Allegiance and the stronger man

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This past Wednesday some of us might have commemorated the 74th anniversary of D-Day—the day when American infantry stormed Omaha and Utah beaches, while English soldiers waded ashore on ones named Gold and Sword, and Canadians took one of their own, named Juno. It was the turning point of the war. German forces were bogged down in Russia, the German/Italian army had been retreating since 1942 in North Africa. But this was the day when the tide turned. Once the beachheads established, the end of the war was not in doubt. The Axis powers would lose in Europe; it was only a question of time. In fact, we could say, the Axis powers lost the war on June 6; what remained was pressing the victory to its end. 

Keep that image of inevitability in mind today as we come to our Gospel lesson.  

When we pick up the story, Jesus has returned home—that is, his home base in Capernaum, probably Peter’s house—and he is tired. He has, if you’ve read just the first three chapters up to here, very busy. There has been a preaching tour through the Galilee. It has been marked by teaching—summarized simply as the call to repentance in advance of the coming of God’s kingdom. “Repent. The kingdom of God is here! Believe the good news!” 

And the message has been authenticated by miracles. A lame man had his sins forgiven and his legs restored. A leper, cleansed. A woman raised up from a fever and freed for service. But most of all, there have been the exorcisms. In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus’s first miracle—conducted in a synagogue on the Sabbath—is an exorcism. It follows a pattern—the unclean spirit (nothing so romantic or regal as demon, for Mark) is driven against its will to declare the identity of Jesus, and Jesus speaks a word of command. Be silent. Come out. And it’s over.  

Why does Mark make the exorcisms THE miracles over against which all other miracles are to be understood? What does Mark make the exorcisms THE miracles which authenticate and render visible the proclamation of the kingdom? For this reason: no act of healing (for that is what an exorcism is) better shows what is going on in the coming of Jesus.  

He is the beachhead. He is the turning of the tide. With his coming, the kingdom of darkness will fall, indeed has fallen. “Have you come to torment us before the time?” so will ask the demons named Legion later in Mark. They knew their end. They knew their time. They knew it as surely as General Erwin Rommel knew that it was only a matter of time after he could not repel the invasion on June 6, 1944.  

The Good News is the announcement that another King—not Caesar, not Herod, nor the dark powers that upheld their reigns—had invaded. And with that invasion, the enemies of the kingdom are being visibly put to flight—unclean spirits, diseases that rob people of fellowship and family, fevers that prevent people from contributing to our common life, sins—they have to go. They cannot stay.  

Some of you might remember the feeling of joy that swelled up within you when you first read the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe when you heard the four words that signalled the end of the White Witch’s reign—Aslan is on the move! And you saw her winter reign succumb to Spring. That’s what Mark wants you to feel as you come to the end of 3:19. Jesus is on the move! The Kingdom is being announced. Where it is, the dark powers, disease, and death are routed.  

And then we come to a shift. Jesus has returned to Capernaum to rest. He is at the centre of three concentric circles. First there are the crowds—not content with what has happened so far, some wanting curious, some doubtful, some wanting more shock and awe, a few—Jesus has just appointed the 12—who will follow closely—all kinds of people pressing in on him, not granting him a moment’s rest. Then come the scribes. And not just any scribes. These are scribes from Jerusalem. The preaching tour around the Galilee has brought out inquisitors not from the local synagogues. These are the big guns. And, as we’ll see, they have something to say. Then, furthest afield, the family of Jesus. They are introduced vaguely at the outset in the phrase “Those from him.” Later, they’ll be identified as Jesus “mother and brothers.” Note the positioning—those who are closest to Jesus are the furthest from him.  

So both the family of Jesus and the Scribes have heard about Jesus and they’ve come, each with their own mission. The family of Jesus comes “seeking to restrain him.” Restrain is a tame word. It does not capture the strength, violence, or ferocity of the Greek word. It is the same word that is used of Herod when he “arrests” John the Baptist and throws him into a dungeon. They are fearful for Jesus’s safety and for their own. They know how Rome dispatches troublemakers and peace-breakers. They think Jesus has lost his mind, that he has “gone out of himself,” to use a literal translation, that in the control of his faculties he has been pushed outside by another. They have heard about the exorcisms, it seems, and concluded that he’s the one possessed. 

