Fourth Sunday after Epiphany, Jan. 31st
Sermon by The Reverend Loree Reed

Mark 1: 21–28
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

This morning we are hearing Mark launch his Gospel account of Jesus’ entire ministry.  And since “first things” tend to set the tone for much of what follows, it will help if we can pick up some of those themes and highlight them this morning.   But Mark’s way of telling a story is so spare, so condensed – so oblique, really – that we are always having to read between the lines to understand what he is saying.   We heard that last week in Mark’s account of Jesus’ first sermon.  Do you remember?  The sum total of Jesus’ first sermon – as Mark tells it, anyway – was that God’s time was fulfilled; the Kingdom of God had come near; and people were to repent and believe the Good News.  That was it.  That was all Mark told us of that sermon.  And this morning Mark’s account of Jesus’ first teaching doesn’t offer us much more detail.
Jesus has now picked up half a dozen disciples, and on this Sabbath morning he brings them to the synagogue in Capernaum, where he proceeds to offer the teaching.  Mark doesn’t say a word about what it was that Jesus taught.  He only says that the people in the synagogue were astounded by his teaching since he taught them as one who had authority.
That word authority, in the Greek, is exousia/ (exousia), and it means ‘from the depths of one’s being, from one’s inner essence.’  In other words, Jesus looked those people in the eye and taught from the depth of his being – from something he knew from within.  This wasn’t the kind of teaching the people had grown used to from the scribes.   The scribes were learned and wise – but the best they had to give were quotes from a dozen other rabbis, each one quoting someone else.  So the question is, what was it at the depth of Jesus’ being that inspired his teaching?
Mark doesn’t tell us that – not in so many words.  What he does instead is to place another event right beside the first one, an event that illustrates what he wants us to understand.
All of a sudden, he says, a demon–possessed man arises from the center of the congregation and begins to howl at Jesus, “I know who you are,” he cries.  “You are the Holy One of God.  Have you come to destroy us?”
“Be still,” Jesus says, addressing the demon. “Come out of him!”  And with that the man falls to the floor of the synagogue, his arms flailing, his legs thrashing, with strange cries coming from his mouth.  Instinctively, the crowd in the synagogue moves back to give him room.  But then something even stranger happens.  Suddenly the man grows eerily calm and lies quietly for a moment.  Then, slowly he gets to his feet, his face serene, his eyes clear, his voice measured and composed.
Simply amazed at what they have just witnessed, the crowd in the synagogue eyes one another uneasily.  Someone says, “What is this?  A new teaching!”  Which hardly makes any sense unless they are connecting the excellent teaching they just heard Jesus deliver with the quietly powerful action they have now seen him perform.  So what is it that they had seen?
They saw demonic powers subdued.  Or, if you are uneasy with the idea of demonic powers, they saw something that had tried to spoil and destroy human life . . . and saw Jesus send it packing.  He wasn’t just a gifted young rabbi, smart as a whip.  He was a compassionate rabbi who noticed the needs of people around him, and touched them, healed them, delivered them.  Clearly, there was a deep well of mercy and compassion in him that inspired his words and his actions, a well that lay at the heart of who he was.  This was the source of his authority, a God–given source at the center of his very being.  Where you or I might have watched that man writhing on the floor in stunned silence – or else headed for the nearest exit — Jesus reached deep within himself and acted out of mercy, out of love, out of compassion.  And in the process a human life was restored.
If this first action sets the tone for everything else that is to follow in Mark’s gospel, we are in for a spectacular year of readings — readings that offer us a template for how we ourselves are to behave in this world.  For, make no mistake, this event in the synagogue would transform the lives of all who saw it.  What they had witnessed wasn’t mere spectacle, but a lasting command, for this event contained a truth which made a claim on their lives.  Event and wisdom bonded together that day.¹  And they would never forget it.
Nor should we.  As we read through the Gospel of Mark this year we will see Jesus performing a great many miracles – not to set himself apart from us, but to give us an example, to show us how it is done.  For we too find our source in God.  We too have experienced something of his love and mercy.  And in Mark’s gospel, when Jesus leaves his disciples to ascend to the Father, he tells them he has gone ahead of them and they are to follow.
Now, just like us, those earliest disciples didn’t get it at first.  They thought Jesus was the miracle–worker, and they were the spectators, the ones who could quietly appreciate what their Lord had done.  And they fully expected Jesus to come back – in their own lifetimes – to do even more miracles, to inaugurate the Kingdom of God here on this earth.
But as they waited . . . and waited . . . and still Jesus had not come back in power and great glory, they began to realize that he had left his ministry in their hands.  That, in fact, is why the Gospel writers began to write down their Gospel accounts – so they could equip the disciples for the long haul.²  And that is why you and I still read these gospel accounts – to allow the compassion and mercy we read about in them influence our own lives, our own day–to–day actions.
For all around us, we see the need.  We see people beaten down by forces that have overwhelmed them, crippled them, alienated them.   We don’t usually call them demonic forces – but I think they are the very forces Jesus came to combat and destroy.  And we never know if God won’t use the reserves of compassion and mercy he has built up in each one of us – to effect a miracle for someone else.
For sometimes, that’s all it takes – one kind word, one merciful gesture.  One single life changed for the better.  And the Kingdom of God comes in.
Amen.
¹ “An Understated Masterpiece” sermon by Thomas G. Long in Shepherds and Bathrobes: Sermons for Advent, Christmas and Epiphany (C.S.S. Publishing Co., Lima, Ohio; 1987) p.89.
² In the Meantime   David Lose  posted 25 January, 2021.
 
Return to Sermons Home Page Top of Page