Then he said to them, “The sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath.” (Mark 2:27)

We all pass through various “crisis points” in life that lead us to focus on who we are, where we came from, and where we are going. Graduations come to mind, whether from high school or with advanced degrees. Each stage can open a new chapter.

Marriage is one of those points, and so is divorce. Choosing to remain single, relocating, beginning a new career, facing sickness: all are crisis points that challenge us in various ways, including the decision about what sort of fundamentalist we will be.

We may not like being associated with the word “fundamentalist,” especially in the religious sense, but I still recall an old sermon by Leonard Sweet in which he insisted that “Everyone’s a fundamentalist about something” (Homiletics 9 [April-June 1997], pp. 37-40).

We can be fundamentalist about our diet plan, our morning routine, or our political leanings. In seminary, I was a “make all A’s if it kills me” fundamentalist. I am also a “toilet paper over the top” fundamentalist. You may know people who are “no pastel clothes until Easter” fundamentalists, or “if my mother likes it I won’t wear it” fundamentalists.

Whatever our proclivities or peccadillos, we are all fundamentalists about something.

A fight over food

(2:23-28)

Our studies for the next several weeks come from the gospel readings, and this one falls within a series of controversy stories that began with the healing of a man who couldn’t walk (2:1-12) and culminate with the healing of a man who couldn’t use his hand (3:1-6). Both stories speak to a conflict between two kinds of fundamentalism.

In the first of two conflict stories in today’s reading, Jesus and his disciples were walking through a grain field on the Sabbath when some of the disciples grabbed a little grain from harvest-ready wheat or barley growing on either side of the path, rubbed it between their hands, and ate the chewy kernels (2:23). Custom allowed passersby to pick standing grain from the side of the road, even if it wasn’t their field.

The Old Testament command to cease from labor on the sabbath (Exod. 20:8-11, Deut. 5:12-15) did not address such piddling tasks, but an elaborate system of oral law developed after the exile added hundreds of new rules. Proponents sought to build a “hedge about the law” that would prevent people from unwittingly breaking a more central command.

 Based on the oral law, the disciples had broken at least three rules: they were guilty of reaping, threshing, and preparing a meal. Their transgression did not go unnoticed by a group of Pharisees, who were the strictest of the strict.

The disciples’ offenses were duly reported, and representatives soon questioned Jesus. They got right to the point, as if afraid they might go over the speech limit for a sabbath.

“Look, why are they doing what is not lawful on the Sabbath?” they asked (2:24). Jesus’ answer may have been expanded in the growth of biblical tradition, but the essence of it was, “Because they were hungry.” [DD]

Jesus responded to the fundamentalism of the oral law by citing a story from scripture. He noted how the beloved hero David had once persuaded a priest to supply him with bread from the temple, even though it was considered sacred, because he and his men were hungry (2:25-26).

People weren’t made to serve the sabbath, Jesus said, but the sabbath was made for humankind (2:27). The sabbath was a gift to people who get tired from working all week and who need a break. Jesus would not have disagreed that observing the Sabbath was important, but the oral law’s added rules weren’t required for Sabbath-keeping.

In other words, Jesus saw no reason to be a fundamentalist about the Sabbath. Indeed, the gospel tradition claims he went on to say, “so the Son of Man is lord even of the sabbath” (2:28). In his apocalyptic role as the coming messiah, Jesus possessed an authority that surpassed rigid concepts of the sabbath law. [DD]

Some of us have known people who were Sunday fundamentalists. They wouldn’t play with “spotted cards” on Sunday (though Rook was okay). They wouldn’t go to a store. They cooked on Saturday and ate their food cold on Sunday. That’s more fundamentalist than most of us want to be about Sunday.

A fight over healing

(3:1-6)

The following conflict story also took place on a sabbath. Jesus was in the synagogue when he noticed a man whose hand was paralyzed and drawn (3:1). Certain Pharisees, according to the text, were watching carefully to see if Jesus would heal the man (3:2). Were they hoping for an opportunity to criticize him?

Jesus recognized the ploy, and even baited his critics. After calling the afflicted man to come forward, Jesus asked aloud: “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to kill?” The question assumes a qualifier—“Is it more lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to kill?” (3:3-4).

Once he put it that way, the Pharisees could say nothing, even though Jesus’ question didn’t follow the logic of the situation. The issue was not between doing good or doing harm, but whether to do something good or to do nothing.

We often jump to the account of healing without much attention to Mark’s comment that the onlookers’ hard silence had an effect on Jesus, who “looked around at them with anger; he was grieved at their hardness of heart” (3:5a).

Self-righteous legalism that lacks compassion should make us angry. Politicians who want tax cuts for the rich while cutting benefits for the poor should make us angry. Corporate executives who earn lavish bonuses on the backs of employees who struggle on less than living wages should make us grieved.

Without further conversation, Jesus did what we would expect. He told the man to stretch out his hand. We might wonder if the patient might have considered that to be a crazy request: by definition, a crippled hand can’t be stretched out. But he gave it a try, and there it was—all healed and straight, every finger bending and working just as it should (3:5b).

Knowing their cause was lost in the public arena, the Pharisees didn’t bother to openly criticize Jesus further. Mark’s series of controversy stories comes to an early crescendo here, for the Pharisees were no longer satisfied just to castigate Jesus: they “went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him.” The word translated “destroy” (apolesōsin) means “to ruin,” “to abolish,” “to put an end to.” In this sense, it can mean “to kill.” The NET2 translates it as “to assassinate him,” NIV11 has “how they might kill Jesus,” and NASB20 renders it as “how they might put him to death.” Earlier, Jesus had alluded to his death with his remark about the bridegroom being taken away (2:20). Now, his critics were planning to make it happen. [DD]

In both stories, we acknowledge that Jesus was also acting out of his own kind of fundamentalism. The difference is that Jesus was a fundamentalist about loving people and helping others. Nothing made Jesus any angrier than when somebody used their own place of privilege to keep others down instead of helping them up. Nothing grieved him more than to see religion turned into a system of oppression.

In the synoptics, Jesus made it clear that the whole law was subsumed under two things: loving God, and to loving others (Matt. 22:34-40; Mark 12:28-34; Luke 10:25-28). In John’s version of the gospel, Jesus said forcefully that the only law that really mattered was to love one another as he had loved us (John 15:12-17).

Jesus was a fundamentalist about loving people. That is what motivated him to heal the sick, comfort the hurting, and teach the curious. That is what moved him to reach out to children and beggars and tax collectors and prostitutes and fishermen. That is what led him to choose humility over power and self-sacrifice over self-preservation. The fundamentalism of love defines who Jesus was and is.

Future fundamentalists

Jesus’ personal convictions led him to challenge others to become love fundamentalists, too. That doesn’t happen easily: it needs to become a conviction that is solidly embedded in our being, and that’s a challenge when we live in a self-centered society.

We may fear that truly loving as Jesus loved could cause inconvenience, limit our opportunities, or leave us poorer, but Sweet argued that it offers a new kind of freedom: “Instead of narrowing your vision, limiting your options, or scaling down your scope, love fundamentalism opens whole new worlds of possibilities and promise. The fundamentalism of love always offers one more chance, always goes one more mile, always trusts one more time, always believes one more possibility, always commits one more hour, always cries one more tear, always rejoices over one more soul” (cited above, p. 38).

What are some practical ways in which we can demonstrate that kind of love in our daily walk? Through people we can touch, service we can render, comfort we can share, a willingness to listen, to really listen?

What kind of fundamentalist will we be?