The Scribes from Jerusalem then take this charge and amplify it. He’s not being controlled by an unclean spirit. He is in cahoots with the Beelzebul, the Lord of the Flies, the ruler of the unclean spirits. They have heard of the exorcisms, too. And far from seeing Jesus as a victim, they see something far more sinister. Unlike Jesus’s family, they know a power is at work in Jesus. That something truly momentous is happening. His preaching is not the rambling of a madman; his miracles are the real deals. The power at work in Jesus is the power of darkness. He has made a deal with that dark power and he is putting it to use.  

Now we come to the heart of the passage. Jesus’s response to the scribes. And unlike us, Jesus is quite comfortable with the language of warfare—in this case, civil warfare. Listen, he says, you are being absurd. How can the dark power work against the dark power? If a kingdom is divided against itself, it will fall. If a royal family is divided against itself, that family will be supplanted. If the dark power is working against itself, then its end has come, too. That is NOT what is happening. Here’s what’s happening: an invasion is happening. The stronger man has come; he has tied up—restrained, you might say—the strong man. And now he’s taking his stuff. That’s what happening. And the fact that you refuse to see what’s plainly in front of you, the fact that you attribute my power to the dark power, is an unforgivable blasphemy, for you refuse the one who alone can rescue you. 

This is loaded language. This is warfare language. This is conflictual language. This is judgmental language. John the Baptist had prophesied in Mark 1 that the Stronger Man was coming. The stronger Man is now here. He is announcing his arrival in his preaching and in his healing. It’s time to repent—that is turn around! Change your mind!—and believe the good news. In other words, declare loyalty to the new King, the true King. This is a life or death moment. Hang on to that. We’ll come back to it. 

Finally, now, the family of Jesus has pressed part way through the crowd and managed to get word to Jesus. “Your mother and brothers are asking for you.” Who gets that word through? An anonymous member of the crowds? One of the 12? Possibly. The context—Jesus debating with the Scribes from Jerusalem—suggests to me that it is in fact one of the religious leaders trying to change the subject. But we don’t know.  

Jesus takes the opportunity not to turn from his enemies to his family, but to cement the teaching he’s just made. I’m the stronger man. I’m come to set people free. I’m come to send the dark power packing. Repent and believe. Change allegiances. Join my royal family: be my brother; be my sister. How? Do the will of my father.  

And the rest of Mark will unfold the will of the Father that is to be done. And it is unfolded in terms of loyalty. Slowly, the ranks of his enemies will grow. Especially after chapter 9, the crowds themselves will begin to shrink even as the miracles become fewer. Eventually, even these will turn against him and call for his death. And the ranks of those loyal to the king will dissipate until only the 12 left and these all flee on Thursday night. And on Friday, the King dies alone. 

Hang on. That’s not how it’s supposed to go, is it? We don’t want it to end that way. The Gospel call in Mark, the call to repent and believe, to change our allegiance, is to change our allegiance to a crucified Messiah. To be come a part of his royal family.  

Jesus’ Gospel is not an announcement of your best life now. Jesus’ Gospel is not a feel good life coach moment tacked on to an already busy, happy life. It is a life or death decision, which to take will change everything. To be a part of the family is to follow Jesus to the very end, and the cross shows us what the end looks like. There will be no shying away from it. No last minute reprieve. No cavalry cresting the hill coming to the rescue.  Jesus charge in Mark 3 is blunt: “You either attribute the power you see to the devil and so cut yourself off from my kingdom forever or you commit your loyalty to me all the way to the end.” 

And by the end of Mark, every single one had lapsed.  

No wonder the women were terrified when they met the angel on Easter morning and heard his announcement that death itself was the last enemy defeated. For that is what the resurrection is—not an overturning of the cross, but the declaration that that was the moment toward which all the exorcisms had pointed. There the serpent’s head was crushed, the dark power defeated, the strong man’s house plundered. And the women and all the disciples had, at the worst possible time, picked the wrong side. 

But that’s to get ahead of our text. For this morning, if we are to plot ourselves in the house in Capernaum, these are our options. Some of us this morning want to restrain Jesus—his preaching is making us uncomfortable. His call is too difficult. That may not be a bad thing. It may mean you’re beginning to grasp just how deep the Gospel call goes. Some may even charge him with evil—his message is the cause of strife and discord. This is not entirely wrong. The Gospel is about a war, waged and won on a cross 2000 years ago. But Jesus is not its cause; he’s the liberator. Some follow hoping to see a miracle, or to experience one themselves. Who can blame them? It must have been quite a show And some—perhaps just a few—have heard in his words the words of life. They have changed allegiances—however fallibly and haltingly—and joined the royal family. Who are you?