When we are completely puzzled

“Number 6: I will not make any deals with you. I've resigned. I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed or numbered. My life is my own.”

That sentence, as spoken by Number Six was as puzzling then as it is to you reading this blog.  Mind you, you have to be of a certain age to discover its context.

We’re talking about The Prisoner, a television series broadcast in 1967, featuring the hero of Danger Man, Patrick McGoohan.  It was always meant to be strange – an early version of Twin Peaks, decades before its time.

The series follows an unnamed British intelligence agent abducted to a mysterious coastal settlement, surrounded by mountains and sea, known only as “the Village.” Here, individuals—whether inmates or guards—are stripped of names and assigned numbers. No one knows who is what. Each week, Number Six tries to escape, and each week he fails.

Here I am with Number Six—my hero—on a visit the other day to Penrhyndeudraeth. As you can see, 55 years later, he’s still there, in the surreal Italianate village of Portmeirion, just east of Porthmadog.

A strange setting for a strange series. I remember well the confusion it caused among viewers. Characters changed numbers and identities—deliberately disorienting. Very postmodern. Granada pulled the plug after just 17 episodes. People don’t like being puzzled.

As psychotherapist Nathaniel Branden put it: “The worst state of mind is not doubt, but confusion.”

Which brings me to Jesus of Nazareth. He, too, left people baffled.

As Matthew records, “the crowds were amazed at his teaching, because he taught as one who had authority, and not as their teachers of the law.” (Matthew 7:28). Where did He get this authority?

His hometown crowd was especially perplexed. The Message translation captures it vividly:  “We had no idea he was this good!” they said. “How did he get so wise, get such ability?”

And then in the next breath: “We’ve known him since he was a kid; he’s the carpenter’s son. We know his mother, Mary… Who does he think he is?” (Matthew 13:55f)

The crowds loved listening to Jesus, but they didn’t understand him. Even His disciples were often left scratching their heads. “Explain to us the parable of the weeds in the field,” they ask in Matthew 13:36. And even when Jesus showed them a child to illustrate greatness, they couldn’t quite grasp it.

His own family struggled, too. Mark tells us: “When his family heard about this, they went to take charge of him, for they said, ‘He is out of his mind.’” (Mark 3:21) J

Jesus refused to be categorised, to fit into people’s expectations – even when on trial.  Pilate, confronted with this silent prisoner, is bewildered: “‘Aren’t you going to answer? See how many things they are accusing you of.’ But Jesus still made no reply, and Pilate was amazed.” (Mark 15:4).

However, the most puzzling aspect of Jesus, of his teaching, was him acting with divine authority, as if he were God.  And it was this which angered the religious teachers.  So when Jesus speaks to the paralysed man who had literally dropped in to be healed:  ‘Take heart, son; your sins are forgiven,” the scribes are totally shocked:  ‘This man is blaspheming.’

But when the paralyzed man stands up, they are totally nonplussed. The only explanation they can come up with is that Jesus is in league with the devil, with Satan. 

We see his divine authority especially in John’ Gospel where Jesus presumes to use the divine name in his I am sayings.  So he speaks to the heart-broken Martha: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.’ (John 11:25f)

So having spoken his astonishing words to Martha, he calls her dead brother out of the tomb. Clearly Jesus could be categorised as a religious weirdo, a would-be Messiah – except these remarkable works of power, his miracles, would say otherwise. 

This is a real problem for the temple authorities and the raising of Lazarus is the last straw – they are caught between Jesus’ words and his actions.  And given the stark choice, Messiah or madman, they choose the latter.  After all, their own positions, the uneasy settlement with the Roman occupying power is at stake.

So they mock the dying Jesus on the cross:  “Let this Messiah, this king of Israel, come down now from the cross, that we may see and believe.” (Mark 15:32).  And as they see his life ebbing away, they know they have made the right choice. They were right all along, puzzled no more.