Author: nickstanyon

Mark 15 33-47     The summons and the scream

Posted on by nickstanyon

The Centurion speaks…

I’d only just got back when the summons came.  So, instead of the long bath I had hoped would wash this filthy business from me, I would have to go and face the Governor.  And I could think of only one reason for his summons: Pilate obviously knew.

It was the longest walk ever – each step a thousand miles, each second an eternity – as I covered the short distance from my quarters to the Governor’s office.    It wasn’t fear that slowed my steps along the corridor. As a soldier forged in battle, I have had to face the certainty of death many times before.  Lining up to face the enemy really focuses the mind.  You come to accept that what will be will be – my fate, as always, in the lap of the gods.  So no, it wasn’t fear that slowed me. It was regret. Regret that after so many years of loyal service it would all end like this: disgrace, dishonour, and the shameful charge of treason.  They would see it no other way.

As I walked, I tried to figure out who it could have been that reported me.  It wouldn’t have been any of my men. We’ve been through so much together and bonded like brothers.  I’d never doubt their loyalty.  Besides, they were still up at the site.  I’d left them there, in charge of the other crucifixions. So, if not my men, then who?  Surely not the man’s family; they were too shocked and scared to get involved.  And the Rabbis?  Well, surely, they’d know better than to push it now? They’d got what they wanted – why rock the boat any further?  So, not them.  But who?  I was both mystified and intrigued.

And, I have to admit, I was quite taken aback when I saw who it was standing there at the Governor’s side.  I would never have guessed it would be him!  I’m a good judge of character, and I thought I knew Joseph well enough: a Jewish leader from Arimathea; rich and powerful, yes, but not one I’d marked out as a political ‘player’.   I really had believed he was a better this. Unlike most of the others, he always struck me as one with integrity. Secretly I respected him. I never once considered that he would be my nemesis.   Well, I’d obviously got that wrong!   But why did he make his move and turn on me now?

I stepped up and stood silently waiting for the accusation.  It was one I could not deny; “So, centurion, you think this man is the Son of God do you?  You would choose this feeble Galilean over your Emperor, would you?  And what a futile time to choose to declare your traitorous colours, while the man you declare for hangs dying before you – by your own hands even!”

Sickened by what I’d seen of Roman rule in the past few days and standing before a man who had shown himself so weak that he thought he could actually wash his hands of all responsibility, I think I would have plead “guilty” to that charge without hesitation.  I’m not sure I wanted any part of this anymore.  It would be a relief to be out of it.

My relief came, however, in another way.   That was not the question Pilate put to me.  My fears were unfounded.  He had not heard of my outburst.  All he wanted to know was, “Is he dead already?”

Recovering quickly as a soldier is drilled to do, I gave my report.  I admitted that I, too, was surprised at how quickly he went but, yes, the Nazarene was dead alright.   

It’s my job to know if someone is dead.  If I made a mistake on the battle field the blighter might spring up from behind and stab me, so I am very thorough with my checks.  And when it comes to execution, I do my job properly. In most cases, when the criminal deserves it, I aim to extract as much pain as possible. In rare cases like this one, where the victim did not belong where he was, I’d see to it that things went as quickly as painlessly as possible.  

You see, I was in the courthouse and saw it all.  What a farce!  And what injustice! If Pilate had had the guts to stand up for something just for once then a murderer I’d be glad to put away would still be up on the cross screaming in agony – I would have seen to it!  Instead, Pilate sent the wrong man to die. A man he openly admitted was innocent.  But did that count for anything? No!  Pilate had other purposes in mind. Appeasement – the same as always.   And I, as always, was detailed to do his dirty work.

Now, do not be mistaken by what I said about my skills at crucifixion: this man suffered.  While I can ease it a little, there is no painless way to crucify a man.  Unless, that is, you drug the poor fellow up to the eyeballs first.  And that was not possible in this case; he refused the wine we offered.

But it was not the physical torture that was worse for this Jesus.  It was the deep agony in his soul.  I have seen so many men die, but I don’t think I have ever before witnessed such desolation.  And, I can tell you, I certainly have never heard a more agonised cry; “My God…” he yelled. “My God, why have you abandoned me?”

Some fools thought he was calling for a prophet to come and save him, and others rushed to give him wine, but I heard what he said and felt the deep agony of it.  This guy was for real.  His shock was genuine and overwhelming. For most of us the sense of being God-forsaken has been gnawing away at us for as long as we can remember (I’m sure, God left me a long, long time ago).  But this man acted as though it was the first moment of separation he’d ever experienced.  His reaction was raw and terrible. No wonder he died screaming!  Most of us have been screaming inside forever, but he felt this abandonment, I’m telling you, for the very first time when he was dying on that cross.  His scream rang so deep that it seemed he was experiencing all the cruel agony of our godlessness right there and then.

