The Markan Sandwich

Friends, today, we’re talking about sandwiches.  Mark serves us one with the stories in these verses.  First, we get the beginning of Jairus the synagogue leader’s story: bread slice number one. Then we have the entire narrative of the bleeding woman: the peanut butter and jelly.  Finally, Mark slaps bread slice number 2 on top with the end of the synagogue leader’s story, and completes the sandwich.  Mark must like sandwiches like this since there are nine of them in his Gospel.  According to James Edwards, for a while, scholars didn’t give Mark much credit for these offerings, and considered him disorganized (194).  Then they figured Mark probably has a purpose, but there wasn’t agreement as to what that purpose is, maybe just passing time or building suspense (194-195).  Now, scholars seem to agree that Mark’s purpose is theological.  In Markan sandwiches, “The middle section nearly always provides the key to the theological purpose of the sandwich” (Edwards 196). That’s why we haven’t gotten to Jairus the synagogue leader until today.  First we had to figure out what kind of sandwich we’re dealing with.

Some of you are now thinking, “Wait a second.  You’re saying Mark told these stories together because he had some kind of agenda?  They didn’t just occur in that order?”

Yep, that’s what I’m saying.  Of course Matthew and Luke, two other Gospel writers, tell the stories together too, so they may have happened exactly this way.  Or maybe they tell the story the same way because Matthew and Luke both used Mark’s gospel as a basis for theirs.  We don’t know for sure because none of us were there.  Heck, there’s debate among scholars about whether or not the gospel writers themselves were even there, although most think they weren’t.  This kind of uncertainty sometimes shakes Christians up.  There is a belief that if we can’t take every event in the Bible absolutely literally, or if the people who wrote the gospels down were not eyewitnesses to what happened, then the foundations of Christianity are shaken.

I don’t have the right knowledge to debate who wrote what, when.  What I’m far more interested in considering, and asking you to consider today, is if it’s possible that the gospels have even more truth and beauty to them if they are not meant to be read like sequential eyewitness accounts.  Could it be possible there are ways of understanding scripture beyond literal interpretation that can show us even more clearly who God is? Can art show us things science cannot?

The need for two hands

Let’s begin by admitting when it comes to understanding God, all of us are a lot like little kids.  We’re distractible, clumsy, and frequently self-centered, yet we’re also capable of beautiful moments of wonder, insight, and love.  If you were to give a child with those characteristics something valuable or potentially messy, even just a plate of food, what would you say as you hand it off?  “Two hands!” right?  The best way for imperfect humans to carry something valuable is with two hands.

In one hand, carry the wonder and faith that may come when you read a story and you believe it, just as it’s written.  That is the childlike, not childish, faith Jesus calls us to in Mark 10:13-16.  In the other hand, carry the richness added by understanding more than is immediately obvious.  Just as photographers use different lenses to highlight aspects of the reality they capture, every biblical author has details and themes they want their readers to notice, and different tactics they use to bring attention to them.  There is a beauty and truth there that goes beyond the eyewitness’s still faulty ability to recall an event.  When we use two hands, we can take the humble approach that admits how much we really don’t know.  When we can take the humble approach, we can feel less threatened by others, and instead of fearing people with different views, we can love them.  Seems to me, that’s the whole point.

One more thought before we get to the story. (Man, I’ve made you wait way too long for Jairus.) Some churches make a big deal of the inerrancy of the Bible, but God chose humans to create it. If there’s one thing obvious to me about humans, it’s that we’re errant, but God decided to use us to write it all down, anyway. Isn’t it interesting God seems to trust us more with the big stuff than we trust ourselves? Two hands!

Back to the beginning

We start again at verse 21 with Jesus surrounded by the crowd.  Jairus, a synagogue leader, sees him, comes through the crowd, and falls at Jesus' feet.  Remind you of anyone?  Of course, the bleeding woman does the same, but their approaches are completely opposite.  As a synagogue leader, Jairus is a man of prestige.  He holds a privileged position at the center of society, and it’s safe to assume he has money.  He has both a name and a title, but for Mark, the title is the important thing.  He names Jairus once but uses his title four times.  We’re not supposed to miss it.   It’s easy to imagine him striding through the crowd in his urgency to beg for Jesus’ help.  The bleeding woman holds none of that privilege, and thus, she sneaks.  She is anonymous, marginalized, and because of her uncleanness, forbidden to even enter the synagogue where Jairus is a leader.

