Sun Kwak, “Free from Worms and Maggots”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tp6D6goBoyA

TEXT: Mark 3:20-35

[20] Then he went home, and the crowd gathered again, so that they could not even eat. [21] And when his family heard it, they went out to seize him, for they were saying, “He is out of his mind.”

[22] And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem were saying, “He is possessed by Beelzebul,” and “by the prince of demons he casts out the demons.” [23] And he called them to him and said to them in parables, “How can Satan cast out Satan? [24] If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. [25] And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. [26] And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but is coming to an end. [27] But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his goods, unless he first binds the strong man. Then indeed he may plunder his house.

[28] “Truly, I say to you, all sins will be forgiven the children of man, and whatever blasphemies they utter, [29] but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit never has forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin”—[30] for they were saying, “He has an unclean spirit.”

[31] And his mother and his brothers came, and standing outside they sent to him and called him. [32] And a crowd was sitting around him, and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers are outside, seeking you.” [33] And he answered them, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” [34] And looking about at those who sat around him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! [35] For whoever does the will of God, he is my brother and sister and mother.”

SERMON: “Free from Worms and Maggots”

There was a period of my life — pre-Judy — where my habits were a bit more unkept. And there were many periods where this was the case in my life, but I’m referring to my seminary years. In the home that I was renting with my roommates during this time, I was using the master or primary bedroom. With that, came my own bathroom and walk-in closet. And as the description of walk-in closet would inform you, there was a lot of space in that closet. But I decided to use that open space in the closet to engage in the practice of building and undoing mountains of clothes. The hangers were right there, but the floor just seemed more appealing. There was a time I recall where this mountain of clothes reached my waist. Which I guess was a bit of a problem, because I was also running out of clothes to wear, which in turn, forced me to do the laundry. So, I finally got around to doing the laundry. And I’m putting in these clothes into multiple laundry bins one by one. And for some reason, at that moment, I had this extra dose of nostalgia. And as I’m putting these clothes into the laundry bin, I’m remember moments and days that I wore each piece of clothing — whether it was class or basketball or Settlers night or time spent with Judy. For each piece of clothing — they all had a history. But as I got deeper into the heart of the mountain, this history also became a lot more pungent. Because they hid underneath the moistness and the continued habit of piling on clothes onto this mountain, instead either hanging clothes or putting them into the laundry bin or hamper. All of us in here today have a history. Every single one of us has a past. And that’s not me saying that all of us have lived life. That’s me saying that all of us have stains and hurts and regrets and mistakes as part of our story. And for some of us, that pile or mountain is higher than others. And maybe like the overwhelming thought of multiple laundry cycles, the height of this pile is something we deliberately ignore. Because it’s just too overwhelming to deal with it at the moment. But as we said, this pile, this mountain has a history. A history that involves regrets and hurts and mistakes, as we’ve said. But a history that also involves covering up and hiding and deflecting, in order to pile on and cover over what is odious and pungent. Maybe it’s the habit of comparing yourself to others. That somehow, if you see enough memes about billionaire CEO’s cheating on their wives, it makes you feel better about yourself — it makes you feel less pungent. Maybe it’s mindlessly scrolling on your phone, because you want to act like you didn’t hear the request of your child asking for attention. Maybe just a look into the eyes of that child brings you to tears of regret. Maybe it’s that compulsive purchase or that secret website or some dopamine release that distracts you from what’s being buried underneath. But maybe there are also things that aren’t so toxic. Maybe they’re even good. Like spending time with family, like going to church, like serving in church, some religious observance that makes you feel less pungent. That if you just do something that’s considered morally upright, maybe it covers over that history. But you know, you could be here, while letting that mountain pile higher and higher, if you choose to use church to hide what’s pungent instead of confronting what’s pungent.

