israelites had been waiting and hoping for so long. Yet it is the non-Jewish Wise Men from the East who recognize him. His own people, by and large, could not.

Luke’s aim was to show that Jesus belonged to all people, came from a humble background, so it is the shepherds, simple people who, because of their work were not able to keep all the details of Jewish Law, that receive the heavenly message and come to honor this wonderful, newborn baby. The important people missed the opportunity.

The last verse of Luke’s version of Jesus’ birth and childhood (Luke 2:52) notes that Jesus grew in wisdom, maturity, and grace before God and humanity. The mystery of God’s presence, in and through Jesus, is known as the Incarnation. Jesus is the enfleshment of God in human history.There is in him, seamlessly, both the human and the divine – however that can possibly be! But it seems that we have a tendency to think that what is divine in Jesus dominates and diminishes the human dimension.

The God part surely must have been overpowering, right? This isn’t what Christians believe. In the Letter to the Philippians, (Philippians 2:6-11) Paul quotes an ancient Christian hymn that says that the Son emptied himself of any divine advantage and embraced our humanity fully, from conception through death and beyond. Jesus is exactly like us, temptations and all, except that we sin (Hebrews 4:15). 

We grow and develop. Jesus grew and developed, like us, over time, little by little. He grew in wisdom, which is much more than knowledge. Wisdom is a gift of the Holy Spirit, given to those who are open to learn from their experiences and sufferings.

Jesus matured, which is more than just growing older. His body developed and changed, as did he mentally, emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually. He outgrew childhood and childishness. His ability to respond augmented – even his ability to respond to God.

Jesus advanced in grace before God and humanity. His ability to welcome and incorporate Abba-God’s inspirations became more and more acute. And all this showed in the way he interacted with others. They could recognize something grace-full about him.

Jesus grew. We grow. This means that we have the same capacities as Jesus to become more and more fully who God desires us to be. We just need to let God take the lead. Then we, too, will grow in wisdom, maturity, and grace. And it will show.

Maybe it’s been this way forever, but we weren’t aware. Growing up there were no social media through which the whole world flows into ours, and not always gently. Today we can know, with great detail, the wonders and the atrocities happening around us. Often this bombardment fills us with a sense of discomfort and inner unrest. Anxiety is intensely attacking us. Even very young children are suffering and em from this atmosphere of anxiousness.

I’m not sure that the churches don’t, perhaps unwittingly, contribute to feelings of interior agitation. A message, not from Jesus, might come forth from them that sows seeds of doubt about one’s goodness and eternal fate. Society can put out the warning that there’s something very wrong with you if you don’t (behave, dress, think, choose, etc.) as the current norms or style dictate. Anxiety is coming at us from all sides. How might we deal with it?

The final verses of Matthew’s Gospel Chapter 11 (Matthew 11:29) give us a clue. Jesus first says, “Take my yoke and put it on.” Yoke was one of the words used by the Israelites to refer to the Law. Over time, the Law became translated into 613 commandments, instead of the Ten. It became very difficult for the average person to follow the Law then. Only a privileged few succeeded. What is this yoke that Jesus asks us to put on? He condensed the Law into love God, love neighbor, love self. Still not easy, but much simpler.

Then Jesus says, “Learn from me.” He offers his own life, rooted in God’s absolute and all-embracing love, as an example. When we focus on God’s love and not on all the ways we might get life wrong and get lost, we don’t need to pay as much attention to the other voices expecting, or demanding, us to live according to their rules. Jesus, alone, is our model and reference.

Jesus continues, “For I am meek and humble at core.” It helps to understand the virtues of meekness and humility as practiced by Jesus. Meekness is in no way weakness. Meekness is strength that doesn’t need to prove itself by making others feel it. If we are strong, in some way, thanks be to God! The meek person is confident of his/her strength, and knows it comes from God. There is no type of bullying in meekness. Humility on the other hand is both knowing and embracing the truth about ourselves – we are neither God nor trash – but little, gifted and beloved. And that’s okay.

The end of this verse is, “And you will find rest for yourselves.” If we know we are loved by God, and we know who we are and don’t need to prove anything, interior rest will be ours. If we are trying to love ourselves and those around us as our way of loving God, of course imperfectly (perfection is neither human nor a virtue, God knows us better than we know ourselves, that we’re meant to be perfectly imperfect), we can be at peace. There are no artificially manufactured demands on us from within us or from anyone else. This is Jesus’ antidote to anxiety.