Mark's Jesus and Our Suffering
S. Joel Garver
Many of us have experienced, I imagine, an acute sense of being abandoned by God. Were it not for our Lord's own agonized cry from his cross, I wonder if we pious folk would have the courage to admit to such experiences. And yet, there, from the pulpit of the cross and by his own example, Jesus himself has taught and emboldened us to express those experiences, crying out with him in a loud voice. Moreover, it is precisely from within that cry that Mark's Gospel finds the fullness of the revelation of God. This, then, is the theme I shall explore in the following essay. To begin, however, allow me to recollect two sets of events from my childhood that are particularly impressed upon my memory.
The first is the dying of my maternal grandfather—not so much the death itself, but the dying leading up to it. I don't remember a time when he wasn't being treated for cancer, whatever treatments were available in the mid-1970's. I do remember the distinctive odor of Lancaster General Hospital, the contours of its lobby, the inventory of the gift shop, banks of avocado vinyl seats, and many hours spent drawing on newly purchased magic-doodles and reading books. I also remember the infrequent moments when I was permitted to see my grandfather, an overweight Harry Truman with his round glasses and mustache. I recall him exhorting me to always love my mother and treat her well. And then there are the last few times I saw him. After they had determined that nothing more could be done for him, I watched him waving from the window of his room in the nursing facility as I played outside on the grounds.
Punctuating these images are recollected prayers—terrible prayers for the seven year old who prayed them, who didn't wish them to be answered, who nevertheless knew it would be better if they were—prayers asking God to take my grandfather away so he didn't have to suffer anymore. But God neither healed nor sped the process.
The second set of events overlapped the first and mingled with them in some kind of grotesque knot. I recollect having behavioral troubles in grammar school stemming from what today would probably be diagnosed as an attention deficit and quickly covered over with a few pills. The fact is, I was bored because I was bright, already knew most of what I was being taught, and no one was explaining to me why it was important to learn unknown things like times-tables. Naturally, I concluded there must be something dreadfully wrong with me to get into trouble so easily when I couldn't see how what I was doing was so wicked. I remember wanting to be liked, to be normal, and so would readily bend to the whims of my classmates if it would allow me to be "included." Being on the small, puny, and decidedly unathletic end of the index was no help.
It was within this context that I recall what should have been the ordinary and healthy curiosity of boys and girls concerning their bodies turning, for me, into something rather more disconcerting. Sparing the detail, I simply recall being made, on several occasions, the unwilling and frightened object of the curiosity of larger and stronger classmates, some of whom I had, up to that time, considered friends. I recall prayers that it all be over and done. I remember how children gossip half-truths, how teachers overhear less than half of that, and then finding myself with the principal, being cross-examined as if some kind of juvenile exhibitionist. But my prayer remained unanswered for, though the incident was over, it was never done. Timid child I was, I internalized the blame until, thereafter, I avoided beaches and locker rooms, trust and vulnerability, dating and intimacy. In all these things, God seemed aloof.
Similar experiences are not uncommon, I tell myself, and the testimony of small groups and of my wife confirm this. And yet, the recognition of that fact does little to blur the particularity of each individual's concrete experience or to assuage the palpable sense of God-forsakenness she then felt. In the following, then, I shall explore the place of Jesus' own specific experience of God-foresakenness as that is given to us in Mark's Gospel. For Mark the same Jesus who cried out and died was thereby, in and through that very experience, also made known as "son of God," the cruciform revelation and presence of the Father who would raise him up from death. Furthermore, this event is situated within the larger framework of the Markan narrative of Jesus' ministry as the outworking and culmination of a specific trajectory or "way." I will circle through these Markan stories several times, picking up various thematic threads at each turn. Through this exploration I hope to indicate ways in which our own narratives of divine abandonment can be Christologically re-narrated as sites of the divine presence who raises up us in healing and bids us follow in the way of Jesus.
Mark's narrative of Jesus is interwoven with several prominent motifs, each of them culminating in his passion and crucifixion, in particular the "secret" of Jesus' messianic sonship, his self-identification as "son of man," and his determined pilgrimage along "the way of Yahweh." In this regard, Mark 1:1 can be seen as programmatic for the entire Gospel, "The beginning of the good news of Jesus, Messiah, son of God" (Guelich 1982; Kelber 1979:15-16). Here the reader receives an interpretation of Jesus of which the characters in the Gospel either are unaware (in the case of most), are forbidden to reveal (in the case of the unclean spirits), or profoundly misunderstand (in the case of the apostles). Yet, the reader herself is challenged by the Gospel to re-examine her own understanding of what this identification of Jesus as "Messiah, son of God" might mean.
