Overview:

The Day of Prayer for the Legal Protection of the Unborn

A Reflection for the Day of Prayer for the Legal Protection of the Unborn

“He had cured many and, as a result, those who had diseases
were pressing upon him to touch him.
And whenever unclean spirits saw him they would fall down before him
and shout, “You are the Son of God.”
He warned them sternly not to make him known.” (Mk 3:10-12)

Find today’s readings here.

In today’s Gospel reading from Mark, Jesus can’t get people to leave him alone.

As he attempts to head to the sea with his disciples, crowds follow behind. Jesus seems in some ways to be struggling under the pressure; since he has been healing the sick in his travels, members of this crowd are hoping he can do the same for them. They are getting in his personal space and reaching out to touch in a way that almost seems to scare him; he even asks his disciples to prepare a boat he can get away on “so that [the crowd] would not crush him.”

When the crowds tell Jesus, “You are the Son of God,” he doesn’t demurely accept it as a compliment. Mark tells us that he “warned them sternly not to make him known.” Why?

Well, one clue comes in the passage from Mark that comes just before today’s selection. Jesus heals a man with a “withered” hand on the sabbath and in doing so attracts unwanted attention from the Pharisees, who “immediately took counsel with the Herodians against him to put him to death” (Mk 3:6). Jesus’ power and his public ministry don’t just bring him adoring (and desperate) crowds; they also put him in danger and make him a target.

But since none of us is Jesus, and we don’t necessarily find ourselves at the center of the religious tensions of our day in a way that puts us at risk of death, what does this reading offer us? 

As Jesus steps more and more into his public ministry, he is pulled between different (and sometimes conflicting) spiritual needs: community, witness and solitude. He wants to help and heal, but the further the label “Son of God” travels, the more overwhelmed he becomes. 

I speak often with my colleagues at America about the challenges of being a “public Catholic.” Our jobs mean that we often (whether we’re prepared to or not, whether we feel qualified to or not) represent the church and our faith—in professional capacities but also to our families, friends and acquaintances. 

That personal element is the part of the job I was the least ready for and also the part that has caused me to learn the most. I’m not Jesus, and no one is mistaking me for him, even though I publicly represent the church in my own small way. But when I pray with today’s Gospel I recognize in Jesus the pressure that comes with public witness—and the trepidation, uncertainty and even anguish that can follow.

As the Gospel continues on from this point, Jesus will continue to grow into his public ministry. He’ll select the twelve disciples and send them out to preach and share his message. He’ll teach in parables. He’ll heal and perform miracles; he’ll die and he’ll rise. But for now it’s worth staying with him in this time of transition a moment longer. It’s worth relating, on a human level, to the pressure he’s experiencing and the lines he’s trying to draw before the movement surrounding him swells to become bigger than any one human being. 

It’s worth remembering that Jesus, too, knew the weight of the Christian life lived in public.

Molly Cahill is an associate editor at America. She was a 2020-2021 O'Hare Fellow.