Already and Not Yet - March 5, 2006

Mark 1: 9-15

Sometimes Mark's gospel reads like a runaway freight train. Today is one of those times. We get no Song of Mary, no Joseph's dilemma. There is no long, tiring frustrating journey to Bethlehem for the census, no flocks of sheep grazing on a picturesque hillside while the miracle of the birth takes pace in a lowly stable, surrounded by the warm breath and gentle mooing of cows in the background.

No precious infant wrapped in bands of cloth, no star, no mysterious visitors from the east. No presentation in the temple, no hasty retreat to Egypt. We get none of this in Mark. In fact, if all you had access to in order to learn about Jesus was the gospel according to Mark, you would think that Jesus fell out of the sky moments before his baptism. Mark seems to be much more concerned with what Jesus does than how he got here.

Even the temptation of Christ in the wilderness: when we read this little two verse description, aren't we tempted to ask "Hey, where is the 'stones for bread' bargain the devil tried to make with Jesus? Isn't there supposed to be a part about Satan daring Jesus to jump off a cliff so that the angels will catch him 'lest he dash his foot against a stone'?" I feel a little cheated by Mark's gospel sometimes. Where are all those wonderful images of Jesus' vulnerability? Mark seems to be in such a hurry.

There's a tension in Mark, like a horse straining at the bit to move along just a little faster, just a little farther. The reason that tension works, makes sense to some part of us is that we live our lives in tension, don't we? Lent is a time for tension, and not just ordinary tension, but dynamic tension.

Some of you, who are one or two years older than me, might remember that the term "dynamic tension" is attributed to Charles Atlas, who was famous for designing and selling a certain kind of exercise program in which a 97-pound weakling could turn himself into a muscle-bound hunk doing a few easy isometric exercises a day using the concept of dynamic tension. The idea is that strength results from pitting muscle against muscle, in rapid repetition, constantly flexing and relaxing. The goal of the Charles Atlas body-building program was to change one's body from weak and ineffectual to strong and capable-to go from 'zero to hero' in a few easy minutes a day. The real beauty of the theory of dynamic tension is that everything a person needs to become strong is already there. Muscle against muscle is the only equipment that is needed.

I don't know if any of you sent away for Charles Atlas' program or not, and I won't ask you to reveal yourself if you did. I can imagine that the number one obstacle to the success of such a program might be that the person using it might give up too soon.

In Mark's gospel, a dynamic tension of sorts is at work. Over and over again, from the very first chapter, Jesus encounters unclean spirits, demonic possessions, leprosy, paralysis, criticism by the Pharisees, hemorrhage, rejection, the death of his friend John the Baptist, the doubts of his very followers, more criticism by the Pharisees, and the list goes on. Repeatedly and in rapid succession, Jesus is called upon to flex his divinity, his authority, his compassion, his wisdom in front of others. Jesus is constantly called upon to rub up against the authority figures of his time, and for what? The gospel accounts of Jesus' teaching and healings and prophesies are not busywork-they are building up to a conclusion that will change the world forever. The stories of Jesus are tension-filled, of course because he is constantly speaking over and against the wisdom of the powerful. Christ is repeatedly speaking wholeness where there is brokenness, truth where there is deceit, grace where there is judgement, healing where there is pain, and wisdom where there is ignorance. The tension he brings into the world is dynamic because there is movement towards something; there is a goal in sight. That goal is the kingdom of God.

I did not grow up with the practice of Lent. In the church tradition of my childhood and youth there was no mention of ashes, palms, or liturgical colors. But there was Easter. No Good Friday, no Maundy Thursday, just Easter. And growing up not knowing any differently, I suppose it didn't occur to me what must have happened before Easter, or that I might want to prepare myself for it. Most of my friends in my growing-up years were Roman Catholic-so its not as if I didn't hear the word Lent, I just thought it didn't apply to me.

I think I've mentioned before that Lent growing up meant that I had to share cheese pizza with my friends on Friday nights after basketball games, instead of the usual pepperoni, and that if we ate somewhere other than the pizza place, the place had to sell fish sandwiches in addition to burgers. School lunch on Fridays meant two things: mac 'n cheese or fish sticks. My friends all showed up at school on Ash Wednesday looking kind of sleepy with a dark smudge on their heads, because their parents had made them get up extra early and go to mass before school. I admit, I didn't have a whole lot of theological curiosity back then, but I did try to get a handle on the whole "no meat" thing by asking my friends Theresa and Teresa what it was all about. Neither of them had any clue-it was just a rule to follow.