Against the horizon of the Hebrew Scriptures and Jewish expectations, some things may, however, be surmised. The titles "Messiah" (anointed) and "son of God" are both kingly and Davidic (cf. 1 Sa 7:14; Ps 2:7; 89:4, 26-27), all the more so when paired together as they are in Mk 1:1 (Moule 1977:22-31; Kingsbury 1983:47-156; Achtemeier 1986:53-65). Thus Jesus is revealed as the son of David, the one expected to rule over Israel and to rebuild her fallen house, even as Solomon, as God's chosen son, had expanded Israel's borders and constructed her Temple (1 Ki 2; 4:24; 2 Ch 1-7). If this is the case, however, Jesus' entire ministry stands as a paradox. Not only does his ministry lack the expected trappings of kingship, but he also dies ignobly upon the cross, deserted by those who ought to have constituted Israel's new house.
Moreover, the specific content of this messianic sonship takes on particular shades of meaning as the Gospel narrative unfolds. Time and again, Jesus attempts to conceal his identity from the public, rebuking those unclean spirits who know his name and sonship, and even forbidding those to whom he has ministered from proclaiming his works (Mk 1:24- 25, 34, 44; 3:12; 5:43; 7:36; 8:26, 30; 9:9; Kingsbury 1983:1-23; Tuckett 1983). Nonetheless, at several crucial points in the story, there is a momentary unveiling of Jesus' true identity (Achtemeier 1986:34-36):
...a voice came out of heaven, "You are my son, the beloved, in you I am well pleased."
Peter answered and said to him, "You are the Messiah."
...a voice came out of the cloud, "This is my son, the beloved; listen to him."
The high priest asked him and said to him, "You are the Messiah, the son of the blessed?"
When the centurion who was standing by saw how he breathed his last, he said, "Truly, this man was son of God." (Mk 1:11; 8:29; 9:7; 14:61; 15:39)While the first and third of these are divine revelations, the remaining are ambiguous and ironic: Peter does not understand his own confession, the high priest does not believe his own question, and only the (quite likely Gentile) centurion finally comes to confess what ought to have been Israel's faith.
Perhaps the nature of this secrecy can be better understood once we fill in further details of Mark's portrayal of Jesus as messiah. For instance, John's baptism of Jesus is portrayed as his anointing to be the messianic "son of God" (cf. Acts 10:27-28). As David (a native of small-town Bethlehem) had appeared on the scene virtually out of nowhere to be anointed (1 Sa 16:11-12), so Jesus (a native of tiny Nazareth) appears unexpectedly at the Jordan to be baptized (Mk 1:9). As the "Spirit of Yahweh came mightily upon David" when he was anointed (1 Sa 16:13), so Jesus saw "the heavens torn open and the Spirit descending upon him" when he was baptized (Mk 1:10; an echo, no doubt, of Isa 64:1). As David soon fled to the wilderness (1 Sa 19- 28, esp. 23:15) and struggled against his beast-like enemies, both then and later during his reign (cf. Ps 22:12- 16; 57:4; 59:6, 14-15; 91:11-13; 140:3; etc.), so Jesus was sent into the wilderness to confront Satan and "wild beasts," a confrontation than continued throughout his ministry (Mk 1:12-13; 8:11, 32-33; 10:2; 12:15).
Jesus, however, is not merely the messianic son of David since, as he himself intimates at the temple, "How can the scribes say that the Messiah is the son of David?" (Mk 12:36). He continues by quoting Psalm 110:1 where David calls his son "Lord," a psalm originally intended, it seems, to serve as a song about Solomon's coronation placed in the mouth of his father David. By Jesus' day it is apparent that this Psalm had taken on messianic overtones and so Jesus questions how the Messiah, as David's son, could also be David's Lord. Jesus is not here rejecting the title "son of David" as messianic, since elsewhere he accepts it as such and as a designation of his own person (Mk 10:47-48; 11:9-10). He does seem, however, both to call into question the intended content of that appellation and to suggest that it carries a much fuller, though perhaps unexpected meaning, a meaning we shall opportunity to explore further below.
