This sermon was preached on Sunday, February 26 by Rev. Ben Johnston-Krase, pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Racine, WI.Mark 1:9-15
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."
And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness for forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.
Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, 'The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.'
I majored in English education at the University of Illinois. In high school, I had the good fortune of having a couple really talented English teachers who helped me develop my skills as a thinker and a writer, and so by the ripe old age of 19, I was sure that this was a real strength of mine.
One of my first courses at U of I was Survey of British Literature I. Our textbook for that class was so thick and the pages so tissue-paper thin, I had trouble believing that there was going to be a Survey of British Literature II that spring. Our professor loved each and every page of that book and from day one it was clear that she was going to push us. “No problem,” I thought. True, a “C” in Plant Biology might come as a gift from God, but this is English! I can handle this!
Confidently, I tackled my first writing assignment for the class—a five or six page paper on something like the image of the “hero” in Beowulf. I got right to work and proudly submitted my first ever college paper. Seven pages! I can’t be sure, but I have a feeling that as I strode forward after class that day, my face wore a certain smug satisfaction that this, indeed, was going to be a gem for my professor, that she would read it once or twice and then gather her family around the hearth that night and bedazzle them with the insights of one of her new freshmen students—this Ben Krase—who so brilliantly and succinctly identified the complexities of Beowulf’s heroic persona, as no other student during her long tenure had been able to do.
When I got the paper back the following week, there was nothing on the first page. No marks, no scribbles, no notes in the margin. Nothing. Hmmm. Interesting, I thought. I opened it to the second page. Nothing. And the third. Nothing! No comments, no corrections, no double-underlined phrases, no stars indicating what an insightful author I was. I turned to the fourth page and there I found a red line drawn horizontally across the middle of the page. Next to the line, my professor wrote these two words: “Start here.” In other words: “Skip the flowery language. Nix the repetitive mumbo-jumbo. Ditch the breathless on-and-on about how you’re going to make a point and just do it. Cut to the chase! Tell me what your thesis is and get on with it!” My pride wounded, my choice of major slightly in question, I started over.
I bring this up to draw a contrast to Mark’s gospel. Mark does not wait three pages to finally make a point. Instead, he begins chapter one, verse one and hits the ground running. Unlike Matthew and Luke, Mark doesn’t say a word about Jesus’ birth in his gospel. It’s almost like there’s no time—he can’t wait to get into the big story. But once he’s there, it’s full speed ahead!
- Snapshots and images flash from the get-go.
- Jesus’ baptism is just 3 verses in Mark’s gospel.
- His wilderness temptation for 40 days and nights – just 2 verses.
- Jesus calling his first disciples—just 5 verses.
By the twenty-first verse of Mark, Jesus is already hard at work, teaching, preaching, and healing. Indeed, Mark’s first chapter plays like a trailer for an action film—rapid fire, image after image, no time to lose. [1]
12And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. 13He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.
If we could take the gospel writer Mark and imagine him as a college freshman, turning in chapter one for a grade, we can well imagine what kind of comments he’d get in the margins...
- Who is this character, “Spirit” and what is his or her motivation?
- It’s not enough to say Jesus is in the wilderness. You have to describe the wilderness. Make us as readers feel like we’re there.
- “He was in the wilderness”? Use action verbs, active voice! (He languished in the wilderness. He persevered in the wilderness.)
- Who is this “Satan” person? Develop your characters more!
- What kind of wild beasts?
- How did the angels wait on Jesus?
- Don’t tell me. Show me!
Sometimes I think Mark assumes that we already know the details—that when he says, “tempted in the wilderness for forty days,” his readers respond, “Oh, well, we all know what that’s like. Sure, a month or so out in the wild, with nothing to eat, wild animals roaming around… we all get that.” The problem is, of course, that we’re usually not quick to make that connection. If I were Mark’s professor, my comment in the margin of his gospel might be, “Mark, your readers want and need to connect with you, but to do that, you’re going to have to invite them in a bit more.”
So, perhaps on Mark’s behalf, I’ve started to wonder about day twenty. Jesus was in the wilderness for forty days, says Mark. That’s a long time. It’s a whole month, plus ten days. A long time to be away. A long time to be alone. A long time to feel tempted. Forty days.
The way the gospel reads, I suppose it’s easy to imagine Jesus, after his baptism, trekking off into the wilderness, winding his way around bushes and boulders, looking for a good spot to sleep for the night. It’s relatively easy to imagine him setting off, and I suppose it’s kind of easy to picture Jesus at the end, coming back into town, ready to begin his ministry. He looks tired and hungry, sure, but the ordeal is over, and especially in Mark’s gospel, there’s so much to do next that we don’t dwell on the forty days.
