Where do the real changes happen in the world?—the things that move peoples to the depth of their souls?—the things that petrify them or drive them forward?—that will incite this or that revolution or prevent it?—that destroy dreams or bestow new hope? Does any of that show up in the news? Can it be adequately shown?
A British computer scientist supposedly fed three hundred million so-called facts into a machine he programmed, nicely named “True Knowledge.” He wanted to find out which was the most boring day of the twentieth century. The computer found it: it was April 11, 1954. On that day, supposedly, nothing important happened: no famous person was born; no celebrity died; nothing exploded; no war broke out; no house collapsed.2
The way the media think is clearly revealed in this absurd computer game: an event has to be something that shrieks, stinks, or explodes. Incidentally, April 11, 1954, was a Palm Sunday. In case it might have been that on that day even a few thousand believers took the beginning of Holy Week and the entry of Jesus into his city so much into their hearts that their lives were somehow changed, then on that day a great deal happened, and it was very important indeed.
The So-Called Fact
So the question we have already hinted at finally comes to the fore: what is a historical fact, after all? We are all too ready to speak of facts, realities, true reality, actual events, undeniable facts. For a while now, politicians have been wont to say, “The fact is that.…”
But what is a “fact”? How does something become a “fact”? Anyone who says “such-and-such is a fact” has already selected it from the endless stream of events, isolated it from the chaos of confused and interwoven sequences, sharply outlined it, and so already given it a conceptual label and interpretation. In other words: even the so-called pure fact, even the “naked reality” always arises out of an interpretive probe into reality.
Every “fact” has to be shaped into language and communicated (with paintings or films representing peripheral language phenomena). But to the extent that a “fact” becomes language it has already entered into a very particular horizon of understanding, into the broad field of preunderstanding. Interpretation has already begun one stage earlier. It starts with the reception of external sense impressions in our brain. Already, to a scarcely imaginable degree, there has been a process of selection, division, sorting, organizing, cataloging—and all this with the aid of models of experience that our brain has been constantly accumulating since we were embryos.
One Day in Capernaum
But so that I do not lose myself in a discussion of the theory of knowledge let me illustrate what I have said through the gospels—more precisely, through Mark 1:21-39. In this pericope, very close to the beginning of Mark’s gospel, we read the following:
They went to Capernaum, and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.
Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, and he cried out, “What have we to do with you, Jesus of Nazareth? You have come to destroy us. I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee.
As soon as they left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.
That evening, at sunset, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.
In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. And Simon and his companions hunted for him. When they found him, they said to him, “Everyone is searching for you.” He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring villages, so that I may proclaim the message there also, for that is what I came out to do.” And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons. (Mark 1:21-39)
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We see immediately that this is a careful composition: everything takes place in Capernaum, and only in the last sentence does the event extend beyond that town.
It is not only the unity of place that is maintained throughout but the unity of time as welclass="underline" the action begins on a Sabbath morning with the worship service in the synagogue. Jesus—still in the synagogue—heals a possessed person and then, with several disciples, goes to Peter’s house, where he heals Peter’s mother-in-law. On the Sabbath evening, as soon as it is permissible to carry sick people, a great crowd assembles outside the door of the house. Jesus heals many of them and then remains in Peter’s house for the night. Early in the morning he leaves the house and prays in a retired place. The composition thus extends from the morning of the Sabbath to the morning of the following day. The individual events are carefully connected, especially by the “immediately” (“just then,” “as soon as”) that is so typical of Mark.
There is also an internal unity in what happens during this one day: Jesus’ mighty deeds fill the whole of it. First he frees from possession, then from a feverish illness. First a man is healed, then a woman. In the evening the whole thing is expanded: now many are healed, some from possession and some from other illnesses.
Another motif that dominates the whole composition is Jesus’ authoritative “teaching.” The participants in the worship service are astounded at his way of interpreting Scripture. This authoritative attitude of Jesus is then linked directly to his power over demons. The people of Capernaum say, after the possessed man is healed: “What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” At the end, then, in the final verse of the composition, the combination of powerful teaching and mastery over demons appears again, now summarized as “proclaiming.”
But we should not look only at the structural lines of the composition. We must also appreciate the overall mood: Mark depicts a fully rounded day replete with holiness. It is certainly a day near the beginning of Jesus’ activity. It is an example of many other days. It can be no accident that it is a Sabbath, for that means it is a day on which creation, according to the biblical idea, arrives at its perfection.
Of course, we cannot exclude the possibility that within the time of Jesus’ public activity this one day, with all the events depicted, actually happened. That is certainly possible. But it is more probable that Mark here artistically distributed several pieces of tradition over a single day. He arranged disparate memories in such a way as to produce a full day’s happenings—including the night that followed. He describes a day when people and relationships are healed, find rest, and are restored to balance. In this way he placed pieces of tradition that were already available to him and that had been already interpreted in the telling within a still broader context of interpretation.
The Role of Liturgy
But the process of interpretation goes still further. The gospels, after all, are not displaced texts floating somewhere in the air. They are the church’s texts and their true “life situation” is the liturgy. There, they are celebrated as the word of God. There they are proclaimed as Gospel and authentically interpreted. In the Catholic Lectionary the Old Testament reading from Job 7:1-4, 6-7 is assigned to be read with the gospel on the Sunday when most of Mark 1:21-34 is proclaimed.4 There, Job speaks of the misery of human life. He says that life is like hard servitude, full of disappointment and toil. People spend it like day laborers who have to work all day in the heat and long for the shadows of evening. But there is no rest even at night. Job spends his nights as a sick man who tosses back and forth on his bed and wishes for morning because the night is endless. His nights and days are empty and without hope. Because his life is empty it has no weight. It swiftly disappears, and the thread of existence is cut off.