So, do you wonder that I marvelled?   The charge sheet nailed up with him named him ‘the king of the Jews’.  To me, that did not say enough. I blurted out my feelings: Truly this man was the son of God.  Only one so innocent and pure could ever have screamed like that.

Thankfully, as it turned out, Pilate had not heard that I’d said anything like that. Nor had he put the spin of treason on it that I feared he would.

And Joseph wasn’t being vindictive as I first thought, but astonishingly brave in the circumstances. I’d not been wrong about him. He was the man I’d first judged him to be… more so, even.  He stepped up to give this man, that Pilate thought expendable, a decent burial.  I’m not sure I would want to stick my neck out like that at such a volatile moment.   I caught his eye and gave Joseph the slightest nod of approval.  We both knew that this act of common decency amounted to nothing less than a slap in the face for Pilate.

What drew that out of such a normally reticent man, I can only guess.  You’ll have to ask him.  But for me… the way I saw him die…  I can tell you, there was something very special about this Jesus.  So, take him and give him a proper burial, Joseph. He deserves that, at least.  For my part, I know that this man, and that dying cry of his, is going to live in my memory for a very long time to come.  

image : The Lumo Project

Mark 2: 13 – 17 Do you know what it is to be despised?

Posted on by nickstanyon

Levi the tax collector speaks….

Do you know what it is to be despised? To be greeted each day with a look of disdain (If, that is, they bother to greet you at all)?   It hurts, you know!  Even if you build a hard shell around to protect yourself, it hurts.  

Life around here has been hell ever since I took the job and went to work for Herod Antipas.

My office is a tiny toll booth on the main road through Capernaum on Sea.  The village itself is unimportant; but it’s position right on the furthest edge of Herod’s kingdom is what gave rise to the job.  Customs and excise, that’s me.  I was employed to sit there all day and take the taxes. 

In reality I took a lot more than that.  No, I don’t mean backhanders or anything like that, (Contrary to popular opinion I am not corrupt) but ever since I took the job, I have had to take insults and abuse of many kinds.  I’ve even been frozen out of the synagogue (yes, even here where a Roman build it for them!!)  They’ve made it quite clear that I can have no part.  The social exclusion is, as I said, like a slow burning and sulphurous hell.

From the way they treat me, you’d think I was the one who set the taxes and did well out of collecting them.  But that is absolute balderdash!  I don’t – on either count.   Truth is, I am just a very small cog in a big wheel; a low grade and low paid civil servant, doing my job like everyone else.    I have to eat, don’t I?  And don’t you think that if there was anything better I would have taken it?  This is a fool’s errand; I don’t need you to tell me that.  But, ‘needs must’, they say.  Unlike some around here, I don’t own boats or have a share in the family fishing business.  

Now, don’t get me wrong; I am not ‘Billy-no-mates’ and there are parts of my job I just love. You get to meet so many different people working on this road.  There are travellers from the East, from Philip’s land in the Golan Heights, from the Greek cities in the Decapolis, from Persia and lands afar.  It’s a very cosmopolitan place, Capernaum, you know.  The Inns are usually full of all sorts of travellers.  And I, of course, get to meet them all.

I am not the only one, by the way.  With Capernaum being a border town, there’s quite a community of civil servants here.  The locals of course want as little to do with us as possible, so we have to get on well by ourselves.  We often eat in each other’s homes, throwing parties to invite our friends to meet some interesting traveller or guest.  We don’t cause trouble and we don’t look for any bother with the locals either.  

So why do they despise us so much?  Well, I guess part of it is that Herod and the government are so far away in Tiberius.  The holders of power seem so distant, and we are the local face of authority and probably the nearest they will ever get to it.  So, I may well only be doing my job (and maybe I don’t like the rules any more than they do) but when I sit in that booth it’s not me that they see, but the face of officialdom.  And they have got to vent somewhere, or so they think.  So, I become the butt of their every moan, complaint and more.   They resent me, not for who I am, but for who and what I represent.  Really, I am no-one to them; but what I represent, they hate with a vengeance.  That’s a dangerous combination.  They would never dare vent their anger on Herod himself, but ‘mister nobody’ here will do just fine.  I am a sitting target, aren’t I?   