Because I want to invite us all this morning to look at our history, to confront that mountain, to bring what’s overwhelming and pungent to Jesus. As we heard in our confession of sin passage this morning from Psalm 90:8: “You have set our iniquities before you, our secret sins in the light of your presence.” And as Albert Camusspeculates, this is a terrifying proposition — to be fully known and fully seen. That from his assessment, this was the experience of hell. But Camus only knew of sinful eyes. He never felt the gaze of a smiling Father who is eternally good and kind and loving. Because what we have before us this morning is a commitment. We have a God who commits to knowing our history. We have a God who is not short-sighted but has the big picture in view. He has access to all of your history — everything you’ve done and said and regretted, along with everything that’s been done to you and said to you and has hurt you. He sees it all. And the promise of the Bible is that he will not use your confession and your sin against you when you come in the name of Jesus. But instead, he’ll show you that King Jesus took them off of you and that he put it on himself when he died on the cross for our sins. He’s committed to our history insomuch as he secures our future. For as we’ll see in our story and our passage today, overwhelming stories and histories of mistakes — these are Jesus’ areas of expertise. And he commits to broken histories to bring about new and flourishing chapters. And if you put your trust in him, that’s what he’ll do for you. With all of your history, with all of your mistakes, with all of your regrets. We bring them to Jesus this morning.

We noted something the last time we were in this passage — and it was this literary device often employed by biblical authors called a chiasm. And it’s something Mark employs here in our passage. That there are three mini-sections that comprise to one larger passage. And this, in The Gospel of Mark, is what scholars allude as the Markan Sandwich, with matching buns on the outside that direct us to the meat inside. And the buns, so to speak, in verses 20-21 and verses 31-35 involved the family of Jesus — people with whom he had a history. But the meat, which is our focus for today and for next week, describes what it takes for one to be a part of this family — that our place in the family of Godcomes not through self-discovery or creating your own identity, but it’s through being found and being discovered, as we establish our identity in Jesus. Because all of us struggle with this identity crisis. And we bring this Jesus, who converges his sacrifice with our anxious hearts. Because here, we had one who had always had a belonging in the family of God. He had always been one with his Father. And yet, in providing an identity and belonging for lost sinners, for wayward daughters and sons to be a part of the family of God, on the cross, he was stripped of that identity. Where his cries landed on deaf ears, because he had been cast out in our stead and in our place — that we might have a home that’s eternally safe. Because he traded places with us, in order that we might have this fully paid for identity in him. And while this identity for Jesus was ultimately taken from him on that dark Friday afternoon, what never wavered was his mission. It’s something that we see with Jesus’ resolute march toward Jerusalem, with Jerusalem being the end game, being the cross, the portal that connects heaven and earth. And we see towards the end of Jesus’ ministry, when facing Jerusalem, it’s a mixed bag for him. There’s heaviness in his heart and tears from his eyes. Because on one hand, the history of the city consisted of people he loved and knew and would commit to dying for. And yet, at the very same, it had become a place that had desecrated the holy worship of God. It was this convoluted locale during this period, with this strange mixture of empty traditions and promises to be met and fulfilled in him. And so, I think there were mixed emotions for Jesus calling out Jerusalem and the Temple and Judaism. Tom Wright notes that Jesus spoke from the perspective of a first century Jew. And for these first century Jews, Jerusalem and the Temple were everything to their shared identity. But it was, as Wright notes, an empty identity because, in his words, God was not in the Temple. And this, like our stories, didn’t just happen. There was a history, and it’s a history Jesus was committed to.

