April 10, 2011 | 4:00 p.m.

Jazz Service Sermon

Part of the Sermon Series
“Preaching through the Gospel of Mark”

Kerri N. Allen
Pastoral Resident, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Mark 14:32–42

I recently connected with a young family friend on Facebook. I have known her since she was a child and had not seen her in many years. After becoming “friends” on Facebook I noticed that her page was adorned with many pictures of a little girl toddler who looked remarkably like my friend, Lisa.

I sent Lisa a message, asking, “Is this your daughter? She looks just like you!”

“Ha ha,” she replied. “Unfortunately she does look just like me.”

As time progressed, Lisa and I developed a new relationship on Facebook, and she started to open up and share her story with me.

Lisa is in her early twenties. She had barely made it from childhood when her daughter, Jessica, was conceived. Lisa was a smart young woman. She had everything going for her: she had just begun college, was in a stable relationship with a respected young man.

That is, until Lisa learned that she was pregnant. She was scared; she was, in fact, terrified. She had her whole life in front of her and, in an instant, it was all changed.

Her boyfriend was likewise young and scared. He was smart and on his way to having a successful life; this pregnancy was disaster for him. You know, I often think of Quinn and Finn from Glee: perfect cheerleader girl with the perfect quarterback boyfriend. They were, by all accounts, the “perfect couple.”

“I have morals,” he told her. “We’re not married and we’re not going to get married. You must have an abortion.” They were Christians, after all, and I imagine in his mind that the only sin worse than engaging in marriageless sex was the sin of the entire world knowing that he had engaged in marriageless sex—sex that resulted in a child.

This news was not received well by Lisa’s family, and before she knew, it she had been abandoned by those closest to her. Lisa was suddenly alone. Alone, isolated, and in despair. Scared and vulnerable—not just at the idea of being pregnant, but in knowing that her future was unclear. I get uncomfortable even trying to imagine what it would be like to walk in Lisa’s shoes.

This scripture lesson also leaves me uncomfortable. On many levels. In many ways it raises more questions than it offers answers, but the mystery of the scripture is endless and the time we have in worship is not, so hopefully we can explore just a couple areas of the discomfort together.

For starters, we are confronted head on with the idea of abandonment. In fact the Gospel writer seems to use the idea of desertion as a way of offering contrast between the deeds of the disciples and those of Jesus. It was just last week, in our Mark lesson, that we saw Jesus sharing a meal with these same disciples. And now Jesus knows that he will be denied and abandoned by his followers. And worst yet he will be betrayed in a way that will cost him his life. In this passage we see the depths of Jesus’ humanity and the vulnerability that comes through this humanity. A different translation, from Eugene Peterson’s The Message:

Jesus told his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took Peter, James, and John with him. He plunged into a sinkhole of dreadful agony. He told them, “I feel bad enough right now to die. Stay here and keep vigil with me.”

Going a little ahead, Jesus fell to the ground and prayed for a way out: “Papa, Father, you can—can’t you?—get me out of this. Take this cup away from me. But please, not what I want—what do you want?"

We see Jesus turning to God in a very human way, in a way that we might be able to relate to: turning to God—“Get me out of this.” Three times Jesus prayed. And I imagine my friend Lisa had many of those moments: praying—turning—seeking—yearning for God to remove the cup from her. She was vulnerable and she was alone. She didn’t know what the future held for her.

Remember Lisa didn’t start alone. She had a family and she had a boyfriend. She had the perfect life that many young women long for. And remember Jesus wasn’t alone in Gethsemane. In fact, Jesus was there with Peter, James, and John, three of his disciples, his followers. Well they are doing a pretty lax job of following in this passage; they’ve even gone to sleep.

Again if we read through Peterson’s telling of the story, it says, “Jesus said to Peter, ‘Simon, you went to sleep on me? Can’t you stick it out with me a single hour? Stay alert, be in prayer, so you don’t enter the danger zone without even knowing it. Don’t be naive. Part of you is eager, ready for anything in God; but another part is as lazy as an old dog sleeping by the fire."