Oh, and there’s one more thing about this particular station that makes things worse.  I said Capernaum is a border town, and that it is.  But it hasn’t always been.  This border only appeared when Herod the Great died and divided his kingdom between his three sons.  Here, Antipas and his brother Philip’s lands meet.  And the pair of them are as eager as the other to milk helpless travellers for as much as they can get!  Many around here can remember a time before my toll booth was built.  They could travel freely then, without border crossings and controls.  And, OK, so they say the road tax helps to build good roads, but who really cares about that?   Faster roads simply mean faster troop deployment and greater oppression by our rulers.   And even if you’re not angered by all that politics, who would be happy to have to pay a toll to visit their own land and relatives just down the road?  Elsewhere, I believe, there have been riots when toll booths like this have opened.

So, can you see what I have got myself mixed up in, simply by taking this job?  I am an object of derision; hated and despised, sometimes with venom.  And yes, I have grown to be thick skinned about it.  I have got used to the looks, the jibes and the stares.  And for every friend I have lost I have found others to replace them.  There’s quite a community of us ‘sinners’, as they call us.  But, don’t you think, it is too easy to pour scorn and to exclude those who don’t fit your expectations?  It’s simpler to draw lines and cast out, than to blur those lines and struggle with the untidy (although, I believe, more colourful) mix left behind.  People hate me because they like to think they are not like me. It makes them feel good and it makes them feel more a part of something if they can look down on me and rule me out.  If it was not me, they would find some other scapegoat, I am certain.  But, shall I tell you something? Underneath this toughened exterior, I am human too.  And their self righteous derision cuts sharp as if they had stabbed me with a knife.  Their banter, I can take (cruel though it is).  It is the persistent undermining of my humanity that hurts so much.  

So can you imagine what it felt like yesterday when this preacher and his gang approached me from the lake side?   The preacher was new to me, but his followers I knew well.  They were locals; fishermen, known to be hot-headed, too.  Andrew; he was alright.  But his brother Peter was dangerously impetuous, and the ‘Sons of Thunder’ didn’t earn their nick-name for nothing!

I saw them coming, and so I was ready for it.  What would it be this time?  A lecture from the preacher; a cursing from his pals; a barrage of insults, or more?  (The stones on the beach here, I tell you, can look very menacing when you are on your own facing a hostile crowd!)

But I have to tell you, I don’t know whose jaw dropped the furthest (mine or his disciples’) when the preacher came right up to me, looked me straight in the eye and said: “Follow me!”

At first I thought he must be joking, and I waited for the sneer to follow.   But no, he was absolutely serious.  I laughed out loud myself, but my laughter soon stopped short when I found myself asking: ‘Why not?’  This guy clearly meant it!  His offer was genuine and up front.  When was the last time a preacher, or any one come to it, had ever shown such interest in me?

Suddenly something gave within me.  I realised that, more than anything, this was what I really wanted, needed and longed for; to be accepted, invited, welcomed;  genuinely, truly, honestly.

In that moment, he called out to the very depth of my being: “Levi, son of Alphaeus, come and follow me!”  I tell you; I didn’t have to be asked twice. I left my desk immediately and went with him!

And last night, of course, I had to throw a party!  I wanted my friends to meet this Jesus, and he was more than happy to meet with them.  Openly and publically, he showed that he was not afraid to be seen in my company, and he was so relaxed and at ease with my crowd it was as though he had always belonged!

But he hadn’t and he didn’t; that’s what the moral watch dogs around were saying.  Yes, of course they were there; cowering in the shadows, but more than ready to have their say behind our backs!  As one who had lived with it forever, I could sense their mood and my ears tuned into their mutterings about this man they said was too ready to associate with ‘tax collectors and sinners’.

So, the conflict continued.  But now it was different.  It was harsher, more threatening.  They fumed with indignation.   Can you believe it, they appeared to despise this preacher more than me, simply for choosing to be my friend?!   Why?  How could such openness and acceptance threaten them so much?

It was different for me, too.  The burden was no longer on my shoulders.  Having borne the brunt for someone else all this time, now I knew what it was like for someone else to bear the brunt for me.   The focus of derision had moved almost entirely onto him.  He took my burden; all the enmity, hatred and fear.  He chose to be despised and rejected, and yet to show me nothing but acceptance and love!

And why did they despise him so vehemently?  I think it is because his welcome served as a mirror which reflected back to them their own meanness and smallness of heart.  When they challenged him, he said that only the sick needed a doctor; and I for one knew that I had been healed.    But was I the only one to catch the irony in what he was saying?  I may have obviously been healed by his friendship, but what of them?   Did they think he meant they didn’t need healing?  From where I stood, it was abundantly clear that Jesus’ actions revealed them to be very sick indeed!

And now, in the clear light of day, Jesus, I recon you have opened a wound that is going to take an awful lot of healing.  It will fester, and probably become very dangerous for you.  No one likes to be stretched and exposed like you stretched and exposed them.  No one likes their own short comings brought out in to the open.  They think they don’t need a doctor…  well, when they can reach out and welcome outsiders like me with such an ease as you do, then they might be able to say they are healthy!  Until then, your presence is always going to challenge and convict. They’ll try and cast you out, just as they do the likes of me.  So take care, Jesus! 

