Category: Uncategorized

¹After this the Lord appointed seventy-two others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. ² He said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. ³ Go on your way; I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. ⁴ Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals, and greet no one on the road. ⁵ Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’ ⁶ And if a person of peace is there, your peace will rest on that person, but if not, it will return to you. ⁷ Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. ⁸ Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; ⁹ cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ ¹⁰ But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, ¹¹ ‘Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.’

¹⁶ “Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.”

¹⁷ The seventy-two returned with joy, saying, “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!” ¹⁸ He said to them, “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. ¹⁹ Indeed, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing will hurt you. ²⁰ Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

Luke 10:1-11,16-20

My sermon from the 4th Sunday after Pentecost (July 6, 2025) on Luke 10:1-11,16-20.

******

Growing up, I had a very specific idea of what it meant to be truly wealthy. Wealth wasn’t only about the size of your house, the car you drove, or where you went on Spring Break. To me, what made a person rich was if they could visit anywhere on earth and leave everything but their credit card behind. All they needed to bring was themselves because their money would take care of the rest. I’ll admit this wasn’t really the most thought-out opinion because I’d assumed we’d have the time, energy, and ability to shop in stores that carried stuff exactly in our size. Yet there was something about living a life where we could leave all our carry-on and checked bags behind. When we define wealth strictly by a number – a value that is, nowadays, primarily digital rather than rooted in any real material things – it’s easy to treat wealth as something other people have. For the majority of us, there will always be someone who has so much more. But when we remember all wealth lets us do, that value becomes very real. Wealth is knowing where our next meal is coming from and not having to figure out what – and what isn’t – covered by SNAP benefits. Wealth is being able to complain about how expensive our electricity bill is while knowing we’ll sleep comfortably tonight with our room at a crisp 65 degrees. Wealth is opening a closet full of clothes and claim we have nothing to wear. And we know we’re really wealthy when we skip our annual appointment with our doctor since we assume we can always go to the emergency room when something comes up. One of the things wealth does is give us a sense of security we assume we’re entitled to. Wealth is what we trust will get us through the tomorrow that’s already on its way. Our experience of what wealth shapes how we live our life and how we treat others. But it’s also why Jesus’ words to his friends feel so strange because instead of helping them feel more secure, he orders them to leave all their wealth – and their safety – behind. 

Now today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke reminds us that Jesus’ ministry was, on occasion, very big. He wasn’t just one person wandering from village to village with 12 friends in tow. Sometimes Jesus showed up with a crowd of faithful followers. After setting his face towards Jerusalem and the Cross, the route he picked wasn’t a straight line. Jesus chose to meet all kinds of people in all kinds of places between Galilee and the Holy City. And he picked 72 of those who followed him to go out as a kind of advance team for the kingdom of God. These disciples would do more than simply announce Jesus’ coming. They would also be like Jesus – curing the sick, casting out a few demons, and eating some meals at tables other than their own. The power they would manifest in these places would be like their own kind firework show, overwhelming everyone with a deep sense of holy awe and wonder. But before we get to the light show, we notice these messengers were given a very strange set of instructions. Jesus sent them out into places they’ve never been with no money, no bags, and not even with an extra pair of shoes. This was, I think, more than simply asking them to leave any of their physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual baggage behind. It was, rather, an invitation to be way more vulnerable than they were before. They were called,in the words of Richard Swanson, Professor (Emeritus) of Religion at Augustana University, to “arrive [in these unnamed places] and find themselves radically in need of hospitality.” This might seem somewhat reasonable for those of us who would love to visit a new place bringing only a credit card. Jesus, though, expected there to be someone in every village ready to take care of them. Someone they didn’t know would feed them. Someone who didn’t think they belonged there would provide them shelter. And while that a person might be wealthy, with a few extra rooms and lots of space around their table. There was also a chance the one who opened their door would be like the widow who sheltered the prophet Elijah with barely enough food for herself. These messengers would go out with no resources; eat whatever was set before them; and deal with all the anxiety, fear, worry, and joy that comes with meeting someone new. The followers of Jesus would go to be welcomed and to welcome those who might not be ready for the Jesus who was already on his way. Jesus doesn’t promise that this work will be easy. He doesn’t hint that the word of peace they bring would actually make peace in the lives of those they met. But he does promise that it isn’t the special effects, the displays of power, or even the miracle of healing that proclaims God is truly near. Rather, it’s in the receiving and giving; in the welcoming and the being welcomed; in the time spent at each other’s tables learning one another’s stories and doing what we can to help strangers thrive – that’s when the presence of God is fully experienced and made completely real. 