You look at Jesus’ wording here, there are allusions to that history — to Israel’s history of sins and failures. The whole idea of a divided home and a divided kingdom directs us to when corrupt kings and princes lead coups involving family betrayal and dishonor, pointing us to the tragic end of the David story. And these were splinters that split apart this family tree, namely the splitting of the Northern and Southern Kingdoms with the history of Israel and Judah. Showing that the story of Satan isn’t found way out there. But it comes in close proximity to the history of God’s people. That in Israel’s history, the presence of Satan seemed to be in house. And you think about what Jesus is saying in verse 27 — But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his goods, unless he first binds the strong man. Then indeed he may plunder his house. This act of plundering is in reference to how victorious armies when defeating their enemies assumed the possessions of their now conquered foes. And in Israel’s history, plundering the goods of rival nations also often included collecting their cultural artifacts along with the vessels used in their pagan worship, which in turn, lead to Israel’s history of idolatry. And so, here is Jesus looking at the Pharisees, at the scribes, at those in the Temple. And he sees the full history. Of how this place that was designed to bring worship to his Father was now a desecrated place influenced by pagan worship in the present and in Israel’s history. Because the name that Jesus is being accused of here, there’s a play on words there. He’s accused of being Beelzebul here in verse 22. This literally means Baal is exalted or Baal is the highest. Or, as some would say — Baal in the high places. Which might direct us to the picture of idols that were plundered and put upon the high places in Israel’s history of idolatry and false worship. You couple this with the more commonly known variation of this name Beelzebub. This is the name many have come to know as The Lord of the Flies or The Lord of the excrement or dung. And one of the other ways that Beelzebub was known to be interpreted and known was The Lord of the Temple. And I know I just threw a whole lot at you. But let’s pause here. Let’s put all these things together — Baal in the high places, The Lord of flies or The Lord of dung, and The Lord of the Temple. The connection of these four things — idol worship in the high places, flies, human excrement, and the temple. These connections bring us deep into Israel’s history of idolatry.

This place of organized worship had become a place of corrupted systems and orders. So, I guess Jack from The Lord of the Flies was alluding to something when he stated — We’ve got to have rules and obey them. After all, we’re not savages. Because Israel’s distancing from God was not about their departure from the Temple but about how they brought corruption into the Temple. And if you recall from All the Presidents’ Men, there’s an insider, an informant who goes by the alias Deepthroat. And when asked about hints and clues about the corruption that was occurring inside the White House, his words of instruction — Follow the money. That these bread crumbs lead us to the source. And in the thoughts and words of Abe Cho, director of Redeemer City to City, when you trace the smoke, it leads you to the fire. And in the Old Testament, in his words, the smoke of injustice leads us to the fire of idolatry — the root source of all that was wrong and corrupt with the people of God. And chief amongst these atrocious forms of idol worship was when the Canaanite god Molech was worshiped with the particular act of child sacrifice. Children were said to be burned at the Valley of Hinnom, also known as Topheth as found in the book of Jeremiah. And that word Topheth means drumming. And it was known as drumming, because it’s said that while children were being burned, drums were beat in order to drown out the noise of the cries and screams from in the valley. And it’s into these valleys where human excrement would be thrown in. And because of this, flies would gather on these dead bodies and human waste. And there, maggots would multiply. And thus, the last words of Isaiah 66:24 forms a picture of this in accordance to hell, to eternal judgment — And they shall go out and look on the dead bodies of the men who have rebelled against me. For their worm shall not die, their fire shall not be quenched, and they shall be an abhorrence to all flesh. The worm shall not die, because human waste would continue to be poured in. And the fire not quenched, with the burning of bodies. But here’s where Israel’s history turns. If you recall Josiah, king of the Southern Kingdom, almost seven centuries before this moment here in Mark. As king of Judah, he conducted a reform. And instead of continuing to participate in idol worship and child sacrifice, he took all of the idols from the high places and from within the Temple. And where children were sacrificed, where human excrement was dumped, where the fire was unquenched, he threw all of these idols in to the becoming of molten jars and vessels. To this place where the worm never dies, where the fire was unquenched. To this place of eternal torment and judgment.