So I wonder about day twenty. Almost three weeks in. By this time for Jesus, the novelty of being out in the wild is long gone. If there’d been some aspect of wilderness temptation that seemed thrilling or exotic to begin with, it’s worn off. Twenty days anywhere can start to feel like forever. And at day twenty, there’s still twenty days to go. No immediate end in sight. The worst might not be over! Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness may only take up two verses in Mark’s gospel, but in truth, on day twenty, it feels like an eternity.
Now it’s worth remembering something about Jesus here, and it’s something that I’ve said many times before. Jesus was human. He was really human. True, we understand Jesus as God, too, but Jesus was also human. And this means that he felt pain, felt temptation, felt isolation, felt fear… Jesus was not God in a human costume, wandering around the earth, pretending to know what it feels like to be human. Jesus in the wilderness was not God masquerading in human form, pretending to know what it’s like to come to day twenty—to be so far in that you forgot what life was like before day one and to be so far gone that you can’t imagine making it to day forty.
Ultimately, for Jesus’ life and death to mean anything, Jesus had to be human, and human he was, which means that his temptation in the wilderness was really a temptation. The trial was really a trial. The long lonely nights wondering if he’d wake up in time to wave a torch at a wolf looking for an easy meal were really long, lonely nights. Jesus’ day twenty was really a day twenty—a real human day lost to fear, hunger, and loneliness. Mark is so brief in his description, but from the beginning of the gospel, it’s there—that Jesus has been through a day twenty. Just like the rest of us.
Xernona Clayton was a good friend of Martin Luther King Jr. She tells a story about Dr. King’s day twenty during the Civil Rights Movement—about the only time he ever said he was afraid. The movement was at its peak, and King and others were preparing to march in Selma. On March 7, 1965, marchers there had been beaten severely by the police, and King and others were scheduled to show up for a march on the 9th in response. He called home to talk with his wife, Coretta, but Xernona was there, and she picked up the phone. “I think this is one time I’m afraid,” he said. “I don’t think I’m going to come back from Selma, so please promise me you’ll take care of Coretta and the kids… but don’t tell her.” [2]
That’s a “day 20 conversation.” Too far in to remember what life was like before the trial, before there was no going back, but too far away from the end to imagine that it’ll be over any time soon.
And we’ve been there. Day twenty is a day in the middle of your battle with cancer. When you can’t much imagine the days before day one—when it’s hard to remember “life before cancer,” when you had other worries that seem so small now that you’re fighting for your life. And day forty seems so far away—so long to go before hope, before remission, before a cure…
Day twenty is a day in the middle of separation and divorce. When you can’t remember what all led to this. When you can’t recall a time when there was a hope of keeping it all together, working things out. Day twenty is a day of lawyers and accusations and trying to imagine life on your own, but oh, day forty is still so far away.
Day twenty is a day, oh, about a month after the funeral. The pictures are still up but the cards have stopped coming in. Life around you is picking up the pace, getting back to normal, but you can’t remember what normal is anymore, because he’s gone. She’s gone. And on your day twenty after the funeral, day forty is nowhere in sight because you can’t imagine that the grief will ever subside.
Day twenty falls somewhere during the fifth or sixth year of caring for an aging parent—somewhere after the 50th doctor visit and the sixth or seventh tour of an assisted living home. Day twenty comes when you best memories of your mom or dad feel completely overshadowed by the daily battle with Alzheimer’s. And day forty? Well, is there hope for a day forty?
Day twenty is a day in the midst of depression.
Day twenty is a day of questioning in a season of doubt.
Day twenty is a day of day of dealing with a past that haunts you.
Day twenty is a day of addiction, a day of pain, a day of self-judgment…
Haven’t you ever had a day twenty? A day of endless trial? A day of just surviving?
Maybe your day twenty is just another day in a life that’s so busy, you never have time to stop, to plan, to get your life in front of you and think about what’s next—another day in the car—another day of keep-your-nose-to-the-grindstone? And maybe you’ve got a second to wonder, “What did day one look like? How did I get into this mess? How did the life I wanted to live slip away so suddenly?”
Friends, today is the first Sunday of Lent. We’re not at “Day Twenty” quite yet, but the season of Lent reminds us that Jesus has lived in the darkest corners of our own lives—that Jesus was really Emmanuel—God With Us, living with us in our full humanity.
The Good News of the Lenten journey is news that God will never abandon us—that God promises to accompany us through the valley —that God will always be there with us on our Day Twenty.
This is, by the way, the Good News of Jesus Christ: That in God’s love for us, God will not and cannot abandon us… That God suffers and dies with us, and through it all, EVEN ON DAY 20, God announces hope and victory. Amen.
1. This insight was gleaned from the sermon, “Transgressive Healer,” preached by Renee Roederer at Pasadena Presbyterian Church on February 12, 2012. You can find it here: http://www.ppcyoungadults.blogspot.com/2012/02/sermon-transgressive-healer.html
2. As heard on the Tavis Smiley show, “Memories of the Movement, Part 2.” February 25, 2012
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