Change we can believe in?

Howard Pilgrim   |  11 Jun 2009     TEXT

The election of President Obama last November and then his inauguration in January aroused a world-wide surge of hope, of new possibilities for unity and justice between nations in a time of crisis.

Not only has this marked a huge change in race relations within the USA, but it has also expressed a remarkable recovery of neglected values such as intelligence, openness to differences, and a repudiation of hatred and fear.

“Yes We Can!” has burst upon our jaded world as a call to renewal drawn from deep within the heart of the African American gospel tradition.

This shared optimism has since begun to wane within the USA as the new President tackles problems he inherited: the new broom has not been able to instantly sweep the house clean, and those who expected quick results rather than the long painful process he foretold have begun to express their disillusionment by turning Obama’s campaign slogan back upon him as a reproach.

“Is this Change We Can Believe In?” expresses their frustration at the new administration’s perceived slowness to identify those responsible for corrupting the banking system and restore it to health. Some commentators worry that he will spend his political goodwill on this task long before he is able to deliver on any of the more important expectations he has inspired.

If, like me, you are fascinated by this present drama, you might find that it provides an interesting viewpoint from which to ponder the significance of one of the major transitional passages in Mark’s gospel: the interaction between Jesus and Peter in 8: 27-38, in which Peter is called “Satan” even though he has just identified Jesus as the Messiah. Consider where this occurs in Mark’s story...

Jesus had begun his public career in Galilee proclaiming “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near” which to any Jew’s ears meant that they could expect the corrupt and oppressive rule of the Roman empire and its local collaborators to be banished from the holy land of Israel and replaced by something more akin to scriptural ideals of godly government. The various popular expectations of what form that new regime should take had this in common – it would feel as though God was in control rather than the forces of evil, something Israel had not experienced for a long time.

Mark’s story then had Jesus demonstrating the “nearness” of God’s reign in dramatic fashion by means of exorcisms, healings, crowd-feedings, and other spectacular miracles, along with several radical interpretations of holy law and a series of parables emphasizing the limitless growth potential of God’s realm. His disciples were sent out to proclaim and demonstrate the power of this new age, and a mass movement began to snowball.

It’s at this point, 8:27, that Jesus asks his disciples to describe the public expectations building up around him. “Who do people say I am?” Their answers show that he is generally regarded as a prophet. After further probing, Peter expresses the core group’s belief that Jesus is actually the Messiah, who will establish God’s new regime. Jesus’ reaction is abrupt: he tells them to keep this conviction quiet. Messianic hopes are dangerous unless carefully defined.

Jesus then proclaims openly that his model of regime change includes a process of suffering and defeat. Victory over the evil rulers will come only as a resurrection from death. Hearing this, Peter is aghast: he “takes Jesus aside” and rebukes him privately. Jesus in turn accuses Peter of considering only the human dynamics in the situation rather than focusing on the actions and purposes of God.

What’s going on here? It seems likely that Peter had begun to see himself as some sort of political minder, feeling over-responsible for managing any gaps between his master’s sense of direction and the burgeoning hopes of the mass movement growing around him. Maybe he thinks Jesus is expressing the blues that come to any inspirational leader who is overdue for a day off, and that he must be protected from conveying anything that will deflate the hopes of his public. A prospect of suffering and death is definitely not Change They Can Believe In: any more of such talk from Jesus and the movement will die in its tracks, its momentum squandered.

But Jesus does not want to be the focus of a mass political movement – he wants the Kingdom of God to be real, created by divine initiative. The normal human means of regime change can only replace one form of corrupt government with another. God’s reign must be established in God’s way, and the Messiah depicted in Scripture must experience suffering and death.

Jesus has already decided to journey to Jerusalem, to appear defenceless before the nation’s oppressors, to bear faithful witness to God’s purpose, and to suffer the consequences, leaving the outcome in God’s hands. The destruction of the evil powers will come about in the quiet form of a resurrection, not a spectacular political triumph. From a “divine” perspective (or in Paul’s terms the heavenly wisdom that understands how God actually works in our world), Mark knows that it is Jesus who is the realist in this confrontation, and Peter who is deluded by his ambitious hopes. No first-century mass movement was going to throw the Romans and their collaborators out of the land of Israel, although countless Jews would perish trying.

Which is why Jesus calls Peter “Satan”, the name reserved for the tempter. In his earlier brief reference to Jesus’ temptations in the wilderness (1:13), Mark did not describe the specific temptations listed by Matthew and Luke, but we should notice that those three are essentially variations on one theme: how to misuse his powers to impress people and build popular support.

The temptation to political action with all its attendant compromises had been with Jesus from the day of his baptism and is now encapsulated in the counsel of his leading disciple. The ever-present tempter has morphed into Peter, who finds himself strongly repudiated: “Get behind me Satan!”

This section of Mark’s gospel, from 8:27 to 10:45, begins and ends with affirmations that Jesus and his disciples must suffer (with a third such affirmation in the middle). It constitutes an extended discussion of the cost of “entering the Kingdom of God”, of the nature of true power, and of the radical transformation of relationships and values called for by God’s rule in human affairs. It challenges us to examine our self-serving hopes and delusions in the light of God’s greater redemptive purpose. That purpose, however mysterious and hard to grasp, is the only realistic basis for expecting worthwhile change in our world. It is God who is the change agent, and we who are called to respond faithfully.

Change We Can Believe In? That’s not something we should be demanding from any human leader. Audacious hope must be vested in God alone.

Howard Pilgrim has just retired after six years as Vicar of Gisborne and intends to concentrate on a ministry of biblical scholarship and teaching.

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