And let it be known, you are always welcome in my home, Lord.  And there will always be plenty of room at my table for tax collectors and ‘sinners’ alike!   

Mark 8: 27- 37 Did he really call me Satan?

Posted on by nickstanyon

Peter speaks

 

I can’t believe he said that to me … turning on me like that, his words as sharp as a slap in the face: “Get away from me SATAN!”   He spat it out furiously – his eyes glaring – his face set in a frightfully hostile stare.  

Satan?  Me?!  What had I done to deserve that?  One minute I was flying high with exhilaration, for it was I who finally put into words what we were all grasping at, but not daring to think or speak. Now it was out in the open, it felt so good and great, and, as the speaker, I felt released and emboldened.  But in that euphoric moment, it seems, I pushed too far.  I must have crossed a hidden line.  I toppled off the peak of my own making and plunged from the glorious heights.   For a moment, everything seemed so clear and focussed; then it all plunged into darkness and agonising bewilderment once again. 

But how?  Why?  How did this happen, whatever this is?  I don’t know!  I just don’t understand!   How could I have been so right one minute, and so wrong the next?  I know I have faced Jesus tongue lashing for not seeing and understanding before – but that was usually well founded. But this?  Satan?!  Him calling me Satan?!  I’m still stinging from the shame of it, and shocked by the injustice too.  If I did or said anything wrong, then I would happily accept it.  But I can’t see that I did!  Honestly, I just don’t get it – do you?

Well, at least the day started well, with us on our way up north, buoyed up by the healing of that blind man the day before. We talked a lot about it as we went, how Jesus had spat on his hands then touched the man’s eyes.  He wasn’t healed outright; at first, he said we looked like trees walking around. So, Jesus did it again and this time the man could see everything clearly.  “Couldn’t have people seeing us as thick as two short planks!” someone joked!

We walked most of the day, heading away from Galilee into the land now ruled over by Herod’s Son, Philip.  Jesus wanted, I think, to have some time to talk to us alone, and we could do that as we walked.  Clearly, he had some important questions he wanted to ask us away from the crowd.

As we wandered, we arrived in the area near to Philip’s capital – the town he recently renamed in honour of the Roman Emperor Augustus Caesar.  But, since several other towns have also been named ‘Caesarea’, this one has become known as Philip’s Caesarea, or Caesarea Philippi.  And how ironical that name is, come to think of it, in the light of what was said later. A town named after both a Roman and a Jewish King, as opposed to Jesus, the Messiah, God’s chosen King!

But, now, we are running on a bit – except it helps to explain why Jesus was so insistent we told no-one what we were talking about up there.  If word of what we were saying reached the Tetrarch (Philip), then there would have been little hope of escape, I should imagine.

Anyway, as far as I know, word didn’t get as far as the City, and we didn’t get far in our thinking initially, anyway.

First of all, Jesus wanted a survey result: ‘Who are people saying that I am?’ he asked. 

Well, we soon came up with a list; some stupid, some quite profound.  There were those who said he was John the Baptist – but that was ridiculous.  John was Jesus’ cousin, and we’d seen them together.  And besides, we knew all too well that John was dead. 

Others made the wild claim, just as they had done previously for John, saying that that he was Elijah come back.  Presumably that meant they thought he was the harbinger of the Messiah, promised long ago by the prophet Malachi.

Most, however, didn’t go that far – but they did say he is a prophet, or one of the prophets. 

What big claims they make for him!  They are grasping at straws all over the place but, clearly, they hold Jesus in high esteem… and they expect him to make a big difference: to challenge and change things in our world.  That’s what John the Baptist, Elijah and the Prophets did in their day, isn’t it?

And yet, I still didn’t feel their answers did him justice.  Something was stirring inside me that made me feel deeply dissatisfied with these answers. I was reaching higher, further … just like the rest of us… but as yet I was not able, or willing, to put it into words.

But Jesus pushed us for it, didn’t he?   He wasn’t going to let us leave it with what other people thought; he wanted us to tell him what we thought.  And in a flash of inspiration, I did.  I put it right out there in black and white, giving shape and form to what we were all thinking and feeling.  ‘You are the Messiah!’, I said.  God’s anointed King. The one who would clear away all the usurpers, such as Caesar and Philip, and let God’s Kingdom in.