I was quite surprised the first time I experienced Lent in a Presbyterian Church-I wondered for a moment when we had become catholic! But once I knew about Lent, there really was no turning back. Once I realized that the Resurrection would no longer be dropped into my lap out of the blue on a Spring morning, but would instead be something that I would have to contemplate, to prepare for, to empty myself in order to receive...well, it took on a new meaning. Easter morning became a goal, something to look forward to.

There is a way that we express the dynamic tension that Christians live in every day; we say we are living in the "already and not yet". When the voice from the heavens declared Jesus as God's beloved Son, in whom God was already well pleased, he had not yet begun his ministry. Practically before the water was dry from his baptism in the Jordan, Jesus was already sent out to the wilderness. When Jesus was preaching that the time was fulfilled, and that the kingdom of God was at hand, he was already the Lord of all, but had he become the Savior yet? He was already working and living among the disciples, but they did not know him yet.

My first concrete taste of 'already and not yet', although I didn't have the theological construct to describe it that way, was when I was pregnant with my first child. The day I found out that I was expecting my son, my entire world changed, and yet on the outside, everything looked exactly the same. Was I already a mother, or was I just a young pregnant woman? Even though I could not see this child, could not hold him, could not feed him, and could not consciously attend to his physical needs-I didn't even know that he was a boy, in fact-I was already his mother. I started to think like a mother, act like a mother. My entire world became wrapped around taking care of this child through taking care of myself. My life's chief end became delivering this child safely and in good health. Something had begun that I could not stop until it had come to its fruition.

God's plan for the world has ripened unto fruition as well. With the life, death and resurrection of Christ, God has played out the plan for salvation-that is the 'already'. The 'not yet' is the fact that the kingdom, while at hand, is not quite here. When God's beloved children suffer and die, massacred under genocidal rule, and no one steps in, the kingdom is not here. When wars are fought solely for the domination of earthly nations-for land, the kingdom is not yet here. When those whom God loves as God's own have suffered devastating losses in tsunamis and hurricanes and are still sleeping in the elements, without heat, electricity and clean water on a regular basis, waiting, waiting, waiting, for help while the rich get richer, the kingdom is not yet here. When a single precious child dies from preventable starvation or dehydration while the richest nations on earth look the other way, the kingdom is not yet here. When the name of God and the power of religion are used for partisan political gain, brothers and sisters, the kingdom is not yet here. This already and not yet is the tension we live under.

The season of Lent, then becomes an opportunity for us to transform this tension into dynamic tension! It becomes and opportunity to flex our faith muscles, to practice over and over again envisioning God's kingdom closer and closer to reality, living as if it is here, until we are stronger, better, more faithful than ever.

And so we practice, practice, practice, during Lent. That practice can take many forms. For some a Lenten practice that is personally and spiritually meaningful is the self-sacrifice-the practice of "giving up" something for lent as a reminder of the sacrifice of Christ. If the act of self-sacrifice is helpful for you, then I hope you will commit to giving up something that brings you closer to Christ, something that embodies your commitment to making God's kingdom a reality.

For many of the rest of us, that practice is about adding something spiritually meaningful to our lives. I have, over the years added things privately each year, but the thing I am adding publicly as are we as a congregation, is prayer, specifically for one another. You will notice that we have a purple bowl in the sanctuary today, and that there are slips of paper in the bowl. On the slips of paper are the names of every member and friend of this congregation. At the Ash Wednesday service during the communion and the imposition of ashes, those present were given the opportunity to come forward and take names from the bowl, making a commitment to pray daily for that person or persons. Even though we have already begun to pray, the bowl is not yet empty. I'm inviting each of you today to take a name or two from the bowl and begin to uphold one another in prayer, to flex those muscles of caring and compassion, to live into the image that Christ gave us of what the kingdom looks like--towards one another.

The table at which we will celebrate today is another expression of the already and not yet. While we have not yet experienced that Great Feast of the reign of heaven, at table with our Creator and the cloud of witnesses, we are already invited to join with the communion of the church, the body of Christ. At this table we are graciously, lovingly, generously, joyously, blessedly invited to practice resurrection, until he comes again.

Thanks be to God!