Epiphany 3C
January 26, 2025
Luke 4:14-12
INTRODUCTION
Today, during this epiphany season of revelation, we will hear about God’s revelation through the Word, especially in our first reading, from Nehemiah, and our Gospel reading. Let me contextualize each of those for you.
The book of Nehemiah is actually part of a pair, Ezra-Nehemiah. Ezra was a priest, and Nehemiah a governor, and together they helped to rebuild Israel (which had been destroyed) after they returned from 70 years in exile – Nehemiah physically, in the form of rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem and the Temple, and Ezra spiritually. Ezra, you see, has been working with other priests to put together what would become the Torah, the law, what we know as the first five books of the Bible. During the exile, when Israel was dispersed and was away from the center of their faith, many had begun writing down what had previously been purely oral tradition. Now Ezra and others were working on compiling that work, and in today’s reading we will witness the very first time the people are hearing Torah read to them, the first time they are encountering Holy Scripture. And, as we’ll see, they are deeply moved by it.
A few centuries later, we find Jesus in the Temple, and this is also an important first: according to Luke, this sermon Jesus gives in his hometown is his first public appearance. He reads the words of Isaiah and says they are fulfilled in this hearing. And like in Nehemiah, the people are amazed.
Hearing scripture read and interpreted is still an essential part of our worship life – it’s happening right now! – and still a moment in which we believe God to be revealed to us. So as you listen, watch for God! Notice how the Spirit is moving in you today. What word or phrase hits you in a particular way? What comforts you, or what feels uncomfortable, either in the scripture or in the sermon that follows, and why do you feel that way? All of that is the work of the Spirit, and a way God is speaking and being revealed this day. So… let’s listen!
[READ]
Let us pray. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you O God, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.
The story that has dominated the news, at least in my circles, this week is that of Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde’s sermon at the Inaugural Service of Prayer for the Nation at the Washington National Cathedral. Bishop Budde preached about unity, and what it takes to achieve it: honoring the inherent dignity of all, honesty, humility, and seeking the sort of love for one another that is based in the pursuit of justice. I watched the full 13-minute sermon, and I encourage you to do the same. I found her words to be gentle yet convicting, faithful, courageous, and biblical.
But it was the last two minutes of the sermon that got most of the media attention, because these words she addressed directly to the newly inaugurated President of the United States, in the prophetic tradition of speaking truth to power. First acknowledging that millions of people have put their trust in him, speaking to his authority and position, she then pleaded, “In the name of God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now.” She went on to mention those with gay, lesbian or transgender family members, who fear for their lives. She mentioned undocumented immigrants who hold crucial jobs in our country, and their children who are afraid their parents will be taken away. “Have mercy,” she pleaded, and added, “Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were once strangers in this land.”
It was powerful and bold; as a preacher, my jaw was on the floor, just imagining saying these words to the president in such a public way. Predictably, the public response was mixed, even among Christians. Many praised her courage, and her faithfulness to the gospel of Jesus Christ, saying, “This is what speaking the truth in love looks like.” Other Christians criticized her, interpreting her preaching as a direct attack on the president, using such words as “disgusting,” “disrespectful,” and “pathetic.” The president himself demanded an apology. She gently responded, “I’m not going to apologize for asking for mercy for others.”
As someone who was very moved by her words and their rootedness in the gospel, I tried to get curious about the opposite reaction, that of those who found her preaching worthy of such condemnation. What was so offensive, I wondered, about a bishop proclaiming a need for unity, for viewing others with dignity and being humble and honest, and loving one another? Why did people who proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord find it problematic to plead for mercy for those who are afraid? Aren’t mercy, humility, compassion, and love of neighbor at the very heart of the gospel, and Jesus’ teachings?
I found some insight, as I often do, in our assigned Gospel reading today. Jesus, visiting his hometown of Nazareth, reads a text from Isaiah that is all about care for the most vulnerable. Good news for the poor, sight for the blind, release for the captives, freedom for those who are oppressed, and that last bit about the year of the Lord’s favor refers to a massive economic reordering resulting in a fair distribution of wealth. This good news has been promised for centuries – but here, Jesus says, “This has been fulfilled in your hearing.” In other words, “It’s happening folks, right now. This good news for the poor is coming about right now.”
Now at first, people are digging this news. The residents of Nazareth, Luke tells us, “spoke well of [Jesus] and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth.” Good news is wonderful when it is for you!