Gosh!  Even though I had occasionally played around with that thought in my head, the fact that I had now said it left me stunned.  I soared for a moment, taking in the full implications of what I had given voice to, and revelling in the fact that I had been the one to say it.   In my euphoria, I didn’t hear Jesus say ‘Well done!’ and comment on how my words could only have come from God. I just knew he was pleased that we had at last seen and declared it.  Now the truth was out there, and we all believed!

But then, Jesus went all odd about it.  His command not to speak about it, as I have said, I can understand. (We didn’t want ‘you know who’ to get to know about this.  That could have been very dangerous.)  It was what he went on to start saying afterwards that I just could not fathom.  ‘The Son of Man must suffer… and be handed over… and rejected… and put to death’?!  The further he went on, the more the cry of ‘No!’ rang out in my soul. This was impossible!  He was talking nonsense! That was not the way it could be.  The Messiah does not suffer – he makes them suffer. He doesn’t get rejected – he unites the people in a common front against the oppressors.  Certainly, the Messiah does not die. How can anyone be the Messiah and die?

Emboldened by my earlier insight, I drew him aside and began to correct him.  And that is when it happened!  He cut me down, so savagely and cruelly. He called me names I never expected anyone to say of me.  As I said, he called me Satan!   Me… Satan?!  Me?!

I still can’t believe it!  And all this talk of him dying (and, weirdly, of him rising again three days later) just does not make any sense to me whatsoever.  I’m OK with what he told the crowd later, with him saying I must be prepared to forget myself and to face a cross if that’s what following him necessitates.  I will happily die for him!  I’ll sacrifice anything in the fight to make him king!  I also get what he was saying about how, if we hold onto our lives, then we in fact lose them.  I would rather die than be a coward, wouldn’t you?   But if he dies, then what is there worth fighting for?  I tell you, I just can’t take this nonsense about how he has to die, how it is God’s plan, how this is the way that the Messiah will come in to his kingdom.  That’s rubbish!  I just can’t, and I won’t, let that happen!

But why does he rebuke me so strongly for it?

Why does he call me ‘Satan’ and slap me down into my place?

Why does he say that he will be ashamed of anyone who is ashamed of his teaching when push comes to shove on that day?

I tell you, I am so confused.  I am convinced that Jesus is the Messiah … so why does he talk like this?

Lord, the story of Peter reminds us

Of the shocking truth

That it is often when we are most confident in our knowing

That we can have missed the point entirely.

Because we have seen something

We so easily think we have seen everything

But your truth eludes us more when if do.

So help us to come humbly before you

Whose thoughts are not our thoughts

And whose ways are so much higher than ours.

Even as we are inspired

And feel confident to declare our faith loudly and boldy,

Save us from filling the words that we speak

With our own limited ideas and expectations.

Instead, keep us open to your truth and your ways

Which challenge us to the core.

And if deeply held ideas and prejudices,

(Thoughts that do not come from God but form our human nature)

 have to die

so that we may follow you,

then let us not be afraid to die to ourselves,

and take up our crosses

and follow you daily.

And when the time of testing comes,

And the godless world asserts its power over us,

Let us not be ashamed of you and your teaching,

So, you have no need to be ashamed of us

When you come in the glory of your Father.

Amen.

Mark 2: 1-12 ON MY OWN TWO FEET

Posted on by nickstanyon

 The paralysed man speaks

Today I am going to do something.  I don’t quite know what it is yet, but I do know I’m going to do something!  And I’m going to thoroughly enjoy doing it too!

You know, for as long as I can remember, I have never done anything!  Everything has always been done for me.  For all the time that counts, I’ve been carried by other people.  But not anymore!  I’m not a cripple anymore! And today, one thing’s for sure; I’m going to get on and do something!

Now yesterday, as usual, I didn’t do anything.  I didn’t so much as lift a finger to help myself.  Never have.  I’m ashamed to admit it (and I didn’t realize until now) just how dependent I had become on other people and how I’d given in to resignation.  I guess, in a way, I just copped out. I’d given up trying.  Well, wouldn’t you in the circumstances?  My body was totally useless. You’ve heard it said; “couldn’t even go to the toilet by himself!”   How humiliating!  And it’s so easy just to lie down and let it overcome you; to give up, abandoning all pride and determination.  That’s what I did.  I let others bear the burden and responsibility.

I have to say, I’ve got some terrific friends!  I mean it, I have!  But what can I tell you about them?  Over the years, they have lived for me.  And I mean that, not just as a comment on the time and devotion they have given me, but as a straightforward fact: they lived for me.  Long after I had given up, they were my soul, my spirit, my life.  They didn’t just care for me – carrying me everywhere, feeding me, dressing me – it went deeper than that.  They hoped for me, believed for me.  They lived for me. 