A similar reorientation of meaning is also evidenced in Jesus' "son of man" predictions of his own passion and death (e.g., Mk 8:31; 9:9, 12, 31; 10:33-34, 45; etc.; Kingsbury 1983:157-172). Mark is careful in his use of terminology and we find "son of man" to be Jesus' own favorite self-reference, one that is never found on the lips of others. Thus, it must have a special importance in understanding whom Jesus was revealing himself to be. If that is the case, however, it is especially paradoxical.
Within in the context of the Hebrew Scriptures, the designation "son of man" is first gains significance in reference to the prophet Ezekiel (ninety-three times; Eze 2:1, 3, 6; 2:1, 3, 4, 10; etc.). Ezekiel brings destructive prophetic judgment against Jerusalem (cf. esp. Eze 4-6), but is also portrayed as the one who prophetically brings Israel to renewed life (Eze 36-37), a renewal that reaches its zenith in his descriptions of a vindicated and restored city and land with a magnificent Temple at the center (Eze 39-48). When Daniel's prophecy picks up the term "son of man" (Dan 7:13-18) it does so against this background and presents the son of man as a glorious, god-like figure whose appearance on the scene is one of judgment against the corrupt kingdoms of the world and one of vindication for Israel.1 Within the Jewish eschatology of Jesus' day, the title "son of man" had primary reference to this glorious manifestation of divine power (see, e.g., Acts 7:56; 1 Enoch 37-71; 2 Esdras 13:1-5, 10-12; 2 Baruch 35-40; Ezekiel the Tragedian 68-89; Josephus, The Jewish War 6.312-15; Collins 1987:81-83; Wright 1992: 291-301).
Given this majestic background of judgment and vindication, it is obvious why the disciples were uncomprehending at Jesus' insistence that,
The son of man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes…
The son of man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him…
The son of man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles; they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him… (Mk 8:31; 9:31; 10:33-34)Even though each of these statements concludes with the affirmation that "after three days [the son of man] will rise again" (surely to be taken as a sign of vindication), it would be difficult for the disciples even to hear this in the midst of such dire and incomprehensible predictions (Nineham 1963:224-228). While Jesus does not reject more apocalyptic and eschatological interpretations of the title "son of man" (Mk 8:38; 13:26; 14:62),2 he does attempt—as he did with other messianic titles—to create a shift in meaning and to construct a new understanding of the son of man.
In order to comprehend what kind of shift is occurring here and elsewhere in Mark's Gospel, it is helpful to consider another of Jesus' "son of man" statements:
You know that those who are considered rulers over the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; rather, whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave to all. For even the son of man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. (Mk 10:42-45).This statement comes only after Jesus had explained his mission of service and death to his disciples three times (Mk 8:27-31; 9:30-31; 10:32-34), each time leading to their disbelief and their disputing about whom among them would be greatest in the kingdom (8:32; 9:32-34; 10:35-37).
In response, Jesus twice explains the nature of his mission and what it means to follow him along that "way":
If anyone desires to come after me, he must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and for the good news will save it. If anyone desires to be first, he must be last of all and servant of all. (Mk 8:34-35; 9:35)It is in teachings like these that the Markan themes of the "sonship secret" and the destiny of the "son of man" come to be interwoven with that other prominent Markan theme, the "way" upon which Jesus travels and which his disciples must follow.
Mark presents us with a Jesus who constantly moves "along the way" (Mk 1:2-3; 2:23; 3:1; etc., see esp. 10:17, 32, 52; etc.) and therein the paradoxical nature of Jesus' ministry is manifest. The Gospel begins with the figure of John the Baptizer preparing a way for Jesus who will come after him, a way that is identified as the very "way of Yahweh" (Mark 1:2-3). Thus Jesus is presented as Yahweh's special emissary and Jesus' progress along the way, and finally to Jerusalem, should be read as the promised return of Yahweh to restore his people (Wright 1996:612-653). This evident from the start, however, in the very ministry of John the Baptizer.
There are several prominent features of John's ministry in Mark: [1] his location in the wilderness, near the Jordan river; [2] his preaching and administering a baptism of repentance and forgiveness in the Jordan; [3] his fulfillment of the prophecy of Isaiah (40:3), "A voice crying in the wilderness, 'Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight!'" and [6] his prediction of a more powerful one to come who would baptize with the Holy Spirit (Webb 1991:261-278).
