The Miracle We Need (2) (Mark 8.10-30)

Loanne recently read an article that she’s brought up multiple times over the past few weeks. She keeps bringing it up because it’s so pertinent to so many different situations.

The article was based on a study on how people make decisions. We think we know how we do this: we think we examine the facts, the data, the possibilities, and then that we make a decision based on the information we’ve gathered. But what this study found is that the vast majority of people don’t make decisions like this at all. In reality, we know what we want—so we’ve already made the decision, even if that decision is to not make a decision—and then we examine the facts in order to justify the decision we’ve made.

This study actually supports a truth about humanity that we see all throughout the Bible: that human beings are not mainly guided by our minds, but by our hearts. Our hearts want one thing, and our minds follow. We desire what we desire, and because that’s what we desire we trick our minds into finding all sorts of reasons why what we want is more important than what God tells us.

I’ve mentioned what James K.A. Smith said multiple times over the years, but it’s been a while, so I’ll say it again. Smith follows this biblical line of thinking and puts it like this: in our society we’ve so intellectualized our anthropology that we often think that in order to really know someone, we need to find out what they believe; what they know; what their opinions are. But that’s not how it works. If I want to get to the bottom of who you are as a person, what really makes you “you”, then the question I should ask you is not, “What do you believe?” or “What do you know?” If I really want to know you at the core of your being, the question I need to ask is, “What do you want? What do you desire? What do you long for?”

Last week we saw Jesus performing three different miracles in Gentile territory, and the middle of these three miracles required more than just a word or a touch—a deaf-mute came to Jesus and Jesus healed him in several steps: first he placed his fingers in his ears, then he spit and took some of his own saliva and touched the man’s tongue with it. Then he said, “Be opened,” and the man could hear and talk. It was a particular sort of miracle, a miracle of perception.

The point: in order to see why Jesus came, we need a miracle of perception—we need him to open our ears to hear his voice.

I said that last week’s sermon was the first part of a two-part sermon. Today we see the same basic thing, but the context is different, and so what we see here goes even deeper.

Seeking a Sign (v. 10-21)

So let’s get started. Jesus has just multiplied food for the crowd in Gentile territory, and now he and his disciples get back in their boat and head back to Jewish territory.

And when they arrive, the Pharisees come to him, and the old arguments begin all over again.

V. 10:

10 And immediately he got into the boat with his disciples and went to the district of Dalmanutha. 11 The Pharisees came and began to argue with him, seeking from him a sign from heaven to test him. 12 And he sighed deeply in his spirit and said, “Why does this generation seek a sign? Truly, I say to you, no sign will be given to this generation.” 13 And he left them, got into the boat again, and went to the other side.

So the Pharisees—these hyper-religious leaders who were threatened by Jesus—come to him and “seek from him a sign from heaven to test him”. I have a friend named Eric who, when he was younger, worked for a while as a professional magician. The moment anyone learns about this, it kind of seems like they no longer care about Eric as a person—all they want is for Eric to do a magic trick for them. He’s an indulgent fellow, so he usually does it, but it does depersonalize him a bit. He’s no longer this distinct individual named Eric, he’s “the guy who can do magic.”

That’s sort of how the Pharisees come to him now: “Do a trick. Prove you’re the magic man everyone says you are.”

Mark tells us that Jesus “sighed deeply in his spirit”—you can feel his exasperation—and he asks them why they’re looking for a sign, then tells them he won’t play: no sign will be given to this generation.

What does he mean by this? It’s a bit confusing, because the Pharisees have already seen loads of “signs”. They’ve seen Jesus heal a paralytic in chapter 2, they’ve seen him teach with authority, they saw him heal a man with a withered hand in chapter 3, they saw him feed the five thousand in chapter 6 (they’re not specifically mentioned, but in a crowd that big, there’s no way they weren’t there).

They have signs. And they’re asking him now to do something at their insistance, like a performing monkey.