At times I was past caring.  I was content to sit and let it all pass me by.  But they would never let me give up.  I cursed them.  Threw back in their face all the love they gave to me.  Told them to get lost and never come back any more.    What I would have done if they had actually listened to what I said, I just don’t know.  But they didn’t.  They were determined not to let this bitter and stubborn old crock get the best of them.  And I love them for it!

Mind you, what they did yesterday went way beyond all that.  Our conversations recently had often been about Jesus.  The news and rumours were everywhere and the wonders he was said to have performed are amazing. 

And yesterday they all came running.  “He’s here!” they declared, as they instantly stooped down and picked me up, bed and all.

“Who is here?” I asked, once I’d gained my composure and got used to the balance of my stretcher.

“You know, Jesus!” they said, “And we’re going to take you to him!”

Of course, I protested.  “Oh, put me down and leave me alone!  What do I want to be bothered with Jesus for?  And why should he be bothered with me?”  But they just laughed and carried on walking.  And very quickly I gave up protesting.  I never had the gumption to keep it up for long.  Let them do with me what they want – that had been the way of my life.

What happened next was really quite embarrassing!  The crowd was enormous, and we just could not get through. I just shrugged as people turned and glared at us for pushing, and I rather hoped we would about face and head for home.  But, after a quick confab, we were off again.  They got me round the back and up onto the roof.  Then, to my horror, they started pulling the roof apart and making a hole – to let me see and listen, I thought at the time.  (Not that I could have listened much.  In some ways I was gratified by what they were doing, but the thought of one angry owner storming up about his roof rather overshadowed all that and disturbed my limited concentration!  It was alright for them, they could run!  But I would have been left to carry the can, and, thanks lads, I didn’t fancy that at all.) 

When I suggested they should stop, they wouldn’t, of course.  In fact, they told me to shut up, or they’d stick a big bit of roof tile in my mouth!  Not fancying that, I gave up.  I was never for one for an argument anyway.  And with them so determined, I knew that I would lose. So I lay back and let them have their way.

For a moment, I despaired when it became obvious that their way involved dropping me down through the hole they had made in the roof!  But what could I do?  I looked back blankly at the surprised faces who stared as I was lowered down.  And when I hit the floor, I just lay there, saying nothing; resigned to what might happen (and secretly planning to murder my friends when they came to pick me up once their little joke was over!)

When the kerfuffle had died down, I realised all eyes in the room were fixed on one man, and it wasn’t me. There were rabbis there, as well as ordinary people, but all of them were looking to Jesus.  What would he do?

I, too, turned my head to look to him.  I saw that he was looking up at the hole in the roof.  He searched the faces of my friends and, without a word passing between them, I could see that He understood.  He gave a quick glance in my direction, then a gentle smile and a nod to them.  Even I was moved to see how their anxious, quivering faces calmed and lit up in response.

So once again I lay there, exposed and waiting. It was like the pause while another expert assessed my case. ‘OK, Doctor Jesus, it’s your turn now!’ 

Placed in some else’s hands yet again, I could relax, thinking little could be required of me.  But I was wrong!  And I was totally shocked by what he then said to me. Everyone was shocked by what he then said to me. I mean, you don’t go around saying that sort of thing – no man does – but Jesus came straight out with it.  He looked me in the eye, his gaze penetrating deeply, as though He was reading me.  And then he declared: “My son, your sins are forgiven!”

“My son, your sins are forgiven!”  It was then that the atmosphere in the room turned rather cold.  No-one said a word, and the force of that stony-cold silence was incredible.  All eyes were now turned to the teachers, sat in the front row to listen and to test.  And it wasn’t just me that saw it, everybody did: the rage rising in their cheeks; the venom in their eyes.  They judged that they had heard blasphemy and the explosion was about to come.

I suppose I should have been frightened, caught up in the middle of it, but I wasn’t.  Not because of my usual apathy and stoicism; it was something very different this time.  “My son, your sins are forgiven…’  The moment Jesus spoke those words, something happened to me.  I don’t know what it was exactly, but the best way that I can put it is to say that somehow the fight came back into me.  My self-preoccupation and self-pity drained away.  Purpose, hope and determination flowed in.  It was a bit like being raised from the dead. 

I was being brought back to life!  Changed, renewed, reborn completely.  And when the teachers muttered angrily to themselves that “Only God can forgive sins”, I knew they were right and I knew that he had.

When Jesus spoke again it was to the teachers, and he was angry and defiant. Oddly enough, I felt that same defiance rise within me. I was with Him all the way as he spoke, laying out the challenge before them.  Determination welled up inside me the like of which I had never known before, and when he turned to me and told me to get up, pick up my bed and go home … I jolly well got up and did it!  Yes, I did!

