January 8, 2006
Mark 1: 4-11

Torn Heavens, Broken Glass, and Cracked Pots

In the Jewish Wedding Tradition there is the now well-known ritual of The Breaking Of The Glass. After the ceremony and before leaving the chuppah, the groom steps on a glass wrapped in cloth. This act has many interpretations, both religious and nonreligious. The shattering of the glass can be considered symbolic of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem or of the horrors the Jewish people have suffered through the ages. One particular night in 1933 during the persecution by the Nazi's in Germany, so many synagogues and buildings owned by Jews were destroyed, the night became known as "Kristallnacht," or "night of broken glass."

To some, however, the breaking of the glass is a reminder of the fragile nature of life and an affirmation that in times of happiness there should be a touch of seriousness. It also serves as a reminder of the sanctity of marriage-a broken glass cannot be mended. I think that it is a powerful symbol that even in the beginning of something so wonderful as a new relationship, good things will have to come out of broken places in our lives. It's just the way it is.

It is only two weeks since we celebrated the birth of the Christ child, and only a week since commemorating the arrival of the wise ones from the East to worship the newborn king. With the final words from last Sunday's scripture, "The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him," we must tear through time and arrive here beside the river Jordan with an adult John the Baptizer and a thoroughly adult Jesus asking to be baptized. And you parents thought that your kids were grown up in the blink of an eye?!

The author of the Gospel of Mark begins with the baptism of Jesus as the start of his story. No stable scenes, no exotic characters visiting the baby king. The ministry of Jesus is the focus of this writer, and throughout the coming year the gospel of Mark will be our primary gospel reading, so we will want to pay special attention to what this chronicler sees as important and what is not important.

The first thing we notice is humility of the prophet, John. Almost as if he were ripped up from the town of NoWheresVille John has his 15-minutes of fame, only to sink back into oblivion. Mark notes, "Now John was clothed with camel's hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey." Not exactly the makings of a Donald Trump nor a Governor Schwarzenager! In the same way John, living a life much like the prophet Elijah, is not concerned with his own self-importance, but simply being a guide, a pointer, a scout, a preparer for the savior who would follow. "He proclaimed, 'The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.'" The irony of this is that from John's "nothingness" came Jesus' greatness.

Mark's gospel then tells us of an amazing moment, and uses very few words to describe it: "In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

Now, don't let the simplicity of Mark's description of this event fool you. A lot is going on here. One important thing to note, that our text doesn't hint much at, is the determination at Jesus' coming up out of the water. Our text reads "just as he was coming up." Others read more clearly "immediately as he was coming up." This Greek word for "immediate" will be used forty one more times in Mark. There is constantly a sense of urgency in Jesus' ministry. From the moment he is baptized to the day he dies, he is compelled to do God's will with a force and a necessity that is hard for us to understand, much less imitate.

A second, and even more essential thing to note in Mark's gospel is translated well in our text. Do you remember what happens to the heavens when Jesus "immediately" comes up from the waters? Matthew and Luke are translated in the softer way: "and the heavens opened up." No, they "tore open!"

The Greek word there is a form of the verb schitzo as in schism or schizophrenia. It is not the same word as open. I open the door. I close the door. The door looks and is the same, but something torn apart is not easily closed again. Something broken is not easily repaired. The ragged edges never quite go back together as they were. Mark wasn't careless in using that word: schitzo.

Mark remembered Isaiah's plea centuries before when the prophet cried out to God, "Oh, that you would tear the heavens open and come down to make your name known to your enemies and make the nations tremble at your presence."

But the torn place is precisely where God comes through, the place that never again closes as neatly as before. The Rev. Barbara K. Lundblad+, great Lutheran preacher of our day, reminds us that from the day Jesus saw the heavens torn apart, he began tearing apart the pictures of whom the Messiah was supposed to be--

- "Tearing apart the social fabric that separated rich from poor.
- Breaking through hardness of heart to bring forth compassion.
- Breaking through rituals that had grown rigid or routine.
- Tearing apart the chains that bound some in the demon's power.
- Tearing apart the notions of what it means to be God's Beloved Son."

