Lectionary Commentaries for February 25, 2024
Second Sunday in Lent (Year B)

Was Peter so wrong?

Peter took Jesus aside and rebuked him for declaring openly that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, rejection, and even death. Peter did so because Jesus, not that long ago, had sternly ordered Peter (and the other disciples) not to tell anyone about him (8:27–30). Peter kept quiet; he was secretive about it. And now, Peter is accused of setting his mind on human things (verse 33) for reminding Jesus about the modus operandi or the mode of secrecy found throughout Mark.

It seems that the other disciples had also heard of this discombobulating accusation. In 9:30–32, when Jesus declares for the third time that he will be betrayed and killed, the disciples are so perplexed and afraid that they do not even bother to ask for clarification at all.

On the one hand, Jesus seems to forbid others to proclaim that he is the Messiah or to tell about what he has done (1:34, 44; 4:11–12, 33–34; 5:43; 7:36; 8:30). On the other, Jesus declares to the crowd and his disciples not only his identity but also the nature of the kin-dom of God and the expectations in becoming disciples of Jesus (1:15, 38; 2:1–12, 17, 19–22, 28; 3:35; 5:35; 6:2, 34). Mark 8:31–38 manifests this ambiguity between openness and secrecy, loquaciousness and reticence. This theme of ambiguity is also paired with paradox in verse 35: “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it” (New Revised Standard Version updated edition).

Another suffering? Another rejection? After being called out by Jesus, Peter now has to listen to Jesus’ inconceivable and defeatist expectations for discipleship: deny oneself, take up the cross, and lose your life (verse 34–37). Peter probably has heard of this kind of horrific expectation from the Roman Empire. Pax Romana (or the so-called Roman Peace) promised peace in exchange for denying oneself for the empire, taking up the burden of taxation and forced labor, and even sacrificial death at the behest of the empire. Listening to the Markan Jesus sounds like listening to the Roman emperors, the “sons of God,” the so-called saviors. This time, Jesus seems to be declaring himself to be more powerful and benevolent than those Roman emperors.¹

The Messiah also demands that his followers suffer for the gospel even if it leads to death. Questioning this demand has consequences because the Son of Man will be ashamed of them when the Son of Man comes in the glory of his Father and with the holy angels (verse 38). What then is Peter supposed to do?

In spite of it all, Peter has denied himself. He left everything behind and followed Jesus. Until he denies Jesus in 14:66–72, Peter has not been portrayed as ashamed of the Son of Man. Peter is the disciple who confesses that Jesus is the Messiah (8:29). As a colonized person, Peter calculated the cost of discipleship; he knew what he was getting himself into and still followed Jesus.

We do not know Peter’s response or reaction after he is berated by Jesus in 8:33. Is he silent? Does he retort? What does he feel? Here, many of us resonate with Peter. We have already lost, sacrificed, and denied. We feel like there is nothing left to lose for the gospel. Still, we get berated again and again.

After three days he will rise again (verse 31)

The hope of resurrection is heavy. The wait is taxing. The uncertain future is exhausting. And yet we believe, because the hope of resurrection reflects how life is in the first place. Life is ambiguous, unpredictable, and mysterious. Following Jesus was never meant to make life easy, predictable, and obvious. Rather, the hope of resurrection validates where we are, the life that we live. We are seen by God. To take up the cross is nothing new, especially for those who are already living such a life.

That is why we are called to not be ashamed of our lives burdened by oppressive crosses. The hope of resurrection invites us to believe that the Son of Man also lived this life of rejection and suffering. As Pheme Perkins states: “God does not delight in human suffering. … Yet danger lies in concluding that suffering and self-sacrifice are always undesirable.”² The worst thing that we could do is to act like suffering and self-sacrifice are not real or not part of Christian life. For God to be with us is already an embodied reminder that the hope of resurrection began with the here and now. As we carry the burden of the cross with us, we hope because we believe that we will also be raised with the Messiah.

In his silence, Peter understands this reality of ambiguity, paradox, and an uncertain hope of resurrection. Peter gets it. And those of us who live lives with the burden of oppressive crosses also get it. We hope for the resurrection because we feel the resurrection in our bodies and in our spirits.

Notes

1. Adam Winn, “The Gospel of Mark: A Response to Imperial Propaganda,” in An Introduction to Empire in the New Testament, ed. Adam Winn (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016), 91–106.
2. Pheme Perkins, “The Gospel of Mark,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary, vol. 8, ed. Leander E. Keck (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994), 625–626.

