Our humanity is the most
difficult part of our existence to accept, especially if we’re followers of God. We
falsely believe that once we step into God’s world, everything will be different. All
imperfections disappear; what was tough becomes easy. Our humanity will fade into the
background. Yet, when our sacred authors are at their best, they faithfully remind us of
the human dimension of God working in our lives.
Ezekiel certainly comes face to face with that aspect in the
first reading (Ez 2: 2-5). Yahweh doesn’t gloss over the people’s humanness to
whom He’s sent prophets. They are "rebels who have rebelled against me; they and
their ancestors have revolted against me to this very day. Hard of face and obstinate of
heart are they to whom I am sending you."
Their frame of mind offers the prophet little chance for
success. Because they’re so blatantly human, Yahweh hopes to accomplish only one
thing through Ezekiel: Eventually "they shall know that a prophet has been among
them."
Obstacles
Yet the recipients of God’s word are just one of the
obstacles to God’s plan. Often the proclaimer of that word is just as limited by his
or her own frailty. Paul’s reflection in the second reading (2 Cor 12: 7-10) is
classic: "That I, Paul, might not become too elated,....a thorn in the flesh was
given to me, an angel of Satan, to beat me."
Paul’s thorn could have been malaria, an illness which
would have severely restricted his missionary endeavors. Whatever it was, Paul turns it
into an asset. "I am content" he writes, "with weakness, insults,
hardships, persecutions and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then
I am strong."
In the face of his humanity, Paul pens one of his most famous
lines: "Power is made perfect in weakness."
If Paul is right, then Mark tells us the historical Jesus was
very powerful (Mark 6: 1-6). Not only does Jesus confront an Ezekiel-type audience, He
also must deal with His own human limitations. We’re accustomed to make a big thing
out of the first problem; our Christian training leads us to ignore the second.
We quickly get Mark’s message about the crowd’s
hardness of heart. Even Jesus, he mentions, "was amazed at their lack of faith."
But notice what he says about Jesus.
Blocking Jesus
First, His occupation is an obstacle to His ministry.
"Is He not the carpenter?" Second, His family isn’t situated very high on
the social ladder. "Is He not...the son of Mary, the brother of James and Joses and
Judas and Simon? Are not His sisters here with us?" Third, there are certain things
not even He can do: "He was not able to perform any mighty deed there, apart from
curing a few sick people by laying His hands on them."
To understand the impact of Mark’s comments about
Jesus’ limits, critics insist we look at how Matthew narrates the same event. If you
turn to Matthew 13: 54-58 and compare it to Mark’s account, you’ll notice the
former removes two of the three limits Mark’s Jesus labors under. Matthew keeps his
predecessor’s comment about the family.
But Jesus is no longer "the carpenter." He’s
now "the carpenter’s son." And where Mark mentioned Jesus "was not
able to perform any mighty deed," Matthew changes it to "He did not work many
mighty deeds." There’s a huge difference between "could not" and
"did not."
It seems our early Christian authors had the same problem
that beset Jesus’ audience in Nazareth. Just as Jesus’ humanity blocked His
former acquaintances from understanding who He really was, so His own disciples made Him
more acceptable by eventually removing those limits from their narratives.