I didn’t have to wait for my friends this time; I just upped and went, as he told me to. And it wasn’t until I was half way home that I realized exactly what was happening.  I was walking; at a pace too!  And I, who had always been carried, was actually carrying my bed.

Doing something for myself for the first time ever!  Standing on my own two feet!

My friends didn’t catch up with me until I reached home, but when they did, then boy, did we party!  I hugged each one of them, and we laughed and we sang and we shouted!  My joy was their joy, and they all danced about as though it was them that had been healed and not me!  But then, in a way, I guess it was. 

I don’t suppose I shall be needing them so much now, but I’ll love them all the more, that’s for certain.  I’ll never be able to thank them enough for all they’ve done, especially in taking me to meet Jesus.  ‘But that’s what friends are for’, they say.

So, what am I going to do today?  I know, I’ll get the lads together and we’ll go and see about mending that roof before it rains!  I can’t expect anyone else to do it.  It’s my responsibility and I’m not going to shirk out on this one.  Thanks to Jesus I will stand on my own two feet!

Capture the moment Mark 9:2-13

Posted on by nickstanyon

  Peter speaks

The feeling inside as we came down the mountain (even though we were quickly brought down to earth with a bump) was kind of ‘Wow!’ and ‘amazing!’ and ‘wow!’ again.  I was stirred and stunned, amazed and afraid, and totally gobsmacked all at the same time!  Jesus didn’t really have to tell us not to speak of it, because in truth I wouldn’t have known what to say!  I mean, how could anyone find the words to describe what we saw? Would any language be enough to truly capture that wonderful moment once again?

Ha! I’ve just realised what I said; ‘…Capture the moment…’  That’s ironic!  Can you believe that is exactly what I tried to do?  What a fool I made of myself! What an idiot!  How did I ever think I could capture that moment?  As if I could! As if I should!

But all that is jumping ahead, and I’m probably making no sense to you whatever! Better back track and start at the beginning, hadn’t I?    

There we were, the usual three of us, off up the mountain with Jesus. We climbed for hours, so it seemed, and so high!    

Now, if there’s a place I love nearly as much as the open sea, then it has to be up a mountain. The fresh air, the quiet, that huge sense of space!  Normally I’d be describing the view to you; that’s what catches you up a mountain, isn’t it?  You don’t look at the people with you, do you?  Companionable they may be, but your eyes are always drawn to something bigger; the vastness of the vista, the shadows racing across the valley and the amazing lighting effects on the hills.  Oh, and to see a sunrise or sunset from up there, the glow reflected in the mist below – glorious!  Nothing short of glorious!

But I can’t tell you anything about the view this time.  That’s not what caught out attention.  It was Jesus. Yes, he was glowing! 

How can I describe it?  Jesus was transformed before our eyes. His clothes became white – whiter than even my mother-in-law could wash them!  Shining white!  Unnaturally white! Glorious white! Dare I say it, it’s like he shone with the glory of God?  

It was just as I imagined it to have been for Moses when he met with God on Mount Sinai. Remember the story? His face glowed. It shone! And that’s just what happened to Jesus, except all over.  We saw God’s glory on Jesus just as it says they saw it on Moses. Only better, I think. This was not like something that came on Jesus, it came from him.  We were seeing him in his glory – the glory of the Son of God.

And then, suddenly, he was there too: Moses!  And not just Moses, Elijah too!  Both there, talking with Jesus.  Why they were there, I hadn’t got a clue. But it was amazing!

Then I thought, why are we there – James and John and I?  We were not party to the conversation, just looking on.  But Jesus had chosen us to come with him, so I thought he must have brought us along for a reason.  It never occurred to me that it was simply to be with him and to witness the event.  I had to do something – had to say something. (That’s me all over, isn’t it?  When I’m lost and out of my depth, I have to talk. It makes me feel better. A kind of defence mechanism, I suppose. I find it comforting to hear my own voice… Comforting to speak… Comforting to try to do something, even if I honestly have no idea what is going on, let alone what to say or do!)

Well, this moment was so wonderful – so awesome – that I just felt I had to capture it.  Keep it.  Stay with it forever. 

How to do that?  Why not build a tent?  No, not just one tent – three tents; one each for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah.  Yes, we could do that!  We could make them comfortable. Give them somewhere to stay. Elijah, Moses, Jesus … enshrined!  The moment kept forever!  (In truth, I was so shocked and scared that I did not know what I was saying.  How can we ever hope to keep God in a box?  But the experience was so intense, I Just didn’t want to let it go!)  

