Marinus was a Roman soldier serving in Palestine in the latter half of the third century, a good soldier by all accounts. The trouble began when he was promoted to the rank of centurion.
You see he was a Christian, and in order to be made a centurion he would have had to offer sacrifice to the emperors. He had kept his faith secret up this point, serving honorably and quietly. But someone outed him as a Christian, someone jealous perhaps. And so, things having come to a head, his superiors asked him if he was indeed a Christian. Yes, he was he said. Now the choice had become suddenly clear: for Marinus, it was either Roman glory or death. As the story goes, Marinus was sent away and given three hours to “think it over.”
It’s at this point the local bishop, Theotecnus, worked his way through the crowd and grabbed Marinus by the hand. In a rush the bishop ushered Marinus into the church, right up to the altar. There, the bishop laid the book of the Gospels on the altar, and then he pulled Marinus’ cloak back, exposing the sword at his side. And then the bishop simply asked him “to choose which he preferred.” “Without hesitation,” the text says, “Marinus put out his right hand and took the divine writings.” And so, when his three hours were up, “Marinus presented himself,” it says, “and showed even greater loyalty to the faith; and immediately, just as he was”—the story concludes—“he was led off to execution, and so found fulfillment.”[1]
I’ve told this story before, because the story haunts me; and I think it should haunt you too. And because it happens to all of us, really, one way or the other. We come to a crossroads, or sometimes crossroads come to us. We have to make a decision, make a change, do something different. And it’s the ability to make necessary change which often divides the wise from the foolish. This is true all throughout life. There’s an apocryphal story about Winston Churchill and John Maynard Keynes, the great economist. Keynes had revised some of his advice, so the story goes; and, of course, politicians and pundits pounced—Churchill leading the pack. “If you put two economists in a room,” he said, “you get two opinions, unless one of them is Lord Keynes, in which case you get three.” And supposedly to this, Keynes simply replied, “When the facts change, I change my mind. What do you do, sir?”[2] Sometimes change is necessary. Sometimes it’s the mark of wisdom.
And this is true in matters of faith too. Conversion is part of the tradition. It belongs fundamentally to the experience of faith. And sometimes it’s a painful experience. Recalling the hard choices involved in his own conversion, Augustine wrote in his Confessions, “Oh, how tortuous were those paths!” “As I grew more and more miserable,” he said, “you were drawing nearer.”[3] Whenever a person honestly stands before the truth, that person will always have choices to make—hard choices, painful and sacrificial. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, that great Lutheran theologian killed by the Nazis; he said, “There are only two ways possible of encountering Jesus: man must die or he must put Jesus to death.” Living the faith, at the end of the day, is a yes-or-no question. Either Jesus is Lord, or you are. Either you live according to God’s will or your will. Or, as Bonhoeffer put it, either Jesus lives in you and you put to death all that’s rebellious and ungodly within you; or you put Jesus to death so that you can go on living life in charge and proud of yourself. “Christ goes through the ages,” Bonhoeffer said, “questioned anew, misunderstood anew, and again and again put to death.”[4] Whenever a person stands before Lord, that person will have choices to make. It’s true for each one of us whether we get it or not.
Now all of this is merely a meditation upon the words of Jesus we just heard. “The Kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the gospel,” he said. These are the first words of Jesus’ public ministry. After his baptism and forty days in the desert, Jesus enters Galilee, Mark says, “proclaiming the gospel of God.” And he calls his first disciples: Peter and Andrew and James and John. It says they followed Jesus “immediately” (in the Greek, that is, but sadly not in this translation). They left their jobs. They left their nets. James and John even left their father. “The Kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the gospel.”[5] These men became disciples not just because they followed, but because they made the changes necessary to follow—truly to follow and not just talk about it.
But it seems many of us only get half the message. And I include myself here. “The Kingdom of God is at hand.” That’s wonderful news! That’s easy! “Let’s all sing some Christmas carols!” “Let’s be sure to book the church for the wedding. Won’t it be beautiful?” “You’re going to baptize that baby, right? Here’s the number to the church. You remember where it is?” “The Kingdom of God is at hand.” That’s an easy sell. But what about “Repent, and believe in the gospel”? Not so much. “Go, sell what you have, and give it to the poor.”[6] “When someone strikes you on your right cheek, turn the other one to him as well.”[7] “[W]hoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”[8] That’s not as easy to sell. Not so much. The ability to make necessary change often divides the wise from the foolish. Whenever a person honestly stands before the Lord, that person will always have choices to make. What’s remarkable about the disciples wasn’t so much their willingness to follow Jesus; rather, it was their willingness to change, to act upon the decisions they made. Before they could “follow,” they first had to “leave”—their work and even their families. Now we might better understand why Bonhoeffer said that Jesus is always “questioned anew, misunderstood anew, and again and again put to death.” It’s because we often only get half the message.
So the question for each one of us is obvious. Do you get the whole message or only half? Ask yourself, “How has Jesus changed me?” I’m not talking about your theology, your spirituality, your outlook on life. I’m not talking about how God’s given you a new spring in your step. How has Jesus changed you? How has Jesus changed the way you live, the way you act, the way you organize your life? If you call yourself a Christian, that’s wonderful. But do you act like one? These are really indelicate, concrete ethical questions—annoying questions. But that’s good. Entertaining annoying questions is a sign you’re taking your faith seriously, when you get annoyed by the gospel. Jesus annoyed his disciples back then, so there’s no reason he shouldn’t annoy us today. How has Jesus changed you?
And again, I must press the point. I’m not talking about mere attitude or outlook. I’m talking about the actual facets and forces of our lives. The disciples left their jobs to follow Jesus. So too did the soldier Saint Marinus. Augustine left the love of his life. Instead of join the many pastors safely saluting Hitler, Bonhoeffer was arrested and executed in the prime of his life. I’m talking about real life, not just attitudes or opinions. Does your job get in the way of you following Jesus? I’m not talking about time away from prayer or church. If you work, you’re busy. I mean is your job immoral? Is it an enemy of the kingdom? Ask yourself that question, and be real honest about it. If it is, pray for the courage to leave it, or find printed in black and white there on your W-2, the price of your soul. Now that’s hard to hear. That’s really hard; I respect that. I have a wife and kids. That’s very hard to hear.
But that’s just one instance of scrutiny, one area in which Jesus comes to us saying, “The Kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the gospel.” And there are more, many more. The gospel is so demanding. That’s why most of the time I hear only half the message. And I’m a priest!
Yet, I preach the way I preach because I’m scared not to. I’ve never understood how anyone could preach without feeling—literally feeling—the fear of God. I don’t know how preachers do that. I don’t know how they can speak without feeling that awesome fear. Yet, most of the time I hear only half the message—even me. But I pray to hear more. And I hope you pray to hear more too.
[1] Eusebius, The History of the Church 7.15; The Martyrdom of Saint Marinus
[2] Nicholas Wapshott, Keynes Hayek, 83
[3] Augustine, Confessions 6.16.26
[4] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Christ the Center, 35
[5] Mark 1:14-20
[6] Mark 10:21
[7] Matthew 5:39
[8] Matthew 10:39
© 2021 Rev. Joshua J. Whitfield
