1. “Prepare the Way” (Mark 1)

 

So this morning as we begin our new series on Mark, I want to talk about a word that maybe only a few of you are familiar with, but one I would argue is highly relevant to our day, and that word is acedia.

Acedia in church history is identified along with vices like greed, anger, and lust, as one of the chief sinful tendencies that lie at the root of many of our problems. A different word also often used for acedia is “sloth,” but I find “sloth” confuses the matter. When we hear sloth we think maybe of the animal—slow, dopey, uninterested in anything. We think of being stuck on the couch eating a whole bag of Doritos while we binge Netflix. But that doesn’t quite get at what I’m talking about. Because yes, acedia sometimes can look like inactivity and laziness, but it can also look like workaholism.

Philosophy professor Rebecca DeYoung helpfully defines acedia as “the resistance we find within us to the work of God’s love.” Resistance to the work of God’s love. To illustrate what she means she invites us to imagine a married couple who love each other, but who on a typical evening quarrel over dinner and then retreat to their perspective corners of the house for the rest of the night. She writes, “It is much easier to maintain that miserable distance and alienation from each other than it is to do the work of apology, forgiveness, and reconciliation. Learning to live together and love each other well after a rift requires giving up their anger, their desire to have their own way, and their insistence on seeing the world only from each of their own perspectives…Do they want the relationship? Yes…Do they want to learn genuine unselfishness in the ordinary daily task of living together? Maybe tomorrow.” For right now, the cost of having to let go of aspects of who I am, let go of control seem too high. Do you know that feeling?

God in his mercy seeks to heal us. He knows how much our sin against him has fractured us, abused us, misshapen us, and he desires to claim us for himself to make us whole. And that means change. It means turning away from old patterns of thinking, old habits, selfish and controlling ways of living. God’s love is disruptive. Acedia has to do with the sadness we feel about letting that old way go; it has to do with the feeling of being threatened by God disrupting our life and making changes. Do we want to become loving, prayerful, integrated people? Sure, but given the cost, maybe tomorrow.

That stuckness is what acedia names. Can you think of things in your life, maybe specific habits that you know aren’t good or things you know you should do that you don’t; can you think of things in your life where you know you’d be better off if you change? Perhaps you even sense God calling you, inviting you into something different. And yet, for some strange reason, you stay where you are. You don’t take the step you need to take, because you feel threatened, even sad about the idea of letting go of old ways. As DeYoung puts it, “God wants to kick down the whole door to our hearts and flood us with his life; we want to keep the door partway shut so that a few lingering treasures remain untouched, hidden in the shadows.” That’s acedia. 

This resistance that we’re calling acedia can show up in our lives in a couple of different ways. On one hand, it can look like hopeless resignation, which is usually what we think of when we hear the word “sloth.” Do you ever find yourself with a fairly clear sense of what you should do and yet you are paralyzed? You feel overwhelmed even defeated by what you know you should do—even though, logically, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, and so you do nothing. 

Or, acedia can also look frantically busy. You move from one thing to the next, never letting yourself stay still for too long, never letting there be quiet so that you don’t have to deal with what’s making you uncomfortable. You just keep working so that you can feel productive or you just keep gaming to maintain a sense of accomplishment, or you just keep scrolling to occupy your attention, but all of this activity is ultimately to avoid what you know God is calling you to do. To avoid taking the steps you know you need to make. 

Let me ask, does this at all sound familiar? You want to pray, but you never get around to it. You want to grow, to be a better friend or family member, but you just can’t start. You want to serve God, you want to allow him to help you become like Jesus, but you aren’t yet willing to give him the space to do so. That’s what we’re talking about with the word acedia. This is perhaps the most destructive vice of our day: we are all hyperbusy, hyperonline, hyperdistracted, and yet in a way that keeps us exactly where we are, unable to change—unable to allow ourselves to be moved toward the genuinely good and beautiful life that God has for us. It’s a tragic problem. We stand on the precipice, perhaps even able to see that a bit, and yet we stay stuck, right there, afraid to take that step and leave our past behind.

I believe that the gospel of Mark to help break the chains of acedia.

Mark’s account describes a time when the entire nation of Israel was experiencing a similar stuckness. Israel had a proud history—every Jew would know by heart the stories of their nation coming out of Egypt, and how later the reign of David and Solomon brought them to power and prosperity. They were the envy of other nations; God’s glory dwelt in the temple and other countries feared them. But that was not their situation now. Now they were under Roman rule. Now, what’s more, their Jewish leaders are largely compromised and corrupt. And, worst of all, although nobody talked about this, the temple, though beautiful, had no sign of God’s presence. This is not how things should be.

Now God has made it clear that he has something better in mind for his people. He has made promises that he would return to his people in a new way, that he would establish a king whom God would call his Son, who would bring Israel back to glory; the people would be freed from corruption and enjoy a well-ordered society, one that was righteous and just. God promised that his people would have a glory that would make the world take note and say, “I want to go there and learn from them.” God made it clear, he had a beautiful future prepared for them.  

