Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 3023
“And they all forsook Him, and fled. And there followed Him a certain young man, having a linen cloth cast about his naked body; and the young men laid hold on him: and he left the linen cloth, and fled from them naked.” Mark 14:50-52.
THIS little episode in the narrative of the Evangelist is very singular. One wonders why it is introduced, but a moment’s reflection will, I think, suggest a plausible reason. It strikes me that this “certain young man” was none other than Mark, himself. He was probably asleep and, awakened by a great clamor, he asked what it was about. The information was speedily given, “The guards have come to arrest Jesus of Nazareth.” Moved by sudden impulse, not thinking of what he was doing, he rises from his bed, rushes down, pursues the troopers, dashes into the midst of their ranks as though he, alone, would attempt the rescue when all the disciples had fled. The moment the young men lay hold upon him, his heroic spasm is over—his enthusiasm evaporates, he runs away, leaves behind the linen cloth that was loosely wrapped about his body—and makes his escape. There have been many, since then, who have acted as Mark did. And it seems to me that this digression from the main narrative is intended to point a moral.
First, however, you will ask me, “Why do you suppose that this certain young man was Mark?” I grant you that it is merely a supposition, yet it is supported by the strongest chain of probabilities and will sufficiently account for the manner in which he has inserted it. Calvin, following Ambrose and Chrysostom, thinks it was John, albeit few modern critics attach much weight to that conjecture. I find that the more perplexing critics of the modern school ascribe this transaction to Mark for these reasons—it was usual, among the Evangelists, to relate transactions in which they themselves took part without mentioning their names. This commonly occurs in the case of John, for instance. He bashfully keeps back his name when there is anything to his credit and he does the same when it is to the reverse. I could quote one or two instances of this practice in the Gospel of Luke and it is not at all remarkable that such a thing should have occurred in the case of Mark. Whoever it was, the only person likely to know it, was the man himself! I cannot think that anyone else would have been likely to tell it to Mark and, therefore, I conceive it to have been he—for he might scarcely have thought it worthy of recording if it had been told him by someone else! And it is not likely that anyone to whom it had occurred would have felt it was much to his credit—and been likely to relate it to Mark with a view to its being recorded!
Again, we know that such a transaction as this was quite in keeping with Mark’s general character. We gather his character partly from the Book which he has written—the Gospel of Mark is the most impulsive of all the Gospels. You are aware and I have frequently mentioned it to you, that the word eutheos, translated, “straightway,” “forthwith,” “immediately,” is used a very great number of times by this evangelist in his Book. He is a man who does everything straightway—he is full of impulse, dash, fire, flash—the thing must be done and done at once. His Gospel is of that description. You do not find many of Christ’s sermons in Mark. He gives you just a sketch, an outline. He had not perseverance enough to take the whole down and he scarcely finishes the narration of the death of Christ. His Book seems to break off abruptly, yet he is the most picturesque of all the Evangelists. There are pieces of imagination and there are Hogarthian touches in the sacred Biography he writes, that are not to be found in Matthew, or Luke, or John. The man is a man of fire! He is all enthusiasm. Poetry has filled his soul and, therefore, he dashes at the thing. He lacks perseverance and will hardly finish what he takes in hand, yet there is a genius about him not altogether uncommon to Christian men in this age—and there are faults in him exceedingly common at the present time.
Once more, the known life of John Mark tends to make it very probable that he would do such a thing as is referred to in our text. When Paul and Barnabas set out on their missionary enterprise, they were attended by Mark. As long as they were sailing across the blue waters and as long as they were on the island of Cyprus, Mark stuck to them. No, while they traveled along the coast of Asia Minor, we find they had John Mark to be their minister—but the moment they went up into the inland countries, among the robbers and the mountain streams—as soon as ever the road began to be a little too rough, John Mark left them! His missionary zeal had oozed out. At a later period, Mark was the cause of a sharp contention between Paul and Barnabas. Paul would not have Mark with him any longer. He could not tame him— he did not believe in these impulsive people who could not hold on under difficulties. But Barnabas, knowing him better—for Mark was his sister’s son—and feeling a kinsman’s lenity to his faults, insisted upon it that they should take John Mark. The altercation grew so violent between Paul and Barnabas that they separated on this account and would not proceed together on their Divine mission! Yet Barnabas was right, but I think that Paul was not wrong. Barnabas was right in his mild judgment of Mark, for he was a sound Believer at bottom and, notwithstanding this fault, he was a real, true-hearted disciple. We find him afterwards reconciled entirely to the Apostle Paul. Paul wrote to Timothy, “Take Mark, and bring him with you, for he is profitable to me for the ministry.” And we find Paul affectionately mentioning, “Marcus, sister’s son to Barnabas,” which shows, on the one hand, the Apostle’s Christian candor and kindness and, on the other hand, that Mark had retrieved his character by perseverance.