Interesting. Jesus is comparing his followers to a lazy old dog. This helps me to imagine what Jesus might say to the good Christian boy who walked away from his pregnant girlfriend and child: “Don’t be naïve. You have morals. You want to follow me, so don’t get lazy and fall asleep.”

But Jesus went to pray three times, and each time followers fell asleep; asleep over and over again. That’s what this passage tells us about the disciples; that’s what Lisa’s story tells us about what happens all the time in our contemporary setting. They abandoned him and left him alone.

I’m guessing there were all kinds of reasons this happened. In this passage, they continued to fall asleep. Is the text telling us that they were literally and figuratively tired? Is it telling us that they weren’t paying attention? Can they even begin to grasp what is about to happen to Jesus, Jesus who is now praying alone in Gethsemane, on his way to being betrayed, denied, and crucified?

I’m not sure that we can fully grasp what that all means. I was just thinking earlier today that it’s only one week until Palm Sunday and only two weeks until Easter. Lent is rushing by. It’s so lovely to rush through Lent and go straight to the resurrection. It is so lovely to bypass the abandonment, the loneliness, the human vulnerability of the Son of Man and run—run straight to the risen Lord on Easter. I think we try to rush through this because we have been to Gethsemane and prayed to God, “God, remove the cup if it is your will.”

But making our way through Lent means that we live in the darkness with Jesus and reflect. We live in the darkness with Jesus before we celebrate in gladness the Easter resurrection. We live in that tension of the human Jesus in this scripture passage and the divine Christ who articulates that the empty tomb doesn’t have the last word. It is this very human Jesus that shares with us that although Jesus has been abandoned, he is not alone. Jesus has been abandoned, but he is not alone.

Jesus falls to the ground and calls out to God, “Abba,” “Father.” Scholars have paid a lot of attention to the choice of “Abba” in the text, and many conclude that it implies a uniquely intimate relationship with God. This scripture passage is not only highlighting a relationship that Jesus shares with his disciples, but his intimate relationship with God. It is further articulating the vulnerable human Jesus, the Son of Man. In that full humanity, Jesus is grieved to the point of wanting to die, and he turns to God and suggests, “Not my will, but your will.”

Some Christians point to this statement by Jesus and say all that happens is the “will” of God and so we’re supposed to accept in that way everything that happens, even the suffering. I’m not sure that’s what the text is saying here.

As a pastor I would have a difficult time going to Lisa after she learned of her pregnancy, after she was abandoned by her loved ones, and telling Lisa that this was God’s will for her so she should just accept it.

Perhaps we should look more carefully at the actual prayer. We might see that maybe it is more of a statement about divine love, divine love as it is experienced in the context of relationship. Jesus’ prayer may say more about the consent of divine love to participate in the suffering than it does about Jesus’ blind obedience. In other words, it may not be frail resignation to the will of God, but the vulnerability of divine love, a love that is both opened and shunned by the whole world, a love that implies both freedom and risk.

Maybe this is why Jesus is so grieved: maybe he is not just afraid of suffering and dying on the cross but maybe Jesus is grieved that he’s been abandoned; maybe Jesus is sad about the loss of relationship.

Three times. Three times we are told he prayed, and after each time he returned to the disciples, who were sleeping. The disciples did not understand; their eyes were heavy; they did not watch; and abandonment was not far off. These followers who claimed to leave everything—everything—behind to be with Jesus will leave Jesus alone to die on the cross.

Abandonment. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not go to Gethsemane. I’d rather not go to the cross. I’d like to get to Easter as quickly as possible. I’d rather skip the darkness and the abandonment, the uncertainty and the unknown. I’d rather not imagine what it would be like to be Lisa with no father for her child and no family for support.

But sometimes it is unavoidable. In spite of all our human efforts, we may experience abandonment and suffering. We may experience the pain of loss of relationship. But there is more to the story. Jesus prayed and God was present with Jesus. God was present with the very human and vulnerable Jesus who had been abandoned by his closest friends, his followers. Jesus was abandoned, but he was not alone, as we are never alone, even in the midst of our own abandonment or suffering. All thanks be to God. Amen.