And what the gospel of Mark tells us from the outset is that this long-awaited work of God—this promised time of change that would make things right: it’s beginning to happen. He says in verse 1 that this account is “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” There’s so much there. “Gospel” is a word not just for any good news; it was usually an announcement of something royal, like a king’s enthronement or victory over an enemy. And you see that royal emphasis here, because it’s the gospel about “Christ, the Son of God.” “Christ” isn’t a last name, it’s a title. It means Messiah, God’s king who would establish his kingdom. Likewise, as we’ve already said, “Son of God,” among other things, is an allusion to God’s promise in the Old Testament that this king who would bring about this change God would call his son. So when Mark says, “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, Son of God,” he’s saying here is an account of how God began to fulfill all his promises and make things right. 

Which of course means that this will be an account of massive change. If this king, whom Mark immediately identifies as Jesus, is the fulfiller of promises, one who comes to bring God’s people out of stuckness back to God and his righteousness and glory, then the work he will do will be deeply disruptive. And disruptive change—even when that change is very good, can be confusing, unappealing, threatening. As we have already said, there is often within the human heart resistance to the good change that God is seeking to bring about. How, then, will God’s people respond to this good but also disruptive change that Jesus comes to bring about? This tension lies near the very center of Mark’s account.

This tension, I believe, is why this work of God begins with preparation. Did you notice that? Verse 2: “As it is written in Isaiah the prophet, “Behold, I send a messenger before your face, who will prepare your way.” Isaiah spoke of this future work of God that would bring change, and he says that God would begin by preparing his people for that change. He will first work to get them ready, so that when the disruption comes, they might be more able to receive it. This is how we are meant to understand John the Baptizer: that John was sent to help move people past their resistance—to disarm acedia so that people could allow God to bring them into something better through Jesus.

Which is interesting. This tells us that there are steps that can be taken to help work through this resistance—to help make it easier to change—there are things that can happen that can help us overcome acedia and pave the way for us allowing God to do his work in us. And we can look to John the Baptizer to see what those steps are. We can learn from John ways to battle against our stuckness.  

What does John, the one sent by God to prepare, do? Well, it’s fairly simple. He calls people to an honest dissatisfaction with how things are, and he invites them into the hope of what will be.

Dissatisfaction With How Things Are

Can you imagine for a moment if John lived in the Western Suburbs of Chicago? Nobody would know what to do with him. We belong to a culture where it’s very important to maintain the appearance that we’ve basically made it. 

• Each beautiful house that surrounds this church with their perfect lawns are subtly saying, “We’ve found our Eden,” even as they hide the families often so overwhelmed by stress that the dad is barely home, the mom struggles with alcoholism, and the kids are in therapy.  

• Every Instagram post of smiling families enjoying glorious vacations declare, “We’re living the good life,” carefully omitting any images that would reveal that ongoing unresolved family tensions that always seem to emerge when they spend time together. 

• And, of course careful zoning allows us to go through our day to day lives without having to see or remember extreme poverty and terrible crime lies just a 20-minute drive away. Nevermind that: life is good!

It’s safe to say that if John the Baptist were alive and living among us today, he would not be an Instagram guy. He wouldn’t be mistaken for a celebrity pastor who had “made it.” John was thin, perhaps even gaunt, for he was eating whatever the wilderness offered him—bugs and honey primarily. His clothes were definitely not fashionable—he had slaughtered a wild camel and made a robe from its hair and a belt from its hide. He was basically homeless, living maybe in a tent out in the middle of nowhere. His skin was undoubtedly weathered, his hair and beard long. Everything about John screamed “Wilderness.” 

And if that wasn’t strange enough, he was calling people to join him there: to make a 20-mile journey through the middle of nowhere all so that they can get wet with him in the Jordan River. It says, “All the country of Judea and all Jerusalem were going out to him and were being baptized by him in the river.” What’s this all about?

Very simply, the wilderness here is about one central idea: it’s where people live who haven’t yet made it. It’s where Israel lived when they had escaped from Egypt but hadn’t yet arrived in the promised land. People in the wilderness are waiting, longing for something more.

Likewise, the baptism of John was a sign of rejection of things in the past; it signaled a desire for a clean break from one’s former life. Notice how in verse 5 it says that as people are being baptized they are confessing their sins. They are admitting failure and desiring to be cleansed. Similarly, the previous verse says this baptism was a baptism of repentance, a baptism signaling that they desired to be different.  

John was calling people to come to realize and to name two very non Western Suburb statements. By coming out to the wilderness they were saying, “I am dissatisfied with how things are. This is not yet how things should be. We have not made it.” By being baptized and confessing their sins, they were saying, “I am not okay. I have done wrong before God, and I need to change.” This was how John prepared them.

Because, you see, until you see the problem with how things are about life and about yourself, you will not be open to the new thing that God in his love wants for you. You will not be able to have your life disrupted by good change. You will remain stuck under the power of acedia.

Until you are willing to be honest about the problems with the world as it presently is, you will not be ready to leave it for something better. You will be stuck trying to protect the status quo, trying to keep things the same. 

