So what’s up with the “fringe” of Jesus’ cloak? Now of days, when we speak of “fringe,” we’re often referring to something on the margins or way on the outside of the customary. You know, like “lunatic fringe.” A “fringe group” refers to members of an organization who have views that are much wackier than those of the rank-and-file members. “Fringe Art” festivals, which several major cities often sponsor, feature uncensored, independent, non-commercial, and—frankly—sometimes just plain weird expressions of peoples’ creativity.
But the fringe in our Gospel lesson for Pentecost 8, Year B (Mark 6:30-34, 53-56) was definitely something that sat squarely in the mainstream. Unlike John the Baptist, Jesus doesn’t seem to go in for eccentric dress. His cloak displays the four fringed tassels which Jewish men were expected to wear as an outward sign of who they were—people committed to God’s laws and righteousness.
As you know, Jewish men were circumcised as a physical sign that they were set apart as God’s chosen people; however, you really wouldn’t want to go around showing off this particular feature. (That would be in rather poor taste!) So, during the time of the Exodus, the Hebrew folks were instructed to wear four fringed tassels on their outer garments with a royal blue thread on each as a reminder of the 10 Commandments.[i] Wearing the fringe would be like Christians wearing a cross. It would say to everyone, “Look! This is my faith, and I’m pretty darn proud of it.” Even today, Hasidic Jewish men continue to wear the fringe. (Should you run into a bearded gentleman wearing a hat and he has four long fringes hanging out from under his jacket, don’t offer him a ham sandwich!)
Two things strike me about this story. First, Jesus doesn’t really seem to be too much “on the fringe” in that he’s obedient to certain Jewish customs. His fringes say that he abides by God’s law and is a seeker after righteousness. The other thing is the desperation of those who so need Jesus’ healing compassion. They know that even grasping the outermost and lowest part of his attire will bring them the relief they need.
Both the First Lesson and the Gospel for this Sunday have an ovine motif. That is, we get more of that sheep and shepherd stuff. In the Hebrew Scripture lesson (Jeremiah 23:1-6) we hear the prophet lamenting—as only Jeremiah can—that the “shepherds” (i.e. the folks who were supposed to be in charge of the nation and supposed to make sure everyone was treated fairly) had really screwed up. He prophesies that God will—someday—raise up a new shepherd who’ll reign justly and will keep the people safe. In the Gospel, Jesus, after planning a little retreat for his hard-working disciples, finds himself swamped by needy folks whom he sees as “sheep without a shepherd.” (v. 34)
Whenever I read a Bible story, I try to imagine which character in the story represents me. It’s not too hard to figure out that we’re the sheep in this passage. Sheep need a shepherd because—let’s face it—they’re too dumb to get along on their own. Sheep without a shepherd would probably just wander around the pasture waiting to be eaten by something. A good shepherd would keep the animals safe and make sure they got what they needed. Even the most intellectually challenged sheep would know he needed his shepherd.
In his book The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis identifies our need for God and for each other as a manifestation of love. He admits, of course, that needy people can be annoying and sometimes tyrannically selfish; nevertheless, the reality of our need demonstrates that we are creatures who are insufficient in ourselves and who are intended to be in some kind of relationship with God and with others. Lewis calls this “Need-love,” and describes it as the same trusting love a frightened child would have for his or her mother’s arms.[ii]
I’d say we all probably feel a bit like sheep without a shepherd at times. Our earthly “shepherds,” like the do-nothing kings in the days of Jeremiah, are only human and let us down with alarming regularity. It’s pretty hard to know who to trust. On top of this, we’re living in a crazy world which is getting crazier by the day—pandemic, climate change, gun violence, opioid addiction, assaults on democracy— it looks like everything is heading straight into the dumper.
This is the time when we clutch at the fringe of Jesus’ garments. When everything in the world or in our personal lives seems to be going sideways, we look at this man wearing the fringe of God’s righteousness and we say, “I need you.” We are forced to renounce the mainstream’s love of independence, assurance, and rugged self-determination and accept that we are broken, confused, doubting, and helpless. It’s not glamorous, but it’s who we are.
We are, perhaps, closest and dearest to God when we are on the fringe.
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