God, in Genesis 17, reaffirms the covenant—or agreement—that God made with Abram earlier, in Genesis 15 (the Abrahamic Promise), that Abram will become a “father of many nations.” So apt and therefore reliable are God’s promises that God states that, in preparation for the unfolding of the divine plan, Abram’s name needs to undergo a change to something more suitable: “Abraham,” which, the text explains, means “father of many nations” (17:5). 

By this point in the text, the promises that God made earlier seem less incredible. While in Genesis 15 the elderly Abram is still childless, by Genesis 17, this problem has been remedied by Abram’s elderly wife, Sarai—albeit in a problematic manner. In a troubling account in the previous chapter (Genesis 16), Sarai gives her Egyptian slave woman Hagar to Abram as a second wife, and he promptly impregnates her. Hence, by the time God again reaffirms the covenant with Abram in Genesis 17 and changes his name, Abram is already well on his way to becoming “Abraham.” 

His changed circumstances might explain why Abram seems less anxious in Genesis 17 than in Genesis 15. It might also explain why he remains silent as God goes on for several lengthy verses describing how Abraham will have numerous descendants and will receive the land of Canaan in exchange for upholding the covenant with God. 

God, however, adds a new requirement in Genesis 17: that Abraham should circumcise himself and all his male heirs going forward (17:4–14). The verses on circumcision (as well as God’s gift of Canaan, a land which, problematically, already has residents living on it) have been neatly excised in the lectionary reading. The excision lessens the tension and ambivalence present in this tale. The most evident concern is circumcision, an act that can only be performed on males. The requirement of circumcision, hence, seems to imply that it is only males who are of importance to God’s covenant with Abraham. After all, circumcision is the marker of the covenant, and only males can be circumcised.

Yet, immediately after God’s statement about circumcision, God changes course. God seems to affirm that women do indeed matter—or more precisely, the identity of the mothers who will give birth to Abraham’s heirs matters. God states that Sarai, Abram’s elderly wife, will also undergo a name change, to “Sarah,” in preparation for her upcoming pregnancy (17:15–16). It is Sarah—and not Hagar, God implies—who will become the matriarch, the ancestress, of the heirs of the Abrahamic promise. 

This news seems to catch Abraham off guard, and he laughs in disbelief and gently corrects God. Surely God does not mean his ninety-year old wife, Sarah, but Hagar, who has just borne Abraham a son, Ishmael (17:18)! In response to this, God doubles down and reiterates how the ancestress of the promise will indeed be Sarah, with her son, Isaac, though Ishmael will receive a consolation prize for also having Abraham as his father (17:19–21).

This episode raises several issues, which can be useful to ponder as subject matter of a sermon. The first is the lingering ambivalence about the importance of women to the covenant. On the one hand, women seem superfluous to God’s covenant—indeed, unable to be circumcised. God never says anything directly to Sarah even when she, likely in an attempt to bring about God’s promises, gives her slave woman to her husband to impregnate. Surely, if it was so important that Sarah be the one to birth the heir, God could have mentioned this to her or even to Abraham a bit earlier! On the other hand, despite God’s mysterious silence, God appears adamant in Genesis 17:19–21 that it is Sarah and her child who will inherit God’s promises to Abraham. 

So which is it? Do women matter or not? Maybe they only matter when it concerns their potential as would-be mothers? This ambivalence exhibited in this story opens up space to talk about modern issues, such as the silencing of women’s voices, the discounting of women’s pain, and their labor, as well as issues of infertility and reproductive rights.

This story also opens up space to discuss issues centered on socioeconomic and racial inequity and inequality. This story ultimately privileges Sarah (and her son) over Hagar, the slave woman, and her son. Hence, the story centers on God’s privileging and choice of a richer, more powerful woman over her powerless, poorer, and possibly browner counterpart—one who, without choice or voice, was handed over to her slave mistress’s husband to be utilized sexually. Read in this light, God’s selection and privileging of Sarah and Abraham raises troubling questions. It reminds us of the persistence of such privileging, and of those who are victimized or rewarded by it.

Finally, the excision of certain verses from Genesis 17, in order to create a more streamlined lectionary selection, encourages us to think about excised or silenced voices both in the text and in the world. Whose voices and stories are deemed worthy enough to be heard, and whose, in contrast, are dismissed or, worse, silenced? Who are the Hagars (and Ishmaels) of the world, and what are they trying to say? And how can we, especially as preachers, discern, listen for and to, and even lift up and magnify these voices in a responsible manner?