And Jesus won’t do it. He says no sign will be given “to this generation”. Here’s what I think he means by that. I don’t think he’s talking about age—in a literally “generational” sense—and I don’t think he’s contradicting himself either, in the sense that he’s already given them signs. I think he’s saying that to this “generation”—that is, to the people who want to see signs “to test” Jesus, like the Pharisees do—no sign will be given to them that will ever actually convince them. They’ve seen all they need to see, they’ve heard all they need to hear, and they’re still hard-hearted.

They don’t want to be convinced, they want to test Jesus. They want to see how far they can bend him until he breaks.

So let them stay there. Let them remain unconvinced. Their test won’t work.

Now after this, Jesus and his disciples get in their boat again and go away to the other side of the sea—still in Jewish territory, but further away. And there is a really interesting exchange that takes place between them. V. 14:

14 Now they had forgotten to bring bread, and they had only one loaf with them in the boat. 15 And he cautioned them, saying, “Watch out; beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and the leaven of Herod.” 16 And they began discussing with one another the fact that they had no bread.

Let’s be honest for a minute: I hope I’m not the only one who finds Jesus’s warning a bit confusing. The disciples have forgotten to bring bread—so you know that’s on all of their minds. They’re in a boat, and they’re getting hungry, and they’ve got nothing to eat. Who’s going to take the responsibility for this?

Instead of addressing the actual problem, Jesus uses an image connected to bread to speak about something completely different. It’s no surprise the disciples have a hard time connecting the dots. We give them a hard time about v. 16, but I guarantee I’d have probably said something just as dumb.

The funny thing is, Jesus responds to what they’re saying in a fairly strong way. V. 17:

17 And Jesus, aware of this, said to them, “Why are you discussing the fact that you have no bread? Do you not yet perceive or understand? Are your hearts hardened? 18 Having eyes do you not see, and having ears do you not hear?

We need to remember that Jesus is always very aware of both to whom he is speaking and of what they need. He’s not losing his patience here, and he isn’t being cruel. He asks them these frank and difficult  questions to make sure they’re all paying very close attention to what he’s about to say, because it’s important. He wants to make sure they all see that they’re not seeing yet. That when he speaks to them, he’s aiming deeper than the surface, deeper than “What are are we going to eat tonight?”

So what does he want them to see? End of v. 18:

And do you not remember? 19 When I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you take up?” They said to him, “Twelve.” 20 “And the seven for the four thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you take up?” And they said to him, “Seven.” 21 And he said to them, “Do you not yet understand?”

So you see what he’s doing: he’s taking them back to the baskets of food left over, after he multiplied the bread and fish. When he did it in Jewish territory, how many baskets were left over? Twelve—twelve tribes of Israel. And when he did it in Gentile territory, how many baskets were left over? Seven. And what does seven represent in the Bible? Completeness. He’s saying, I’ve come to the Jews, and I’m feeding the Jews, but this grace will extend to the Gentiles as well.

In other words, “I am changing everything. Everything about what you thought it meant to be God’s people.”

Of course they still don’t understand this—not quite yet—but he’s slowly and patiently nudging them there.

So why did he warn the disciples about the leaven of the Pharisees and the leaven of Herod?

Leaven, in the Bible, is often used as a picture of an influence that spreads. When you put leaven, or yeast, in a lump of dough, that yeast spreads throughout the whole lump, causing it to rise. The influence of the Pharisees, and the influence of Herod, will spread all through you if you’re not careful.

So what is their “leaven”? What characterizes them in this story?

We see that the Pharisees are hard-hearted, and stay hard-hearted, in order to maintain their grip on their own religious power. And we see that Herod was hard-hearted, and stayed hard-hearted, in order to maintain his reputation and his hedonistic lifestyle.

Remember the question from the beginning of this sermon, the most important question we can ever ask about a person? What do you want? For the Pharisees and for Herod, we know that the answer is clearly not Jesus.

They have no interest in Jesus at all, other than as a threat to the way of life they’ve built up for themselves. When they look at him, they only see what they stand to lose. Don’t be like them; don’t look at Jesus the way they do. Don’t look for the same things they’re looking for.

