Advent 2B2023
Mark 1:1-8
The first verse of Mark’s gospel states: The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Of course, because this is one of the gospels from the Bible, it makes complete sense that Mark would herald, literally in Greek, the “gospel” of Jesus Christ. Of course, the first verse of the first chapter of the earliest written gospel of Jesus begins this way. Of course these words are used, and they are appropriate, and we don’t even notice them.
But the first verse of Mark’s gospel subversively, boldly states: The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. In the ancient world, “good news” was usually used in the context of military triumph—as when a messenger would return from the battlefield to announce the “good news” of victory. And an official imperial inscription hailed, not Jesus but, Caesar Augustus as “Son of God” and declared Caesar’s birthday “a beginning of good news for the world.”
We know the good news found in Mark is not of military triumph.
It’s not of violence, war, or domination.
It’s not of an emperor.
Rather, the very beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God is the story of a, strange, man in the wilderness who baptizes with water a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Even though all the people of Jerusalem and the Judean countryside follow after him, John the Baptist is neither high nor mighty. He eats locusts and wild honey, relying solely on the wilderness for his sustenance, a wilderness in which first century people dared not travel except for specific, sanctioned purposes. Still, John enters the wilderness, makes himself vulnerable, and announces the coming of One greater than him whose sandals John is unworthy to untie. The One John announces will baptize not just with water but with the Holy Spirit, he says. Thus begins the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. John the Baptist who announces Jesus’ arrival is neither photogenic nor upstanding but rather ramshackle and questionable. And very soon in the gospel of Mark, Jesus will call disciples, not statesmen of influence and power but ordinary fishermen and a tax collector. Jesus will teach them and many others not the arts of war but how to heal and preach, feed and love.
From his very first words, Mark makes the claim that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, holds the real power. That the good news is a way of justice, peace, and love. That Caesar Augustus and his way of violence, war, and domination are decidedly not the way of Jesus.
It’s difficult for me to convey the power of Mark’s claim—and the ways Jesus will continue to challenge imperial power by the very nature of his life and ministry. It’s difficult to convey especially without romanticizing poverty, without offending people by talking about church and state, without alienating people of goodwill who are really, truly trying to do the right thing. It’s difficult to convey when we are so thoroughly embroiled in systems that privilege wealth and unblinkingly endorse violence. Yet, the good news of Caesar Augustus meets the good news of Jesus, and they couldn’t be more different.
While serving at Grace in 2015, mid-way through my call there, the summer outreach coordinator who ran the heat respite program decided we would not call the police when heat respite participants got into fights. You understand, from my very first week at Grace, I would witness fistfights break out during meals, during worship, during Bible study. The fellowship hall was like a powder keg. Still, the outreach coordinator said we would solve our problems amongst ourselves. We would learn how to live in peace with one another. I was skeptical since, the summer before, we had called the police 27 times, but it was the coordinator’s program to run. So that’s what we did. To my surprise, we saw violence drop, dramatically. Four months later, we decided we would no longer call the police—as our policy. Instead, I taught coping strategies and good boundaries on the regular. We intentionally built community. I taught the basics of non-violent communication to everyone in the Grace community. We refrained from sanctioning triangulation and gossip and made direct communication with my facilitation, when necessary, our community standard. We started doing monthly civil dialogues where homeless members of the Grace community picked the topic—which meant we always talked about people’s relationship with the police, every single time. And before my eyes, fistfights stopped, and people turned in their weapons without complaint. I watched men with giant chips on their shoulders walk away from fights. With some coaching, I listened to verbal disagreements dissipate. By the time I left 7 years later, fights had become few and far between, with maybe just 2 or 3 in all of 2022. I didn’t quite believe it myself—that we, with the leading of the Spirit, could create a community that practiced non-violence without the aid of those whose power comes from authority, a weapon, and the law. Instead, non-violence flourished through love, listening, and building relationships.
The good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God sometimes doesn’t feel too different than the regular, run-of-the-mill news. Ever since Constantine made Christianity the official religion of what became the Holy Roman Empire in 313, ever since numerous European countries adopted Protestant denominations as their state religion, ever since Manifest Destiny got intertwined with Christian missionary work here in the US, we Jesus followers have had a hard go of recognizing the truly radical nature of Jesus’ call to justice, peace, and love in the midst of a culturally-sanctioned religion. But honestly, I don’t think Jesus’ way of justice, peace, and love really jive with the cultural values of any nation, anywhere, including ours. For the sovereign state values its sovereignty, its might, its wealth, and Jesus’ way does not value those things.
This Advent, John the Baptist announces the coming not of Ceasar Augustus but the Prince of Peace, Jesus Christ, the Son of God. And this announcement is neither comfortable nor easy. If you think Jesus’ way of peace is comfortable or easy, ask yourself if you have complained about anyone recently—instead of going directly to that person and speaking honestly and compassionately. Or ask yourself how your rhetoric about an opposing viewpoint fosters peace—or intolerance. Or ask yourself what you shared with your legislators about the war in the Middle East or Ukraine. Peace is not easy, and it’s not comfortable. Ironically. But when we set our feet on the path of peace, we find ourselves walking Jesus’ way. And as Mark tells us, this is the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Thanks be to God! Amen.