The elements of baptism, wilderness, Jordan, repentance, and forgiveness of sins—not to mention John's prediction of the greater one to come—all conspire to mark John's ministry as one of eschatological expectation, of judgment and vindication. This is so for several reasons. Wilderness recalls the desert journeys of Israel after the exodus from Egypt and prior to the conquest of the land, a conquest accomplished by first crossing the Jordan (Jos 3:7-4:24).
The wilderness also, however, recalls trial and judgment, since most of Israel had once perished in the wilderness and did not enter the land (Nu 14:26-35; Dt 1:26-40; Ps 106:24-27). These various elements, therefore, serve as an image of renewed exile as well. If John is calling Israel back to the wilderness, it can only be for a new exodus and the final return from exile when Yahweh would restore all things (Webb 1991:360-366).3
John's ministry, therefore, stood as a witness against Israel, portraying her not merely as in exile, but as unclean, leprous, and in a condition of ritual death, estranged from God.4 John's ministry also served as a proleptic purification and cleansing of Israel, calling her from death to life, and initially restoring her. All of this served as preparation for revived fellowship with her God, perfect renewal by the Spirit, and final vindication, at least for the faithful remnant who responded to John's message and escaped the coming judgment. Apparently, however, this resurrection of Israel, washed by the Spirit, would transpire only through the ministry of the greater one to come, the one whose "way" John was preparing and whom the Gospel identifies with Jesus. Moreover, by submitting to John's baptism, Jesus was identifying with Israel in her exile and her hope for restoration (Brooks 1987:21-33).
The paradox of Mark's Gospel is, however, that the "way" that Jesus follows, while certainly the very "way of Yahweh," is also the way of service, of humility, and ultimately the way of the cross (Kelber 1979:17, 43-46; Heil 1992). But given Jesus' teachings, we must see that following this way is not contrary to Jesus' function as the messianic son of God, son of David, and son of man. Nor is it contrary to all that those titles entail: kingship, judgment, restoration, vindication, and glory. Rather, it is precisely through the way of the cross that Jesus' messianic rule, identification with his exiled people, and the saving will of Yahweh are made known. Let us turn, then, to more precise contours of that "way."
We find Jesus not only following along his way, but doing so as a man of action, emphasized by the use of the term "immediately" around forty times in this brief Gospel (Mk 1:12, 20, 21, 31; 2:8; etc.) and by the absence of the frequent and long speeches that are recorded in the other Gospels. These elements, as with the others we have noted, also reveal Jesus as a Davidic figure—as David had repeatedly delivered his people, confronting their enemies (1 Sa 23; 2 Sa 2-10; 1 Ch 11-20), so Jesus ceaselessly rescues his people from illness and demonic possession, all the while challenging the corrupt leaders of Israel (Mk 1:25, 31-34; 2:16-17; etc.). As David had gathered mighty men to join his cause (1 Ch 11-12), so Jesus calls disciples to follow him on the way (Mk 1:16-20; 3:13-19). Moreover, as David had ruled as a king and Solomon had spoken with wisdom, so Jesus is portrayed as one having authority, the "more powerful one" who comes after John, healing and exorcising with power and teaching to the astonishment of the crowds (Mk 1:7, 22, 27; 2:10, 28; etc.). Midrashic stories of Solomon, son of David, as a exorcist, no doubt fit in here as well (e.g., Josephus, Antiquities, 8.45-46; Testament of Solomon). The "power" that Jesus exercises along his way, nevertheless, is never portrayed as sheer wonder-working, but always in terms of the way of service. This is evident first of all in Jesus' emotional identification with those whom he serves. Time and again Mark draws attention to how Jesus is "deeply moved" or "moved with pity" at the sufferings or exclusion of others (1:31, 31; 3:5; 6:34; 8:2; 10:14, 21).
Second, Mark indicates that Jesus' miracles lead to his own vicarious suffering and exclusion. For instance, in Mark 1:40-45 we find Jesus taking pity upon a leper, who, according to the Torah, had to live alone, outside of established settlements (Lev 13:45-46). After healing him, however, the leper proclaimed his cleansing freely so that Jesus "could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country" (Mk 1:45).5
Similarly, in his sabbath controversy with the Pharisees, Jesus intimates that the time of restoration is nearing, both in his citing the example of David and in his actual restoration of a man's withered hand (Mk 2:23-3:6). Jesus is implicitly comparing himself to David, the anointed king who is presently on the run from those Sauls who would try to kill him (Mk 2:25-26). Yet, as "lord of the sabbath," Jesus has come to heal, not kill (Mk 2:28; 3:4).