Nothing would ever be the same, for the heavens would never again close so tightly.

This speaks to me in profound ways. This vision of the heavens being torn open speaks to my own soul as I remember the time when I truly began to understand Jesus and who he was in my life, and how I felt on the day I was baptized, and what my heart experienced as hands from pastors and elders were laid upon me for my ordination.

And yet, this vision of "tearing" comes again at another crucial point in Jesus own life: when he gives up his last breath on the cross! "Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn (schizto) in two, from top to bottom. Now when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, 'Truly this man was God's Son!"'

The two times the theme of tearing happens in Mark they are not at random points, but are located at two pivotal moments in the story-- moments which balance each other in profound ways: namely, the precise beginning (the baptism) and the precise end (the death) of the earthly career of Jesus. We recognize that there must have been a link in Mark's imagination between the tearing of the heavens at the baptism of Jesus and the tearing of the temple veil at his death.*

At the beginning of his ministry the heavens were torn open and a dove descended upon Jesus and the way that God would relate to us through that torn place would never again be the same. At the end of his life Jesus hung on a cross between heaven and earth, and when he breathed his last, the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom, torn apart as the heavens had been torn apart. The holy of holies no longer separated the sanctuary from the people. The curtain could never be repaired.

My beloved ones, there are torn places in all of our lives. We are all battered, bruised, and broken. Even in the hopefulness of a new year, the fact remains that "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." But our dear Savior reminds us that out of broken things, from torn places in our lives, God's goodness can still pour fourth. One might even wonder if we were being told that it is only through such torn places that God's will can truly be made real. Paul's words ring in our ears,
"But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies." (2 Cor. 4: 7-11)

At the hands of a nobody prophet from Nowheresville, as Jesus immediately arose from the waters of his baptism in the River Jordan, a voice announced "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." Even when the heavens above us are torn asunder and the world around us is broken to pieces, God's call still comes loud and clear for all those who would pay attention: You are my beloved children: with you I am well pleased.

As Jesus bowed his head, breathed his last, and died, a voice from another nobody, a centurion just doing his job, announced, "Truly this was the son of God!" Even when we are broken people, living broken lives in a broken land, God's word of comfort and challenge come nonetheless, and we are redeemed.

In the play and the movie "Rent" the characters set the stage by playing with words which, on the surface mean something obvious but which, if you scratch the surface just a little offer profound concerns and possibilities. They sing about how to pay the "rent" on their living quarters: "How we gonna pay last years' rent?... How do you leave the past behind when it keeps finding ways to get to your heart. It reaches way down deep and tears you inside out till you're torn apart. Rent!" And then, in a double entendre worthy of the finest poet, they conclude that "Everything is rent!" Yes, everything is not our own, borrowed from our creator. And yes, everything is rent, torn apart, broken, shattered. Like the glass under the groom's foot life begins with the realization that we must work from the brokenness of life in order to find a new definition of what is important to us, and to God.

But we do not do this alone. We do this alongside other "clay jars," broken pots, cracked vessels. We do this with a broken and bruised savior guiding us all the way. And we do this because the one who speaks from heavens broken open and temple veils torn in two who calls us to love and serve one another in the name of the God of Broken Places. And so, we do.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

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+ "Torn Apart Forever," the Rev. Barbara K. Lundblad, Day 1, 2003.
* "The Heavenly Veil Torn: Mark's Cosmic 'Inclusio'," by David Ulansey. [Originally published in Journal of Biblical Literature 110:1 (Spring 1991) pp. 123-25]







Rev. Allen V. Harris
Franklin Circle Christian Church
www.FranklinCircleChurch.org


 

Copyright 2006 -- The Rev. Allen V. Harris

Franklin Circle Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)

1688 Fulton Rd., Cleveland, OH 44113-3096