Eyes to See (v. 22-30)

Now on that note, Jesus and the disciples come to Bethsaida, and once again, we see something similar to what we saw at the end of chapter 7—a miracle in several steps. V. 22:

22 And they came to Bethsaida. And some people brought to him a blind man and begged him to touch him. 23 And he took the blind man by the hand and led him out of the village, and when he had spit on his eyes and laid his hands on him, he asked him, “Do you see anything?” 24 And he looked up and said, “I see people, but they look like trees, walking.” 25 Then Jesus laid his hands on his eyes again; and he opened his eyes, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly. 26 And he sent him to his home, saying, “Do not even enter the village.”

So this is just like the deaf-mute in chapter 7: it’s a progressive miracle, not an instantaneous one. Jesus leads him out of the village—he wants privacy for this—and spits on his eyes, touches him. “Do you see anything?”

Sort of… He can see shapes and colors now, but nothing really distinct.

Jesus does it again. And this time, his sight is restored completely.

As I said last week, this miracle and the healing of the deaf-mute in chapter 7 are the only two miracles recorded in Mark’s gospel that seem to require a bit of effort on Jesus’s part. The question is why. I don’t think, as some have suggested, that this miracle was more difficult for Jesus than all the others. I don’t think that’s why he takes more than one pass to heal this man. I think he does it for the same reason he did it with the deaf-mute: to show that this is a different kind of miracle. He’s using this man as a living parable that displays something deeper.

When the blind man said, “I see people, but they look like trees, walking,” I wonder if the disciples, standing by, heard Jesus’s voice in their heads saying, “Having eyes, do you not see?” I wonder if they thought back to the deaf-mute and remembered Jesus saying, “Having ears, do you not hear?”

I wonder if, when this blind man was only partially healed, they realized that they were only partially healed too.

I wonder if, when the blind man could finally see clearly, they were a little envious of him.

The reason I wonder all this is because of the harsh questions Jesus asked before, and because of what comes immediately after—if the disciples weren’t actually thinking all these things, at least we know it was definitely on Mark’s mind as he wrote his gospel. Because the story of this blind man’s healing is immediately followed by one of the most amazing passages in this book.

V. 27:

27 And Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi. And on the way he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” 28 And they told him, “John the Baptist; and others say, Elijah; and others, one of the prophets.” 29 And he asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Christ.” 30 And he strictly charged them to tell no one about him.

So think back over the passages we’ve seen recently:

Jesus in Gentile territory, extending his healing and provision to them.

Jesus healing a deaf-mute in stages, giving him “ears to hear.”

Jesus rebuking the Pharisees for their hard-heartedness and warning the disciples not to be like them.

Jesus reminding them of his miracles, and the deeper sense behind them.

And finally, Jesus healing this blind man in stages: partially healed for a moment, fully healed at the end.

What has only been suggested up to now is spoken plainly, for the first time since chapter 1, verse 1. “You are the Christ.”

“The Christ” is the Messiah, the Savior God had promised to save his people. And the interesting thing is that the first person to say it here isn’t Jesus himself, or John the Baptist (who definitely knew more about Jesus than most other people), but Peter. Other people say Jesus is John the Baptist, or Elijah, or one of the prophets. But who do you say that I am?

You are the Christ.

It’s the first time anyone has expressed it this clearly and openly.

But how did Peter know? He’s an uneducated man—a laborer, a fisherman. He was not trained as a rabbi, is not used to making complex theological arguments. And Jesus has never outright said that he is the Christ.

So how did Peter know?

Because he was given eyes to see. Ears to hear.

It wasn’t perfect (as we’ll see in next week’s passage)—Peter’s still at the point, like the blind man, where he’s starting to be able to see the shape of things to come, but not yet grasp the clear picture. But what he sees is enough. Enough for him to affirm that Jesus is the promised Messiah, the Christ.

Finally—someone sees Jesus for who he is.

What Are We Looking For?

Friends, this is where everything in this gospel has been leading us. All these miracles, all this teaching, point in one direction: to the acknowledgement that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God. It’s what Mark declared in the very first sentence of this book—and finally, someone within the narrative has seen it.

So it’s impossible for us to read this text seriously without hearing Jesus ask us the same questions he asked the disciples: Do you not yet perceive or understand? Are your hearts hardened? Having eyes do you not see, and having ears do you not hear? And do you not remember?

