Converge Bible Studies: Our Common Sins. Dottie Escobedo-Frank

      INTRODUCTION

      They loved him. Jesus had become more than their guide; he was now their friend. He had changed from an associate to the one they would give their life for. Jesus had wormed his way into their hearts so much that their lives were no longer the same. And he loved them. He loved them when they didn’t understand who he was. He loved them when they denied him, when they slept through crucial times, when they lied, and when they betrayed him.

      Nothing, no-thing, stopped Jesus from loving them; and so they came to love him in return.

      These original disciples were fairly ordinary folk. They had regular families, they made their livelihoods in regular ways, and they had typical and varied political leanings. But they met Jesus and started to live extraordinary lives. The disciples watched the sick healed and the demon-possessed set free. They saw a few fish and loaves of bread feed thousands of people. They watched the storm be calmed. They saw love transferred to the women, the children, and the otherwise “outcasts” of their day. These things made them ordinary people living an extraordinary life experience.

      But because of their closeness to Jesus, we tend to think that they lived lives with less . . . um . . . well, with less “sin” than we live with. We imagine Jesus’ perfect love rubbed off on them perfectly so that they were also extraordinary humans. But the Gospels show us different. They show us that Jesus’ close companions were as human as you and I. And it startles us when we see ourselves reflected in the disciples of the Gospel story. The Gospel of Mark tells the story with power, bluntness, and a sense of urgency.

      You see, the Gospel of Mark was the first. It was the first written narrative of Jesus’ life in the newly formed faith community of Christians. This Gospel was used as a source for two other Gospels: Matthew and Luke. And we think that it’s possible, even probable, that this Gospel was written during the persecution of Christians by Nero (A.D. 64), which would include the Jewish uprising against Rome. Perhaps that is why Mark’s Gospel focuses on the difficulties Jesus and his followers faced in their daily lives.

      Mark has two endings. The first ending is the one found in the oldest texts, and the second ending was perhaps added later. Although we tend to like the second ending better, the first ending is important: Jesus’ followers have lost their nerve and are running away from the empty tomb, both terrified and silenced. While they’re told to “Go, tell his disciples . . .” (Mark 16:7a), they instead say nothing to anyone, because they’re afraid. The first ending is remarkably candid. Death and unexpected empty tombs scare the bejeebers out of us. The first ending shadows much of our reactions to surprise—even to good news. Because good news doesn’t always come in pretty and predictable packages, and because good news often has a sprinkle of bad news in it, “Jesus has risen!” comes with the soul-rattling “Jesus died.” We often don’t know what to make of the things that challenge our ordinary living and thinking.

      The disciples had to learn this over and over. They failed often, even when their teacher was standing right there with them to guide them. They made their mistakes in front of the Master, the one they loved dearly. Most of us want to impress our teachers, so we quickly learn to keep our mouths shut rather than say something stupid in class that will be corrected in front of all of our friends. Most students become experts at not failing, which means we become novices at risk-taking boldness. But these disciples failed over and over in front of Jesus, in front of one another, and in front of the whole world—even spanning thousands of years as we’re still reading about their mistakes. The thing is, not many in the world are making fun of them. Their mistakes and failings make us uncomfortable and cause us to squirm in our seats, because, well . . . because they hit so close to home. We can’t laugh at someone else if we would’ve done the exact same thing or worse.

      What if, for example, you were there when Jesus said, “Here, hand out this bread and fish to the crowds. You feed them.” Would you have laughed at Jesus? Would you have scoffed, mocked, and walked away in disgust at Jesus’ request? Maybe. Or maybe you would’ve thought that Jesus was losing it—too much preaching in the sun without water. What thoughts, words, and actions would we have to repent of had we been the ones handing out the fish and loaves?

      It is because we recognize the sins of the disciples as our own that we can relate to them so closely. They are our common sins. We hope that we can learn from what they experienced. We, too, deny Christ when our coworker sneers, “So are you one of those ‘born-again’ fools?” We, too, sleep through really important world events when we should be on our knees in deep, agonizing prayer. We, too, lie, bring false testimony about Jesus when we proclaim him while living a life that’s not like his. We, too, betray him to his very own death while we attempt to prove that we’re godlike. The disciples are us; we are them.

      We have so much to learn, and this journey is not for the timid. It will call on all of the courage you can muster in your soul. I am hoping that you are ready to dig deep, to find the ways we sin along with the disciples; and then I’m hoping that you’ll be willing to be set free from everything that binds you. For it is only when we are unloosed that we begin to live extraordinarily.