But, their amazement doesn’t last. Because then Jesus goes on. “I’m sure now that you’ve heard this,” he says, “you’re going to ask me to bring healing upon you here in Nazareth – like that proverb says: ‘Doctor, heal thyself.’ Take care of your own. You’ve probably heard about what I’ve done in Capernaum, and now you’re hoping I’ll do the same here.” They look at him expectantly – well, yeah, Jesus! Of course! But then Jesus shocks them again: “Well, I have to tell you something: no prophet is ever welcomed in his hometown.” Wait, what? Of course he was welcome! Welcome to bring all the healing and grace he has already brought elsewhere! Jesus goes on. “Remember back in the time of the prophet Elijah,” he says, “during that long three and a half years of drought when famine devastated the land? The only widow to whom God sent help was – who? The widow of Zaraphath in Sidon – a foreigner! And you remember when there were many lepers in Israel during the time of the prophet Elisha? And the only one who was cleansed was, yes, another foreigner – Naaman from Syria. You see, in both cases, God reached out not to those who see yourselves as the chosen, as God’s priority, but rather, to those on the fringes, the outsiders, the people that you all would likely have nothing to do with! Because that is who God is about – God is about serving those people.”
And that is the part that really upsets people. The Jesus portrayed in Luke’s Gospel does not mince words when it comes to serving the poor, the outsider, and disenfranchised. We saw it right at the start, when mother Mary sang about bringing down the mighty and lifting up the lowly, filling the hungry and sending the rich away empty. And now Jesus says the same: God is about serving those who are suffering on the margins. The foreigners. Those who are hungry. The outsiders. Those who fear for their lives. Those who are oppressed.
It sounds like good news, right? Unless, of course, it doesn’t fit with what we think ought to happen. Then it sounds, well, a bit threatening – to our perspective on life, to our wellbeing, even to who we are. And that is what happens in this Gospel story. These hometown Nazareth folks think they ought to get special priority, but Jesus points instead to God’s care for those who are oppressed. And Luke tells us that the people, upon hearing this, are filled with rage – such rage, that they drive him out of town! Such rage that they lead him to the edge of a cliff, intending to throw him off, to kill this man who just a moment ago amazed them with the gracious words he spoke. So much rage, they want to kill him.
I read that Bishop Budde also received death threats after preaching her sermon about love, unity, compassion, and mercy. One person publicly said she, an American-born citizen, should be deported for her words. That, too, is rage at work. It is what people are capable of when we feel threatened or afraid or called out, or even if we are just told that the way we have seen things is not right. I have never issued a death threat myself, but boy oh boy, when I am criticized in a way I believe is unfair, in a way that challenges my previously held belief about myself or the world, I can feel my heart start to race, my skin prickle, my fists start to clench, and I am ready to go on the attack – to throw an insult right back at the person who dared to question my motives or actions. It’s a very human response.
But it is not the response Jesus models. Did you notice how he responds to their rage? He simply walks through the midst of the angry mob and goes along on his way. He is confident in his message, rooted in ancient Holy Scripture – his message of redemption, love and compassion. He doesn’t engage the rage. Bishop Budde’s response to attacks has been similar – she has remained on the side of mercy, saying she does not hate the president, and has been and continues to pray for him, but she will not compromise on her plea for mercy.
What is our response? How do we respond faithfully when we feel threatened, fearful, enraged?
It's a hard question, and one to sit with and get curious about. And maybe that is really the key – to respond with curiosity rather than accusations, to listen rather than yell. After reading Isaiah, about the ways those who are suffering would get what they need, Jesus told the crowd that these promises were being fulfilled in their hearing – and I believe that is still happening. It is happening in us, as we hear those words today. We too, are drawn into this promise of redemption as we do the work of the Church – during worship, after worship as we decide where to give away our $100,000, during our annual meeting, and throughout the week as we interact with people in need, and hear people’s stories and their joys and their fears. We are all a part of the redeeming work Jesus lays out today. We do that work imperfectly and at times falteringly, as we try to build and live into the kingdom of God on earth. And yes, sometimes we might find ourselves enraged – at injustice, or at others’ response to that injustice, or at disrespect or disregard, or at people’s willingness to say aloud things we thought should have remained silent, or people’s unwillingness to say what needs saying! That rage is a part of being human. But what we do with that rage is a part of being a Christian. And what we do with it, is to respond with humility, dignity, compassion, and above all, love.
By ourselves, we cannot do this. But thanks be to God that we are not left to do this by ourselves. We do it as a part of the whole body of Christ, the Church on earth, and we do it with Christ alongside us all along the way. Together, we show the world what Christ’s Church is about: a love that transcends division and disagreement, that heals and redeems, that brings good news to those who suffer, and that shows our hurting world a way toward new life.
Let us pray… Redeeming God, so much in this world fills us with rage. Help us, when we feel threatened, to respond with curiosity and humility, with dignity and compassion, and most of all with the love shown to us by your Son Jesus Christ, our Lord, in whose name we pray. Amen.
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