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173 Mark 14:53-65 Sermon 5 (September 15, 1980) Early on, this sermon highlights the role of irony in Mark’s account of the trial and crucifixion of Jesus, a literary feature that Juel will go on to develop in rich theological ways in his career. But the latter half of the sermon sketches another frequent theme in Juel’s thinking—the resistance of the cross to any attempt to domesticate, rationalize, or manage it. ——— During our first session, I asked a class on Mark what members made of a book that spent one-sixth of the story narrating the death of the main character. One perceptive member suggested that it sounded like the author was a person who had not come to terms with the death of someone close. We spent a long time on that response. Who ever comes to terms with death, particularly the death of someone close? The pain never really goes away. Questions are never quite answered. Jesus, of course, didn’t stay dead, but his followers couldn’t quite settle with that death. The cross didn’t go away. It remained, not simply as a sign of God’s graciousness , but as a reality against which whole worlds of thought shattered . That unsettling reality had power for those first believers, power that drove them to change the world. If the cross has less power for us, it is perhaps because we are capable of so little art that we’re adept at making the profound seem banal. Mark was an artist. His story of Jesus’ trial and death is art. This morning I’d like to focus on one feature—the irony. In Mark, Jesus’ career ends in what appears to be total collapse: his ministry is in shambles; he’s 174 Shaping the Scriptural Imagination sold out by one of his close associates, deserted by the rest except for Peter, who denies him; he’s arraigned before the religious authorities, tried, and found guilty; he’s brought before Pilate, where he’s tried, found guilty, mocked, and executed by the political officials. His only words, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” are misunderstood by the crowd, and with that he dies. For those with eyes to see, however, the story has another dimension . The long-awaited enthronement and investiture of Jesus the Messiah occurs. Yet it is Jesus’ enemies who play the role of subjects. It’s the high priest who finally puts the titles together with which the Gospel begins, in his question, “Are you the Christ, the son of the blessed?” (that is, the Son of God). Pilate formulates the inscription “the King of the Jews.” His soldiers—unaware that they speak the truth—salute Jesus as King, kneeling in mock homage. The correct words are all spoken, testimony to the truth is offered. The witnesses, however, are would-be judges who have no notion that what they speak is true. The messiahship of Jesus to which they testify is for them blasphemous or absurd or seditious. But they speak the right words. That is, of course, the irony. Even the mockery of Jesus as prophet that concludes our assigned text for today highlights another of the many ironies. At that very moment that Jesus is being taunted with “prophesy,” in the courtyard outside one of his prophecies is being fulfilled to the letter as Peter denies him three times before the cock crows twice. Far from being in control, Jesus’ enemies seal their own fate by condemning him to death. Even their worst intentions serve only to fulfill what has been written of the Son of Man, as Jesus says. There are two ways in which that message may be taken. It is, first of all, good news for people who have drunk deeply from the cup Jesus invites his followers to share. For us, drinking from that cup will probably involve few heroic acts. The challenges we face as children of God are small but persistent. The major temptation is to avoid disillusionment . The most savvy, mature young people, aglow with the Spirit, are still shocked to discover that seminary walls are no protection against the outside world, that people inside the church can be as petty as people outside, that students can compete fiercely, cheat, hold grudges, and hate here as well as elsewhere. Part of the rhythm of the Christian life seems to be discovering how few people there are you can trust...

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