Nevertheless, through his restoring and life-giving work, Jesus himself ironically becomes the target of murderous plots (Mk 3:6; Wright 1996:390-395). This rejection of Jesus' work and teaching continues throughout the Gospel (Mk 7:1-23; 11-12) and is what ultimately leads to the cross (Mk 14-15; Harrington 1995:34).6
Third, even Jesus' teaching of his own chosen disciples turns back against him, as he follows the way of the cross. His first parable tells of the soils, challenging his disciples to consider how they receive his word. While Jesus encourages them to "hear the word and accept it and bear fruit" (Mk 4:20), in Mark's account, at the garden of Gethsemane the disciples all turn out to be those, that "immediately fall away" when "trouble or persecution arises on account of the word" (Mk 4:17; 14:50).
Likewise, the disciples are those who "indeed look, but do not see" (Mk 4:12; cf. 6:52) since, at each of Jesus' three predictions of his own death, the disciples do not merely misunderstand the way that Jesus must take, but reject it, rebuking him, arguing about whom among them will be greatest, and demanding that he do whatever they ask of him (Mk 8:31-33; 9:33-37; 10:35-37: Kelber 1979:3-42). They stand as a sharp and arrogant contrast to blind Bartimaeus who, even in his blindness, clearly sees that Jesus is the "son of David" and that this sonship is one of service: "have mercy on me!" (Mk 10:46-48). And when Bartimaeus' sight is restored, Mark pointedly notes that he "followed [Jesus] along the way" (Mk 10:52; Harrington 1990:619; 35-37).
In response, we can recall again how Jesus explains the nature of his mission and what it means to follow him:
If anyone desires to come after me, he must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and for the good news will save it. If anyone desires to be first, he must be last of all and servant of all. (Mk 8:34-35; 9:35)And here we come to where the way of the cross and the way of everyone who seeks to follow Jesus coincide. The call to discipleship is brought out most clearly in the request of James and John that Jesus do for them "whatever we ask" (Mk 10:35) and what they ask is that they might sit at Jesus' right and left in his "glory" (Mk 10:37). Inasmuch as Jesus' messianic glory in Mark is revealed preeminently in the cross, he says, "...to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but is for those for whom it has been prepared" (Mk 10:40). As it turns out, those for whom it has been prepared are two zealots: "...they also crucified two insurrectionists, one his right and the other on his left" (Mk 15:27; Kelber 1979:50-51). Surely, James and John "did not know what they were asking" (Mk 10:38).
Jesus does not leave the situation there, but renews his call to his disciples to follow him along his way. He asks, "Are you able to drink the cup that I drink or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?" (Mk 10:38). The mention of the "cup" and "baptism" here, seemingly indicate Jesus' imminent death upon the cross. But the image of baptism is not accidental. The "way" of Jesus as messianic king was one that Mark shows inexorably to lead to the cross. Thus Jesus' baptism by John was a baptism into this way and, thus, into service and death. And this is what we would expect. As we have seen, by submitting to John's baptism, Jesus was identifying with his people in exile and embodying the eschatological expectations of Israel, and so enacting the return of Yahweh.
Here we return to where we began, with the centurion at the foot of the cross. The way that led there has all along been the way of Yahweh, the way of the son of man who reveals a God who rules through him by Jesus' mercy, service, compassion, through exile, abandonment, death, and even in God-forsakenness itself. And when that son of man comes into this inexplicable glory, it is upon a cross and in solidarity with two rebels, eliciting a paradoxical recognition as "son of God" (Kelber 1979:77-85).
This cross, however, belongs also to all who would follow Jesus. He says to James and John, "You will indeed...be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with" (Mk 10:39). In Mark's Gospel Jesus is speaking not only to James and John, but also to all Mark's hearers who would also follow Jesus through the sign of baptism and enter into his narrative, following his way. For Mark, to be baptized is to share Jesus' own baptism and thereby to be identified with Jesus in all that he did and experienced—service, compassion, abandonment, and death—not as something "extra" or optional, but as something that every baptized Christian "will indeed" experience.
