From the New Testament, we know several things
about John Mark.
We know from Peter's epistle that he considered
him his spiritual son.
We know that he had a mother who
had a large house in Jerusalem, which is
where the prayer meeting took place in Acts
12 while Peter was in prison.
We know that he was the cousin of
Barnabas, whose other name was Joseph, from Cyprus.
What we don't know is what I will
read this poem about, namely, how he came
to be so intimately connected with Peter.
The Joseph in this story is Barnabas, just
by way of illusion.
So John Mark, part one.
Not far beyond Gethsemane, in bending toward the
barren sea beyond the Kidron Valley, lay the
hills of hope.
The name, they say, that Peter gave to
Joseph's field when he had sold it and
then kneeled before the Lord's apostles at Jerusalem
and gave all that he got to help
the poor.
It was a better name than field because
there were so many bluffs and caves and
sacred mounds from ancient graves.
And Peter knew this district of Judea well.
It stood above a hundred other places in
his heart because the weight of sin was
lifted in a cavern where he tasted grief
and grace.
For there, amid those hills and bluffs, one
cave was transformed from a gloomy grave into
a birthing place of hope, from fearful darkness
where you grope along the unseen walls into
a world of happy light.
And through one night of darkness passed not
one, but two despairing men undone by craven
cowardice.
And so he made the field of Joseph
grow with lilies, as it were, and turned
a field where bones were burned into the
hills of hope.
He came to pass this double deed the
same night that the Lord of glory set
His face against the mob that met Him
in Gethsemane and saw His fair wind followers
withdraw and leave Him utterly alone, as if
He were a common stone rejected for the
jewel of security.
As though His love were not more precious
than our breath or worth a thousand woes
of death.
That night, one common sound and one uncommon
sight was seared upon the depths of Simon's
mind.
The sound?
A crowing cock.
It would have drowned the rolling thunder had
there been a storm besides the one that
in.
And in that moment, Jesus turned and looked
at Peter.
How they burned these eyes of Christ.
But not with rage, nor blame, nor pleading
to engage some pity for himself.
This sight would make no sense until the
light of dawn had transformed Joseph's land into
the hills of hope, as planned.
When Peter saw those eyes, he fled across
the Kidron Brook and sped in fear and
grief to Joseph's field in hopes that night
and flight would shield him from the Jewish
court and from the eyes of Christ.
When he had come, he groped until he
found a cave and there he hoped that
he would save his life.
And in the dark, he cried and poured
out everything inside to God.
Oh God of Abraham, what have I done?
Three years of sham of faith.
Three years of patient grace now thrown back
in my Savior's face.
Three years of hope that this untamed and
cursed mouth might be inflamed with truth in
one dark night undone.
Three years of saying, I am one who
will not fail you, come what may, in
one weak moment thrown away.
Then all the promises about my name, the
rock, cut out and dashed in pieces by
one thing, the damning of my precious King
and friend.
Oh God, would I have died before I
Jesus Christ denied.
The sun was rising on the field of
Joseph, but the cave was sealed in darkness
deep within.
And there, as if in answer to some
prayer, a memory awoke among fresh thoughts of
suicide.
His tongue began to move again as though
some solid fact that he should know had
forced itself from somewhere deep below the pain
of grief and heap of heavy self-reproach
into his conscious mind.
Then, softly, through the darkness, Peter spoke.
The earth and sky may pass away, the
worth of stars may fade, but every word
that Jesus spoke and that I heard will
stand and never fall.
And did he not just hours ago forbid
despair and say, You will deny me, Peter,
these three times, but I have prayed for
you that your faith may not fail, and
when you turn, display this mercy for the
ones who flee and weep that they have
forsaken me.
He paused and thought he heard a sound,
but then went on.
Lord, if I found in you forgiveness for
my sin and treachery, I would begin to
speak this grace in hope to all of
those who fell and think their fall too
far for grace to reach.
Again he stopped more suddenly.
And then he swung around.
Who's there?
He cried.
The sound from further deep inside the cave
was clear this time.
Hello?
Who's there?
And are you friend or foe?
A trembling voice replied, A friend, I hope.
That is, if you intend, oh please, to
do what you just said.
If I'm not speaking with the dead, what
is your name?
John Mark, the voice replied.
Well, John, shall I rejoice that you are
here or think some bleak and dreadful thought?
Come here and speak and let me take
your hand and go out in the morning
light and know what happened, lad.
I can't, the youth replied.
Why not?
Come, speak the truth.
I don't have anything to wear, he said.
You what?
My body's bare.
I have no clothes.
Well, what on earth?
Is this some ritual of birth?
You think this cave's a womb?
The lad was silent.
Peter said, Here, clad yourself with this and
held his cloak out toward the voice.
It's not a joke, I'm sorry.
Put this on, my son.
What happened?
I just tried to run.
They grabbed my clothes.
I thought that they would kill me.
Then I broke away and ran to Joseph's
field to find a hiding place.
I knew you dined last night at Mother's
house and when you left, I saw the
spying men and hurried out to tell you
there was danger so you could prepare.
But as I crossed the brooks, the men
among the rabble noticed when I tried to
go around.
They sent a squad to chase me and
prevent the warning that I brought.
I hid until I thought the way was
rid of danger.
Then I came.
The Lord was being led away.
A horde of angry men seemed everywhere.
I followed, but I didn't dare come close.
I thought that you and James and John
would strike with flames of rage and I
would join the fight and we would die
or put to flight the enemies of God.
And then they saw me, maybe eight or
ten.
I outran all but two.
And when they caught my cape, I left
it.
Then they laughed and left me in the
dark.
And here I am, the brave John Mark.
As Peter held the shivering lad, silence filled
the cave.
I'm glad God put us in the same
dark place here, Peter said.
It is a grace to you and me,
for now I see how Jesus' prayer was
meant to be and how my sin and
burning grief and turning back bring you relief.
When you have turned, then raise the dead,
he said.
Then let me fall and led me, weeping,
to an open grave in Joseph's field, the
only cave in all these hills where John
Mark said farewell to life among the dead.
Is that not what I saw last night
in Jesus' eyes?
No sacred rage, no blame, no pleading to
engage some pity for himself.
Instead, a sovereign sorrow as he bled to
make my sin your soul's repair and buy
the answer to his prayer.
Now come and look at candle three, a
flame that burns for you and me.
This is the fire in Jesus' eyes, the
sovereign sorrow as he dies and takes the
lonely field of graves, the mounds of grief
and desperate caves, the midnight foothills where we
grope and turns them into fields of hope.