Literary device of the day: juxtaposition

Jairus begs Jesus repeatedly, “My little daughter is at the point of death.  Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live” (verse 23).  His direct request gets a simple response: Jesus goes with him to restore the little girl.  They don’t make it far before the woman enters the scene and touches Jesus’ cloak from behind, essentially making a very indirect request.  Not concerned about either offending the synagogue leader, or permanently jeopardizing his daughter, Jesus stops to fully restore the woman.  Notice all the opposite pairing happening here.  It’s called juxtaposition.  My favorite one happens just as Jesus tells the woman, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace and be healed of your disease.”  While Jesus is in fact still speaking this good news to her, people from the synagogue leader’s house are speaking some very bad news to Jairus.  “Your daughter is dead.  Why trouble the teacher any further?” (verse 35).  Mark intentionally includes this timing detail.  At the exact moment Jesus proclaims the woman he names “Daughter,” who has been dying for 12 years, fully alive and clean, the daughter of Jairus, who has presumably thrived for 12 years, is proclaimed dead, and therefore, unclean.  None of this juxtaposition is accidental, so what is it there for?  Why are we constantly forced to compare these characters?

Remember, the middle of the sandwich provides the theological key to understanding the whole thing.  While speaking to the woman, Jesus overhears the news given to Jairus and so, just seconds after praising her faith, he instructs the synagogue leader on his:  “Do not fear, only believe” (verse 36).  The theological filling in this sandwich is faith, but there’s a twist because, on the surface, it would seem a synagogue leader would know more about matters of faith than a probably illiterate woman who can’t even enter the building.  Surprise! Jesus heals her first, praises her faith, and then instructs Jairus on his. Ironically, a poor, powerless, marginalized woman becomes an example of faith for a wealthy, influential, male leader.

Playful artistry

Mark’s writing is actually full of stuff like this.  If you read Mark carefully, you may get the feeling he’s playing with you, and if you do, go with your gut.  You’re probably right. That playfulness intends to make a point.  His literary winks have a purpose, similar to when we actually wink at someone today.  He is drawing us into the game.  He’s saying, “You get it, right?  You get what I’m putting out there?  There’s a reality below the surface of things.  If you get it, join us.”  His literary devices call the readers who “get it”  to follow Jesus (Lusk 33). 

To continue with the story, the synagogue leader must maintain his belief because they continue to his house where they see “a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly” (verse 38).  Jesus questions them and tells them the girl is merely sleeping.  When they laugh at him, Jesus chucks them all outside.  If these verses sound weird to your modern ears, there's a good reason. The mourners are not grieving a loved one.  They’re professionals (Gudme 361).  In many ancient cultures, including first-century Judaism, mourners, mostly women, were hired to express the grief the family felt uncomfortable expressing themselves.  And boy, did they express it.  The Greek for “commotion” can also be translated as “clamor” and “public disorder,” and “wailing” is used for the sound warriors make when charging into battle.  These women were raising a ruckus, and they were going to be paid for it.  This was one of the few ways women could make money, by the way, so no judgment. Also, because only wealthy families could hire mourners, this reinforces what we know about Jairus’ position in society.  

After sending the mourners outside, only the girl’s parents and three chosen disciples (verse 37) get to see what happens next.   It’s a private affair this time, in contrast to the entire crowd who witness the woman’s healing.  Again, Jesus touches a person who is unclean, this time because of death, and makes her clean.   He tells her to rise, so she does, to the amazement of those watching. Then, because Jesus knows being mostly dead all day makes a girl hungry, he orders her parents to keep quiet about her healing and make her a sandwich.  

P.S. There’s actually even more to what all this juxtaposition is meant to communicate.  We’ll get to that in a future episode.  For now, let’s just revel in the glory of it. 

Works Cited

Gudme, Anne Katrine de Hemmer. “Mortuary Rituals.” Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Ritual, Edited by Risto Uro, Juliette J. Day, Richard E. DeMaris, and Rikard Roitto, Oxford University Press, 2018, pp.353-369.

Edwards, James R. “Markan Sandwiches. The Significance of Interpolations in Markan Narratives.” Novum Testamentum Vol. 31, 1989, pp.193-217. 

Lusk, Rich. “The Ironic Gospel”  3 Dec. 1999, http://trinity-pres.net