This should not, however, be a source of despair, not even when our own stories narrate the darkness of God's abandonment. Jesus is already there, calling us to himself. Furthermore, Jesus has already transformed that story into one that reveals the very presence and restoring work of God and, in particular, God's Fatherly love that shows us to be his own children, precisely in how we each die upon our own cross, which is the very cross of Jesus. We, like Paul, glory only in that cross (Gal 6:14) for in union with that cross we enter into the relation that Jesus bears to his own heavenly Father and thereby enter into the life of God himself. Moreover, it is only within this relation that we can, with Jesus, serve, cleanse, restore, and heal those around us.
This all comes, says Jesus, through faith—"your faith has made you well" (Mk 10:52; cf. 2:5; 4:20, 40; 5:24; 6:6; 9:23-24), following in the footsteps of Jesus' own faith in his Father and his God (Mk 14:36). Our blind eyes cannot, of course, always see God in the midst of our darkness, even when we believe that Jesus' story tells us our own. So we pray with father of the demon possessed boy, "I believe, help my unbelief" (Mk 9:24). And as the faith of the friends of the paralytic led to his being forgiven and raised up (2:2-12), so also the faith of our communities can carry us through the paralysis induced by our own sufferings until we are healed.7 Then we, by faith, carry others so they may, in turn, experience the presence and power of God.
Returning to the recollections with which I began and with the perspective of Mark's Gospel, I can see, by faith, that God did not abandon either my grandfather or me, even at the darkest moments. Those memories are part of the narrative of the cross as it impinges upon my own life. Jesus already knew my grandfather's sufferings, had prayed my seemingly unheard prayers, had been misunderstood, and had experienced my abandonment by friends and accusations by authorities. That doesn't nullify the agony nor answer the prayers nor replace the lost relationships, but it does transform the meaning of them all, providing the resources by which my experiences can be re-narrated with an originally unseen Jesus now visible among the characters. Thus my story, by faith, reveals Jesus' own passion in and with his Father's children, a site of God's own presence and life. It also, thereby, reworks that story into one of Jesus' mercy, the companionship of all who suffer with him, the glorious hope of the cross, and, finally, resurrection.
1. Vindication here is to be taken in the fully Jewish sense—as a judicial verdict of right-standing before the face of Yahweh (Kenny 1971:175), especially against the background of accusers and oppressors.
2. Mark 13 is especially significant against the background of Ezekiel as son of man (with his prophecies of the Temple's destruction) and Daniel's vision (in which the son of man appears in the context of judgment). Jesus' eschatology, however, is another topic.
3. Also keep in mind that, against the backdrop of Old Testament promises, the "forgiveness of sins" which John announced is not so much an individual experience (though it is that), as it is a corporate event in redemptive history, an event that goes hand-in-hand with Israel's final return from exile (cf. Lev 26:27-45; Dt 30:1-10; Isa 40-55; Jer 31:31-34; 33:4-11; Eze 36:24-6, 33; Dan 9:16-19; etc.). Those being baptized, then, anticipate and begin to constitute nothing short of a renewed Israel with a renewed covenant (Wright 1996:268-274, in part critiquing Sanders 1992).
4. John's baptism is likely an adaptation of the Torah's cleansing rites for contact with death and for leprosy, interpreted through the lens of eschatological expectation (Nu 19:1-22; Lev 14:1-7; Ps 51:7, 9-12; Zech 13:1; Eze 36:22-32; Isa 44:1-8; Beasley-Murray 1963:9). This is why it is not self-administered.
5. For more on Markan use of irony see Camery-Hogatt 1992. Jesus' vicarious suffering is also intimated by his claim to "give his life as a ransom for many" (Mk 10:45) and, in the Last Supper account, his reference to "my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many" (Mk 14:24; Harrington 1995:39-40).
6. This is not to say that Jesus was put to death merely for his teachings, which is unlikely given that we have no evidence that he rejected the Torah. Rather, the opposition to Jesus' teaching provides some background against which other considerations—Jesus' eschatology, the Temple incident, etc.—can be seen to have likely led to his death. The details of this approach lie outside my present concerns. See Sanders 1985 and Wright 1996.
7. This is why Mark links the call to follow Jesus with his themes of healing, cleansing, restoration, and resurrection. When four disciples are called (Simon, Andrew, James, John), four people are healed (the synagogue demoniac, Simon's mother-in-law, a leper, a paralytic). When one disciple is called (Levi), one person is healed (the withered hand). When Jesus calls the Twelve, Mark gives us the names of eight new disciples and then eight more people are healed. See Farrer 1954:19-37.
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