What you’re seeing depends on two things. First, it depends on God, who performs the miracle in our hearts to give us eyes to see: we need a miracle of perception, like the blind man, and he’s the only one who can give it.

But if that’s all we think about, what will we do? We’ll sit around, like the blind man, waiting for Jesus to come across our paths. We’ll spend our time waiting for God to come down in a bolt of lightning or a voice from heaven and shake us up.

That’s not the way Jesus reveals himself, most of the time. It’s not the way he revealed himself to the disciples. Instead, he warned them. He pushed them. “Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and the leaven of Herod,” he said. Because he knows that our instinct will be to think just like them: to come to Jesus to test him, rather than to know him.

So here is the question we need to ask, and it’s quite simple: What are we looking for?

Are we looking for proof, or are we looking for Jesus?

The Pharisees want a sign. They want proof. They want to test Jesus, to see how he stands up under intense scrutiny.

So often we do this too. We stand back around the periphery and we wait to see what will happen. We think, Maybe if I had proof, I’d fully embrace the Christian life. But that’s just not true. The Pharisees already have all the proof they need—and they’re still resisting. Not because they don’t see what Jesus is doing, but because they don’t want to lose what they have.

The Pharisees want a sign.

But Peter, for all of his faults, isn’t looking for a sign. He’s looking for Jesus.

He doesn’t understand everything, his knowledge is still very sub-par. But what little he knows is enough to convince him that Jesus is worth following.

So what does he do? He doesn’t wait to understand everything. He doesn’t wait to be more convinced. He’s looking for Jesus, so he follows Jesus. And when he sees Jesus do what he does and say what he says—the same things the Pharisees saw—he is finally able to connect the dots.

Not because he’s more intelligent than the Pharisees, not because he’s got more training. But because unlike them, he wants to know Jesus for who he is, even if who Jesus is turns out to be hard to wrap his mind around.

And that desire to know Jesus is the miracle Peter needed. That desire to know Jesus is another way God gives us eyes to see.

That is the prayer we should all be praying: “Lord, help us want to know Jesus. Give us eyes to see.” And the prayer that should come on the heels of the first one is: “Lord, help me to stand on what I already have seen.”

We might look at the little we have grasped, the few things we have seen and understood, and think it’s not enough.

But it is.

Last week I told the story of the first time I felt God open my ears to hear him—it was really simple, a mere thought that said, “I can no longer say I don’t believe.”

It took a couple years before I became a Christian.

And I didn’t become a Christian because of a massive revelation. I couldn’t say that I had all the elements I felt I needed. With the help of some brothers and sisters in Christ who were patient with me and loved me well, I simply came to the realization that I had enough. What little I knew and understood was enough to convince me that Jesus was worth following. I realized that I could stand on what little I knew, and trust him for all the rest that I didn’t know.

And oddly, it was that decision—the decision to stand on what I did know, and to trust God for everything I didn’t—that helped me to see more and more as the years went on. If I’d kept waiting, I’d still be waiting today.

But I came to the point where I wasn’t looking for proof anymore; I was looking for Jesus. And because I was looking for him, he gave me eyes to see.

My eyes are not perfect—they’re still cloudy, and quite myopic.

What I don’t want is to be willfully myopic—to refuse to look closely at who Christ is, and what he demands of me, because looking closely means I’ll have to act. If I’m looking for Jesus, that is one thing that I can no longer allow myself—that is off the table.

But if seek him, then every day I spend with him is another day when he places his hands on my eyes, and takes them away, and I see a little more clearly.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a Christian or not—the questions are the same.  What are you waiting for? What are you looking for? Are you looking for proof, or are you looking for Jesus? Are you looking for security, or are you looking for Jesus? Are you looking for acceptance, or are you looking for Jesus? Are you looking for love, or are you looking for Jesus?

None of those other things are bad; but Jesus comes first. Will you stand on what you have seen of him, and follow him, rather than these other things you think you need?

If you really want to know what makes you “you”, at the core of your being, the question you need to ask is not, “What do you believe?” but “What do you want?”

Our prayer should be, “Lord, help me want to see Jesus. Help me look for Jesus. And give me eyes to see.”