Domestic violence is currently a major issue—

and rightly so—

given some of the horrific accounts with which we have been confronted in the media recently…

and, for many of us, the growing awareness of how extensive and entrenched it is.

In a number of cases, a major factor in this—

which doesn’t always get much attention—

is the role of religion.

Leaving aside the reluctance of many church leaders and clergy to address it publicly…

what researchers have identified is the way that theology is often a significant contributing factor.

Two such researchers— 

from the school of social work at Melbourne University— 

have pointed out that, while church leaders are strong at condemning physical violence against women…

they find it harder to identify, accept, and discuss non-physical violence…

namely, psychological, social, and spiritual abuse…

and coercive control.

And, in many cases, that boils down to the theologies that they hold…

that is…

a belief in the “divinely sanctioned inequality between men and women”.

Questioning male power and privilege…

and trying to foster a notion of gender equality…

threatens their sense of identity…

and their faith.

Because it’s not a huge leap from seeing God as male…

and that Jesus only chose male apostles…

to believing that only men can be ordained…

and believing that you, as a man, have a divine right to be in charge…

and to lord it over everyone else.

And that theology of divine androcentrism…

impinges upon so many contemporary issues with which the church struggles—

and not just domestic violence.

We could add to that paedophilia and even LGBTQ rights.

But it also underlies all the bleating that we get from curmudgeonly Catholic bishops…

or the usual suspects from the Anglican Diocese of Sydney and the Australian Christian Lobby…

about supposed attacks on “the family”…

which… 

of course…

is always imagined in a starkly heterosexual…

and a traditional male-dominant, female-subordinate way.

 

The problem is, however— 

as the New Testament scholar, Dale Martin puts it— 

“There are more resources in Scripture and tradition to critique marriage and family than to support it”.

And this morning’s reading from Mark’s Gospel is one of them:

“When Jesus’ family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, ‘He has gone out of his mind’…A crowd was sitting around him; and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers and sisters are outside, asking for you”. And he replied, “Who are my mother and my brothers?”…Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother”. 

Here, in this story, Jesus refuses to identify with his biological family.

Indeed, Jesus redefines the criteria for what constitutes his true family.

Here, in effect, Jesus redefines family.

Now, clearly… 

this particular saying has its origin in the situation and the dynamic of the author’s own community.

Many of them would have experienced rejection or ostracism from their biological families—

and their wider kin-groups—

because of their faith in Jesus.

So, this saying… 

which the author places on the lips of Jesus, is meant to reassure them:

to offer them hope and consolation;

to give them meaning and a sense of belonging. 

But it wouldn’t be much of a stretch… 

to use this story to argue for a redefinition of family today.

Maybe family— 

at least according to this story—

can be defined as any relationship that offers acceptance and belonging…

hope and consolation…

a sense of meaning…

and, of course, love.

All of that would, indeed, be fulfilling God’s will—

God’s intention for human life.

Thus, in trying to interpret this reading… 

a number of commentators choose to focus on that—

on the issue of redefining family.

 

And yet… 

this story of Jesus’ interaction with his family is not the whole story.

Our reading this morning is an example of a particular literary structure in Mark’s Gospel—

what New Testament scholars call a “Sandwich Story”.

Like a metaphorical bread roll, the author takes a story…

cuts it in two…

and fills it with another story.

The intent is that the filling would “define” the whole.

We grasp the point of the sandwiching story through the filling story.

So, like any good sandwich, it’s the filling that’s all-important—

that’s where the focus ought to lie.

And here, the author sets up an ironic parallel between Jesus’ family—

their lack of understanding…

and, hence, their implicit rejection of Jesus—

and the lack of understanding and explicit rejection of Jesus by the powers-that-be.

In the middle of that is a cluster of sayings… 

about Satan not being able to cast out Satan…

a house divided against itself not being able to stand…

and a robber only being able to rob a powerful person by tying him up.

And while, on one level, these seem somewhat simple, pithy aphorisms…

the author labels them as “parables”—

by which, he means, something more akin to “riddles”.

And they are all spoken against the powers-that-be.

So, what the author is saying, in effect…

is that we can’t expect those in power to relinquish their power willingly.

We can’t expect those who are corrupt to tidy up their act of their own accord.

The only way to overcome any sort of systemic injustice is to oppose it.

As Martin Luther King jr recognised:

“Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; 

it must be demanded by the oppressed”.

The rejection and redefinition of family fits with that.

In a world where family and kin were absolutely crucial;

where your identity and worth were bound up with…

and embedded in…

your family and kin-group;

where kinship was the very backbone of the social order;

and where family “name” and all that it entailed determined privilege and power…

or the lack of it—

the author is challenging his readers to rethink the fundamental structures of their world.

He’s challenging them to rethink who or what shapes their identity and their worth.

And he’s challenging them not to sit quietly by. 

This Markan sandwich story is really a call to take a stand against the forces of oppression and injustice…

the forces of hatred and bigotry.

It’s nothing short of a call to social revolution—

in the name of love…

in the name of God.

It’s a call to stand up for justice…

for freedom…

for equality…

and for love.

And, in so doing, it’s a call to re-think…

and…

to re-define…

the “family of God”.

 

And, of course, that’s just as true for us, today.

After all, so often, it’s the institutional church that’s driving…

or tacitly propping up…

the structures of oppression and injustice in our community.

We have Christians arguing that the so-called “Gay Panic Defence” for murder should be retained;

we have Christians arguing against laws enacting exclusion zones outside abortion clinics;

and we have Christians lobbying for ‘gay-conversion therapy’ not to be banned.

And, at some point, we can’t just say…

“They don’t speak for me”.

Rather, we’re going to have to define or re-define—

quite clearly— 

who are our true brothers and sisters in the faith.

 

“Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother”