warriors and women

In giving a word of encouragement before handing over to me to preach last Sunday, the pastor made a correlation between four women in the congregation and two other sets of people in the Bible.  The day before, I had preached on Mark 15, so that chapter was on the pastor’s mind.  In particular, his attention was fixed on verse 40 which tells of three women “looking on” at the death of Jesus.  These were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome.  This was the first set of biblical people to whom the pastor compared the four mothers in his church.  To these he added “the Three” warriors of David’s army—Josheb-basshebeth a Tahchemonite, Eleazar son of Dodo son of Ahohi, and Shammah son of Agee, the Hararite—whom David extolls in his “last words” from 2 Samuel 23 (2 Sam 23:8ff.).

The pastor’s point was that, just as Jesus had been attended by three women, and David by three warriors, so these four churchwomen in particular had steadfastly stood beside him in the ministry.  Comparing members of the body of Christ to warriors always raises my Mennonite (pacifist) eyebrows.  Yet the fact that these mothers could in no way be mistaken for soldiers of the flesh in the mode of David’s fighting men hinted at a beautiful transformation of the warrior-motif in the pastor’s interpretation.  What the pastor has in mind as the epitome of warrior-hood is not, in fact, those who fight—as did David’s men—with physical weapons, but those praying mothers who prepared a great feast for God’s people on Easter Sunday.  By using the biblical examples to point to the flesh-and-blood women in his church, the pastor cast the text in a new light.  For if these women count for genuine warriors in the pastor’s eyes, is another meaning of warrior-hood likewise intended beneath the surface of the text?  Must a text like 2 Samuel 23:8 be read to affirm acts of physical war, or does it rather commend that which both soldiers and “ordinary” women may have in common, namely, the dedication in giving one’s life to something greater than oneself?  Put another way, is what the text might commend not the cause for which one fights, but the manner in which one fights?  Indeed, I would argue that it is not the cause which unites soldiers and members of the church, for intrinsic to the calling of the former is protecting a geographic domain while the latter serves the kingdom of God (insofar as the latter does not conflate the two).  Rather, it is only to certain virtues which both soldiers and Christians might subscribe, and it is the calling of the Christian to know in whose service alone and how such virtues may be exercised.

The pastor’s way of reading scripture exhibited here I have encountered more broadly in these years of my African sojourn.  Indeed, I have often heard African preachers draw lessons for life from texts which do not seem to have an overlap in the literal sense to the real-life situations which the texts are used to address.  Thus one might find an African preacher using a battle text as a metaphor for perseverance or trusting in God when encouraging a person struggling with an illness.  By contrast, a western preacher might seek out a more literal correspondence between the text and life, so that when addressing a situation of disease one looks to texts of physical healing in the scriptures.  If it is thus fair to say that, in this sense, an African way of reading scripture is more metaphorical than a western one (undoubtedly it could also be more literal in other ways), then I as a North American have learned a lot from African ways of reading.  And if other western readers are like me, then this African approach can help us to hear more of the Bible speaking to our lives.  The pastor’s example above, for example, helps us to see the way in which Old Testament texts have meaning beyond justifying war and promoting a wrathful God—complaints I have frequently heard among North American Mennonites (and others).

I am persuaded that a closer examination of most biblical texts uncovers, in surprising ways, the voice of God speaking to the people whom God loves.

-Joe

breaking from the tomb

In between Mark’s crucifixion narrative (15:25-39, see last post) and his resurrection narrative (16:1-8) is the burial of Jesus.  Chapter 15 ends with the notice that “Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses saw where the body was laid” (15:47).  This is the perfect set-up for the events of chapter 16.
Seeing where the body was laid, these two women along with a third, Salome, “brought spices so that they might go and anoint him” (16:1).  Spices in hand, they head for the tomb.  The resurrection narrative in Mark centers around the tomb.  The women set out to go there (v. 2).  Later they enter there (v. 5).  Finally, they flee from the tomb (v. 8).  The tomb receives one extra mention, this time in the mouths of the women themselves rather than from the narrator.  As they approach they ask themselves, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb” (v. 3).  Presumably this question was occasioned because the stone was “very large” (v. 4).  Nevertheless, looking up, they find that the stone “had already been rolled back” (v. 4).  And so they are able to enter the tomb.

It is in the tomb that the central drama of the story takes place.  It is in the tomb that the women see the messenger of Jesus’ resurrection (v. 5), hear the announcement of Jesus’ resurrection (v. 6), and receive instructions of what to do next (v. 7).  All of this happens in the tomb.

But none of this were the women seeking in the tomb.  Though we must credit them—perhaps especially in comparison to the twelve disciples of Jesus—for looking on at the cross (15:40), we cannot say that their faith was complete.  The women, like the disciples, had not taken Jesus at his word.  Presumably they too, with the twelve, had heard him predict his death and resurrection.  Witnesses to Jesus’ authority in life, the women might have trusted, even now, that what Jesus said would be fulfilled in him would come to pass.  Yet they set out with spices “to anoint him”; they are not seeking a risen Lord or a living God in this moment.  They are seeking a corpse.  It is a dead man which they seek.  That is the most for which they can hope.  A body is what they have come seeking in this place.  For a dead man they have entered here.

It is precisely in that place, however, in the tomb of their hope which was not a hope, that they hear something which they did not expect.
 
“Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.  He has been raised; he is not here.  Look, there is the place they laid him” (v. 6).

If the women’s best hope was hopelessness, their best faith an instinctual sense of duty, their present state a dulling numb, then it was not by their merit that they received the news spoken by the young man robed in white (v. 5).  By the mercy of God they hear, “He has been raised.”  They were hoping for a corpse; they received a revelation of the living God.

It is well-known that Mark, aside from the disputed endings to his gospel (16:9-20), narrates no resurrection appearances of Jesus to his followers.  Likewise it is customary in certain circles, perhaps for shock value, for preachers to point out that the women in Mark flee from the news in terror, saying nothing to anyone (v. 8).  Full stop.  End of story.  I’m not sure what all that emphasis is for; given the subsequent widespread belief in the resurrection, good logic suggests that he both appeared to the women (as the other gospels attest) and that they did overcome their fear and tell his disciples, from which the witness spread.  Yet if Mark’s focus on the women’s fear, not unrelated to the way in which Mark characterizes disciples generally in his gospel as dull and often disobedient, awakens our senses to the reality of God’s love and grace breaking through, then his ending is well-played indeed.

-Joe