Eugene Peterson puts it this way: “A person has to be thoroughly disgusted with the way things are to find the motivation to set out on the Christian way. As long as we think the next election might eliminate crime and establish justice or another scientific breakthrough might save the environment or another pay raise might push us over the edge of anxiety into tranquility, we are not likely to risk the arduous uncertainties of the life of faith. A person has to get fed up with the ways of the world before he, before she, acquires an appetite for the world of grace.”

Do you see the truth of what John was revealing? You and I are not yet home. Things are not yet okay. In this world as it is, we’re still in the wilderness. To receive God’s work, we must be dissatisfied with how thing are.

Likewise, until you are willing to name your failures for what they are, you will never be able to experience the joyful reality of God’s forgiveness. You see that, right? Imagine that you’re in an argument with a close friend. You’ve messed up, and deep down you know that you’ve messed up. But even so you’re feeling really defensive; rather than admitting the mistake, you are going on the attack, showing how what you did was really your friend’s fault, how they were the ones who wronged you, and how it’s really unfair for them to be even angry, and so on. 

Now imagine in that moment if your friend says, “It’s okay. I forgive you.” They are doing something really kind. They’re letting it go. And yet that’s not how you experience it—it makes you even madder—how dare you say I forgive you! I didn’t do anything wrong!

For the good news of God’s forgiveness to mean anything to us, for us to experience its goodness, we first need to admit the truth. “I have failed. I really haven’t served God in the way he deserves. I really haven’t loved him or trusted him. I really haven’t been the person I should be. Do you see how this is true? To receive God’s work, we must confess our sins.

And similarly, until we are willing to recognize the problem with who we are right now; until we are willing to recognize that it’s not just that we do wrong, but that we deep within are wrong, we will never be open to being changed.

If you’ve ever known someone who struggles with addiction or if you’ve struggled with addiction yourself, you’ll know the importance of this. One of the painful realities of addiction is the feeling, “I don’t like my life right now—I’m unhappy. And yet I also don’t really want to let go of what is keeping me here.” This is why addicts who say they want to change will still keep alcohol in the house, just in case, or will still make sure there is a way to browse certain websites. There’s a part of them that is afraid of a life where they no longer have the ability to take refuge in alcoholism or pornography, or whatever. That also is how acedia works: it has its power because we aren’t yet willing to be honest about what we need.

To be able to break free, you need honestly to look at your life and say, quite simply, “I don’t want this.” To say and to admit that your life will be better if this habit you’re holding onto is completely left behind.

Do you see the truth of these things? Can you truly own them? For us to be able to change, we be honest about the problem with how things are.

But we need more than this—John does more than this to prepare Israel. Because it’s not enough to be dissatisfied. Even if I know things are bad, I still won’t leave the status quo unless I believe things can be better. Even if I know I’ve done wrong, I will have a hard time acknowledging that if I am afraid of what will happen if I’m honest. Even if I know I need to change, I probably won’t unless I believe I actually can. Unless you have hope, the paralysis of acedia will always win.

The Hope of What Will Be

John doesn’t only call people to an honest dissatisfaction with how things are; he also invites them into the hope of what will be. It’s easy to miss this amidst all the crazy details about locusts and long hair and wilderness, but if you pay attention you will see that John was a prophet of hope. He preached a baptism of repentance for what? The forgiveness of sins. John proclaims that a time of great amnesty is coming, just as God promised. A time when all the wrong that we have ever done, all the ways we have ever failed—all will be wiped away: though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. Can you think of any greater incentive to confess your sins than the knowledge that all that you have done that weighs you down with guilt will be completely forgiven? 

And this is, as we shall see in Mark, exactly what Jesus brings. When he is baptized, he is baptized on our behalf, to share in our guilt: and he will die to take that all away. Forgiveness.

Or again, he says, “One comes after me who is mightier than I.” Amidst all that was hard in their lives there was waiting for a king who actually could do something to make a difference. Not yet another leader who makes promises and then doesn’t deliver. Not just another expert whose expertise is shown to be empty. But someone who is the real deal, who actually can change things. A leader who, as God promised can truly lead them out of their lostness, their sorrow, their suffering. A leader who can conquer death. John said, “He’s about to come. And boy, will he do more than you can even imagine.” This is what is needed to be able to leave behind what we have—the knowledge that there is someone who truly can make things better. 

And this is, as we will see in Mark, exactly who Jesus is: he is the beloved Son of God with whom God is pleased, a king who has power and authority unlike anything else. 

Or finally, notice John’s final statement: I have baptized you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit. Not only will he forgive all those who turn to him; not only will he make the world right; but if you are one who trusts in him, he will make YOU right. He will cause the power of God, the power of righteousness and love to be at work within you making you courageous and wise and loving and whole. This is what we need if we’re going to seek to change: the knowledge that in Christ, as we seek to do so, we will grow. And this is exactly what Jesus does: as the one who himself is filled with the Spirit of God he will also give that Spirit to us.

 

There is much more to say, much more that we will consider as we move forward in Mark, as we see how Jesus is God’s great disruptor, the one who will bring life, but only through death. But even as we begin this journey, I invite you to join with me in confession.