I have a confession to make. When I first looked at the
readings for today’s Mass, I wasn’t happy. Repent, and believe? Really? We hear
this Gospel three times between January 11th and the First Sunday of
Lent on February 21st. Isn’t this Gospel a bit overplayed? Truth be
told, I really needed to preach a meatier Gospel today. As you can see from the
video set up here, I’m being recorded for school where 13 classmates and two
professors are just waiting to tear into my homily like a present in the hands
of a sugared-up five-year old on Christmas morning. I was hoping for a reading that
would let me strut my stuff. Give me a moving miracle, like the hemorrhagic
woman who claws her way through a crowd just to touch the tassel of Jesus’
cloak. We all would’ve been reaching for the tissues after that homily. Or
maybe an exhilarating exorcism, like the Gerasene demoniac— “My name is
Legion.” Pigs jumping off cliffs. That’s a text I can work with. But
what do I get? “Repent, and believe.”
This nagging text won’t leave us alone. It nips at our heals like a poorly socialized Chihuahua. It stabs a scolding finger in our faces as it cries out with a dire and foreboding sense of urgency: “Repent, and believe!” And confronted by the text, we recoil, bothered, bewildered, and kind of offended. What have we done? What have we failed to do? Tell us! But we’re not even given the courtesy of an explanation. The Hound of Heaven just howls hauntingly: “Repent, and believe.” The din of this Gospel is so relentless that we beg for an answer, “What does it mean?” What’s so important about this text that we need to hear it over and over again? I guess we just have to see what we can figure out for ourselves.
Let’s start with “repent.” We all know, from many a Lenten homily, that the English word repent isn’t the best translation for what Jesus is saying in our Gospel. The original Greek word, metanoiete (μετανοεῖτε) demands “a profound conversion of heart.”[1] While being sorry and making amends for our failures can be part of it, this word commands something more like a major change of attitude that leads to a major change of life. One commentator even posed Jesus’ meaning as “Let your mind be blown away by unimagined possibilities!”[2] Now that’s intriguing, but let’s sit with that for a moment while we consider what Jesus means by “believe.”
“Believe” is a decent translation for the Greek word that Jesus uses here, pisteuete (πιστεύετε), but like most Greek words, pisteuete conveys a deeper meaning than its English counterpart. In the Bible, this verb “generally suggests not simply intellectual conviction but also trust and personal commitment.”[3] There’s a relational component to the word that invites our engagement. So this exhortation to believe in the gospel is more like an invitation into an active, personal relationship with Jesus Christ, who is the good news.
Taken together, then, the words “Repent, and believe” command even more than their annoying English translations suggest. Jesus is challenging us to turn around, to radically shift the direction of our lives, to look, listen, and give our full attention and personal commitment to a new way of living with God through Jesus.[4] Add to it the fact that the word Jesus uses for “time” when he says, “This is the time of fulfillment,” means more than just chronological time. It’s the same word that Saint Paul uses in our second reading when he says, “the time is running out.” It’s the Greek word kairos (καιρός), which is better understood as the “opportune time,” the “right time,” the “strike-while-the-iron-is-hot time.” And the Apostles understand that, as we see from their response.
Each of the four Apostles mentioned in today’s Gospel drop everything, leave their livelihoods and their families behind, and follow Jesus without question or hesitation. Why would they do that? Well, as Saint Jerome explains, “There must have been something divinely compelling in the face of the Savior. Otherwise, they [wouldn’t] have acted so irrationally as to follow a man whom [they’d] never seen before.”[5] So, whether we like it or not, there must be something divinely compelling in this message for us, too, something urging us not just to repent and believe, but to do it right now. But what?
One of the most frustrating aspects of this Gospel for me is that Jesus doesn’t tell us what we need to do. When it comes to the specifics of these supposedly salvific words, our text is silent. Yet, the menacing message persists nonetheless: “Repent, and believe.” The same thing happens in our first reading. Jonah never tells the Ninevites what their problem is. He just sets the clock for Nineveh to be overturned and lets them figure out how to respond. Interestingly, Jonah also never claims divine authority for his ambiguous message, but the Ninevites make the theological connection anyway.[6] Somehow, they understand Jonah’s words as God’s words. They believe. They figure out where they went wrong, and they repent right away.
So, how do we figure out what this text means for us? How do we discern where we’ve gone wrong so we can repent, too? We do what the Ninevites and Jesus’ followers did: we rely on the tools God gives us to discern his will. We have Scripture and the teachings and traditions of the Church; we have Jesus as our perfect example; and we have the gift of God’s Advocate, the Holy Spirit, working in and around us, inspiring us, and teaching us God’s ways. If we summon our Psalmist’s confidence that God is always teaching us his ways, and the faith of the Apostles, who hear Christ’s voice, drop everything, and follow him, maybe we’ll figure out for ourselves what God is asking us to do.
At about this point in a homily I normally give you examples and posit clever analogies that relate this Gospel message to our lives today. Examples seem especially appropriate in light of these very trying times of global pandemic, pervasive discrimination, and civil unrest. But if Jonah didn’t tell the Ninevites what to do, and Jesus didn’t tell his followers, the message of our readings may well be that each of us needs to figure it out for ourselves. Who am I to tell you what needs to change in your life? Not that I wouldn’t have a few suggestions, but I stand confronted by this text just like you. As difficult and frustrating as it may be, each of us needs to let this text confront us, bother us, bewilder us, and even offend us a little in the hope that it will help us discern the movements of the Holy Spirit in our lives and figure out what these words mean for us right now. So, at the risk of receiving demerits from my classmates for not providing examples, I offer none. I simply leave you with those three annoying, saving words: “Repent, and believe.”
Readings: Lectionary 68, Jonah 3:1-5, 10; Psalm 25: 4-9; 1 Corinthians 7:29-31; Mark 1:14-20[1] Jeffrey Cole, ed., The Didache Bible (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2014), 1316n.
[2] Mary M. McGlone, “Mind Blowing Metanoia,” National Catholic Reporter 57, no. 7 (January 8-21, 2021), 19.
[3] Daniel J. Harrington, ed., The Gospel of Mark, Sacra Pagina 2 (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2002), 71.
[4] Lamar Williamson Jr., Mark, Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 42.
[5] Thomas C. Oden and Christopher A. Hall, eds., Mark, Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: New Testament 2 (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2005), 19.
[6] Phyllis Trible, “The Book of Jonah,” The New Interpreter’s Bible, 12 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996), 513.