The final verses of Psalm 22 provide us with a wonderful hymn of praise.¹

The psalmist is inviting—no, compelling—the whole community to join her in standing in awe of the Lord. One wonders what type of occasion would call for such praise. We need not look any further than the hymn itself to discover the occasion. God “did not despise or abhor the affliction of the afflicted” (verse 24). God heard the cries of the psalmist, and for that God deserves great praise.

Although the assigned pericope can serve as a story in and of itself, God’s praiseworthiness is intensified when one looks at the entire psalm. But before doing so, it is valuable to attend to the given verses.

What we have before us is no ordinary description of who is invited to praise God. The psalmist’s expanded sense of time and space in relation to God’s worthiness to be praised is striking. First, the psalmist invites brothers and sisters in her presence to join both future generations and those yet unborn, challenging our ideas of time.

The psalmist also challenges our ideas of space. Remembering that she was not familiar with Google Earth, we note that her ability to broaden our sense of space is remarkable. All the ends of the earth, all the families of the nations, and all who sleep in the earth are summoned to respond to God’s greatness. Even those “who go down to the dust” (verse 29) shall bow before God.

This phrase in particular is worth your time and energy to explore. Is the psalmist suggesting that even those who have died have an opportunity to praise God? How do God and those who have died relate to one another? In other words, all people in all times and places will remember, turn to the Lord (repent), worship before the Lord, bow down, and live for the Lord. The psalmist is serious about the breadth and depth of the Lord’s praiseworthiness.

Though verses 23–31 of Psalm 22 would hardly suggest it, Psalm 22 is actually a lament psalm. The danger of moving too quickly to the whole psalm, particularly in the season of Lent, is the image rendered by the very first verse, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Immediately, we imagine our Lord crying out these words as he hangs from the cross. Not surprisingly, this image has the tendency to shape our entire interpretation of the psalm.

Just as it is important to temporarily resist looking at the whole psalm, it is important to temporarily resist exploring the entire psalm in light of Jesus’ death and resurrection. When we are able to resist this, we encounter invaluable discoveries.

Considering the psalm as a whole, we discover one who is in great distress. Dogs are all around her, evildoers encircle her, her hands and feet are shriveled, her bones can be counted. Imagine this level of desolation and desperation. The self-deprecation in the psalm is also difficult to handle: “I am a worm, and not human” (verse 6). When taken in light of this heart-breaking beginning, the testimony and summons to praise at the end of the psalm are even more profound.

The breadth of the praise makes the lament all the more palpable. The depth of the lament makes the praise all the more stunning.

Surprisingly, the psalmist is connected to God even in the lament. The initial cries do not come from a lack of connection with God, but rather out of a knowledge of who God is, a conviction that God can help, and a desire to praise rather than disparage God. If the psalmist did not care about or recognize God, she would not bother to pray.

Even when the psalmist is declaring that God has forsaken her, there are the “yets.” “Yet, you are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel” (verse 3). Although those around her mock and “make mouths” at her, yet, God kept her safe on her mother’s breast (verse 9). The confidence in God’s ability to save, help, and redeem is remarkable. These “yets” foreshadow the great hymn of praise at the end of the psalm. Where in our Lenten journey do we encounter the occasional “yet”?

As already mentioned, the preacher cannot completely avoid that Psalm 22 is a major resource appropriated by the gospel writers to interpret Jesus’ suffering on the cross. What the preacher can do, however, is consider what difference it would make to understand Jesus in terms of the psalm, rather than understanding the psalm in terms of what we know about Jesus. For example, we discover from Psalm 22 that:

• lament includes hints of praise or, at the very least, some connection to hope.
• praise is integrally connected to lament.
• there is no limit to either God’s praiseworthiness or the invitation to join in the celebration of praising God.

Lent moves back and forth between petitioning and praising, realistically describing the situation of life and foreshadowing hope in God until, finally, there is a grand finale of praise by all people in all times and places.

Consider bringing these particular considerations into your exegesis of the Gospel text for this Sunday (Mark 8:31–38).

Notes

1. Commentary first published on this site on March 8, 2009.

Lent is a season in the ecclesiastical calendar created by the church. It traditionally honors the time of Jesus going into the desert, where he was tempted for 40 days and nights. Denominations and congregations have different ways of participating in Lent, but in general, it is a time of reflection—on ways we are tempted away from faithfulness, on our mortality, on the faithfulness of Jesus Christ. It is unlikely that Paul had any familiarity with the temptation of Jesus, and he certainly knew nothing about Lent. But faith and faithfulness are both central to Paul’s understanding of the significance of Jesus Christ, making these verses a helpful part of our Lenten reflection.

The faith of Abraham

In these verses from Romans, it is the faith/faithfulness of Abraham that is in view (see Genesis 15:1–6 and 17:1–27). In Genesis, God twice appears to Abraham and promises that he and Sarah will produce a child of their own making. In 15:5 God tells Abraham that his descendants will be as numerous as the stars. Abraham believes God, and God “reckon[s] it to him as righteousness” (15:6). 

A second appearance occurs in Genesis 17. This time, Abraham laughs at God (“Then Abraham fell on his face and laughed, and said to himself, ‘Can a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old? Can Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear a child?’” [17:17]). Nonetheless, Abraham has enough faith in God to circumcise himself, his son by the enslaved woman Hagar, and all his household, including slaves born into the household and those who had been bought with money (17:19–21, 23–27), as a sign of the covenant established by God with him. Sometime later, Isaac is born to Sarah, the fulfillment of God’s promise.

The story of Abraham in Romans

In Paul’s account of these events in Romans, he says that Abraham did not weaken in faith, even when he considered his own body and that of Sarah, which were as good as dead (4:19). Rather, Abraham “grew strong in his faith … being fully convinced that God was able to do what was promised” (4:20–21): namely, to “give life to the dead and call into existence the things that do not exist” (4:17). There is a double entendre in the phrase “give life to the dead.” In the context of the story of Abraham, it refers to the bodies of Abraham and Sarah, which were “as good as dead” (4:19). In the context of the contemporary audience Paul is addressing, it refers also to the resurrection of Christ.

What is critical for Paul is that God’s promise to Abraham is received and believed by Abraham before he is circumcised (4:10–11, 13). Faith precedes circumcision. Circumcision is a response made in faith and, arguably, the first of God’s commandments that we associate with the “law.” This, and the laws that emerge as a way of honoring the covenant relationship with God, are a response through which the descendants of Abraham demonstrate faithfulness. This is, in effect, what Paul means in 4:15 when he says that “the law brings wrath,” meaning the law helps us to discern the difference between right and wrong (2:13–25). 

Joint heirs of Abraham

What makes this a matter of such import to Paul is the question of the Gentiles. Paul, a Pharisaic Jew, believed he had been called by God to proclaim Christ crucified to the uncircumcised (Galatians 1:11–24):

For I am not ashamed of the gospel; it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith, to the Jew [the circumcised] first and also to the Greek [the uncircumcised]. For in it the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith; as it is written, “The one who is righteous will live by faith [Habakkuk 2:4].” (Romans 1:16–17; see also 3:29.) 

When the uncircumcised began to move into the neighborhood of the early church, a question arose: Was it necessary for the uncircumcised to be circumcised in order to be heirs to God’s promises? (see Acts 15:1–35). Paul and James, along with the council in Jerusalem, reject circumcision for the Gentiles. It is Paul who offers a theological grounding for this conundrum (in Acts 10 and 15, the matter is resolved by the Spirit). 

The answer, according to Paul, is that they become heirs through faith (4:23–25). For Abraham, says Paul, is the father of all of us (4:16–17): circumcised and uncircumcised alike. And what both inherit from Abraham is the faith—absolute trust in God—that Abraham demonstrated prior to being circumcised. It is this faith that God “reckoned … as righteousness.” 

The word “reckon” comes from accounting and means “to credit”: an act by which one account is decreased and another increased. To reckon faith as righteousness means that God draws from God’s own self to credit us with an uprightness that, on our own, we do not possess. It is an act of grace that gives us room to try again, to be strengthened in faith, like Abraham (4:20), so that we may live fuller lives of faithfulness. 

For Paul and for those of us today who identify as Christians, faith and faithfulness come together in Jesus Christ, who embodies God’s faithfulness toward us even as we stray from God, and who perfects our faith through the Spirit and the power of Christ raised from the dead. 

The faith of Abraham and Lent

When Jesus goes into the desert, he is tempted three times to use his power for his own benefit. Lent offers us an opportunity to reflect on ways we turn the idea of faith into something self-serving. The inheritance we receive from Abraham, perfected in Christ, might lead us to questions about inclusion and exclusion. Or to consider ways we turn faith into a form of self-protection or self-aggrandizement rather than service. Or to learn from the faiths that share our ancestor Abraham about their understanding of grace.