I wish, now, that I had never spoken, because the moment I did, it got even scarier still!  The cloud came in and covered us. Up there in the mountain, not able to see more than a few feet in front of your face, who wouldn’t be anxious or afraid?   But that was not it.  Moses… the mountain… the clouds … does that ring any bells?  And then, yes, the voice!  God himself was speaking to us, to me!  His voice was strong and commanding, almost a rebuke at my having dared to speak. ‘This is my son, and I love him’ God said.  ‘Listen to him!’ 

And when we dared look again, only Jesus remained.  We searched all around, but there was no Moses or Elijah, and no shiny, glorious clothes – only Jesus. The Jesus we had always known.  And the echo of the voice: ‘This is my beloved son … listen to him!’

Now you have got to excuse me, but I am only just beginning to get my head round all of this.  What I’ve told you is what I saw… although, I repeat, my words could never truly capture the moment. How could they?

James and John, I have to tell you, are as stunned as I am. The ‘Sons of Thunder’ unusually silent. Not just because Jesus told us not to say anything (and hadn’t God just told us to listen to him?), but because we just do not know what to say!

What do I make of it?  I don’t rightly know!  The mountains, the clouds and the glory rang loudly with allusions.  Moses, Elijah and God – were they really there?    Was it actually God’s voice telling us to listen to Jesus?   And what about Jesus, shining with glory?!   You work it out if you can!

And what about all that stuff about not telling anyone about what we had seen ‘until the Son of Man had been raised from the dead?’  What did that mean?  And why was Jesus so insistent about it?  I hope it all comes clear with time.  For now, I’m relieved I don’t have to try and find words to describe the indescribable.  But I’m also mystified as to why we were barred from speaking of seeing Jesus in all his glory.

This all came up on the way down the mountain, when we asked about Elijah. Why was it, we asked Jesus, that they said Elijah had to come first, to prepare for the Messiah?   

‘Indeed, he will come first,’ said Jesus, ‘In fact, he has already come, and look at what they did to him!’    His tone of voice and that pained look in his eye, gave away who he was thinking about.  Every time he talks about his cousin John, Jesus has that same look and tone.

Thinking back to all these weird predictions Jesus has been making, I’m now wondering if his “and look at what they did to him!”  means that Jesus saw a pattern emerging; a road laid out that he himself must tread?   You know just how hard I found that to swallow the first time I heard it in Caesarea Philippi.  But here it was again.  It was as though Jesus was saying: ‘You can’t build tents to protect me. I have to be free to follow the path God has set.’

Again, Jesus left us with a question: ‘Why do the scriptures say that the Son of Man must suffer much and be rejected?’   I’m still not sure that I knew that they did!   If they do, I’m not at all happy with it!   But this was Jesus’ last word after banning us from saying anything; ‘think about why the Son of man must suffer and be rejected.’  

Was his ban deliberate, do you think, because Jesus knows that there is something yet to come which is needed to make sense of all this? Something that reveals what true glory is?  Is that what his talk about dying and rising is all about?   Maybe.  

In that case, while this moment was so very special, it can’t be ‘it’, can it?  To cling to the moment and to try and capture it was a mistake.  And to try and capture Jesus in an experience, no matter how wonderful, will always be mistake.  He won’t be boxed in.  Jesus moves on.  He comes down from the mountain top and out into the thick of it, accepting suffering and rejection so as to fulfil the work of God.  ‘It is in this that true glory is displayed’, he seems to be saying.  And the voice of God echoes in my mind, “this is my Son- listen to him!”

The Invitation

Posted on by nickstanyon

Mark 1: 14-20 as told by Peter

‘Foolhardy and impetuous,’ that’s what they call me: ‘Always jumping in with both feet and living to regret it.’ 

Well, if I am, I’m not the only one!  By my count, there are at least four of us. 

If I told you two of the others are known as ‘The Sons of Thunder’ then you might think us all of a type.  ‘All noise and not much substance’, I bet you are thinking!   But Andrew, my brother, he’s a solid one.  Like chalk and cheese, him and me.  I jump at everything like an excited puppy, while he sits and ponders and, even then, is slow to make any decision of note.  Sometimes his careful reticence drives me up the wall!   But he dropped his nets, just like the rest of us.  There and then Andrew got up and followed the man with us.  I think that says it all!

There is something instantly appealing about this Jesus.  Maybe it can be put down to a charismatic personality… or is it something deeper?  Only time will tell.  All I know is that when he invited us to go with him (offering to teach us to become ‘fishers of people’, of all things!), the bait caught us, hook line and sinker! 

I still can’t quite believe we upped sticks and left everything behind like that,  but we were completely captivated by him. 

Who is this man that has such a draw upon us?   I really don’t know! 

But one thing’s for sure; I am going to find out.  

Do you fancy joining us on the journey?