And so, what does this have to do with what Jesus is explaining here in Mark? Well, like Josiah, Jesus would also cleanse the Temple. And like Josiah, he would also confront the ways of false worship. But unlike Josiah or any of us, he had the power not just to temporarily but eternally flip the script. Because this Valley of Hinnom is also known as the Kidron Valley. And if that sounds familiar to you, it’s because it’s part of the The Gospel Story. In going from the Mount of Olives and toward Jerusalem each day of what we recall as Holy Week, Jesus would descend into this valley. He traveled the very steps of hell in committing to the moment of ultimate wrath. For while, once again, he had his identity taken from him on the cross, what never wavered was his mission. His mission in his resolute facing toward Jerusalem. His mission to entering the house of the strong man, to set the captives free. His mission to binding this strong man down. And his mission to diving into the sinful history of his people. For what do we see when Jesus faced the scorching wrath of God? In his death and crucifixion, was it not Jesus who was bound, who was tied down to the cross? Was it not Jesus, who in one of his last seven sayings, cried out — I thirst? The living water who had all source of life evaporated from him in order to step into the place of our deserving unquenched fire. Because friends, I want to challenge you today. I know some of us are in deep sunken valleys. The sunken valleys of unbelieving children, the sunken valleys of repeated sin and addictions, the sunken valleys of losing your spouse, your best friend, the sunken valleys of losing a child, the sunken valleys of hospice care and cancer. But in these sunken valleys, in the valley of the shadow of death, Jesus is there. Because to the Valley of Hinnom, to the Kidron Valley, to not just the shadow of but to the depths of death and hell itself, Jesus went so that you wouldn’t have to, if you put your trust in him. And so, I plead with you that you would not trust in anything or anyone else beside the one who went to the deepest valley for you. No self-help, no religious upkeep, no social status, no ruler or authority, no modern medicine, no promise outside the gospel of Jesus Christ is worthy of your trust. Only Jesus deserves that trust. So, don’t hand it over to things and to people and to false promises who will fumble the cares of your heart.

And so, here’s how I want to begin wrapping up our time here. Because what we said from the beginning of our time — All of us in here today have a history. Every single one of us has a past. Meaning all of us have stains and hurts and regrets and mistakes as part of our story. And we use a myriad of habits and patterned activities to cover over this history. But we bring our stories not to the closet of shame but to the open air of the grace. We put them into the nail-pierced and punctured hands of the one who knows our history and has committed himself to the security of our future. For he who went down into the deepest valley for you rewrites your narrative of stains and hurts and regrets and mistakes with the redeeming power of his grace. John Perkins wrote a book titled Let Justice Roll Down. He was a part of the Civil Rights Movement and now in his mid-90’s. He wrote the book, in part, to share about how he became a Christian when he was 27 years old. His mom died when he was just seven months old. And when his mom died, his dad abandoned him. So, he was raised by aunt. The next time he saw his dad, it was five years later. And he writes about this encounter in his book: “My dad arrived late one Friday night. He woke me up and I saw him in the glow of the lamp. He hugged me in strong arms, and he talked to me. My daddy. The joy of belonging, of being loved. It was almost more than my heart could hold. And the next day, when he told me he was leaving, there was only one thing on my mind. I was going with him. I saw he was heading toward town, and I started following him. My dad turned, and he saw me following. And he said, ‘Go, back. Go back.’ The way he said it sounded strange, like he was confused. I kept following him. He turned around and whipped me with a switch from a tree. ‘Please, Daddy, take me with you. Do not leave me alone again.’ There was a strange look on his face. I reached toward him and wanted to run to him, but I was afraid. He still held that switch. I could only stand there and cry. And he whipped me again and again and again. And just then, my auntie came and took me by the hand and dragged me away. I looked back once. But he was already gone. And with him went my newfound joy in belonging, in being loved, in being somebody for just a little while. Years would pass before I would know this joy again. That need for relationship was a weight I carried. A need that remained unmet in me much of the rest of my life, until I realized that God the Father, instead of yelling, ‘Go back,’ came running towards me in the person of Jesus Christ.” Though John Perkins was never was received into the arms of his earthly father, here is a story of redemption that covered his history of hurt. In Jesus, we have the truest story that gives meaning to our story and hope to our history of regrets and mistakes, when we trust in the redeeming power of his commitment to the cross.