When the disciples finally returned to Jesus, the first words out of their mouth were focused on one of the firework-type-of-things. The unclean spirits, those forces that do all they can to drive us apart, couldn’t withstand these messengers from Galilee. I suspect all the stuff that came out of their experience inflated their egos just a bit since they had access to some of the cosmic power Jesus did. Yet his words showed how their otherworldly experiences – even as one as potent as Jesus witnessing Satan fall from heaven – is nothing compared to the gift of grace and belonging God had given to them. It wasn’t all the wealth of all that heavenly stuff which would secure them through whatever life might bring. Instead, what would carry them through was the fact their name was already etched and held within the everlasting heart of their God. Our name in God will always be our greatest treasure; a precious gift we did nothing to earn and one we’re not entitled to. Even if our credit cards are maxed out and a life full of carry ons and checked bags is the best we’ll ever do, our true wealth – and our true identity – is secure in the gift of baptism and the gift of faith we’ve already received from God. And because this is what will always hold us, we’re invited to live this kingdom of God out right now. We get to be a people who heal rather than cast others aside. We can choose to welcome and be welcomed by everyone rather than exclude and bully those we don’t want to get to know at all. We get to be a community that takes the risk of extending our table since we’re made richer through the many people God brings our way. God’s kingdom isn’t defined by the biggest display of power we might see in the sky. It is, instead, proclaimed by the love our God – and we choose – to share. And when we share this love freely, abundantly, and in ways that bring goodness into the lives of all, we reveal the true wealth shaping our lives and our world. 

Amen.

¹Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to [Jesus.]

² And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

³So he told them this parable: ^11b “There was a man who had two sons. ¹² The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the wealth that will belong to me.’ So he divided his assets between them. ¹³A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant region, and there he squandered his wealth in dissolute living. ¹⁴When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that region, and he began to be in need. 

¹⁵So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that region, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. ¹⁶ He would gladly have filled his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, and no one gave him anything. ¹⁷ But when he came to his senses he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! ¹⁸ I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 
¹⁹ I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.” ’ 

²⁰ So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. ²¹Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ ²² But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. ²³ And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate, ²⁴ for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate. ²⁵ “Now his elder son was in the field, and as he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. 

²⁶ He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. ²⁷He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf because he has got him back safe and sound.’ ²⁸Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. ²⁹But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command, yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. ³⁰ But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your assets with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ 

³¹Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. ³² But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’ ”

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

My sermon from the Fourth Sunday in Lent (March 30, 2025) on Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32.

******

Today’s story from the gospel according to Luke is all about lives that were lived – which is weird to hear on a day when, in a few minutes, we’ll be celebrating a life that is basically brand new. Jesus, who regularly used stories to explore deeper truths about faith, grace, hope, and love, shared with us a family whose life together was a bit complicated. We often identify this story by focusing on the so-called prodigal son, whose wasteful and recklessly extravagant behavior eventually brought them home. The end of the story, then, shapes our interpretation of what Jesus’ words were all about. But we can’t get to the end without all the stuff that comes before. The parable of the prodigal son is full of all the juicy stuff we love to analyze and gossip about. But if we’re still at the beginning of our own story – not even realizing our parents still exist when they cover their eyes while playing peekaboo – a story about lives that were lived feels a bit out of place. Yet I wonder if – on this day of beginnings – that the beginning of Jesus’ story reveals the kind of grace that carries us through whatever comes our way. 

Now, to notice that, I think we need to remember why Jesus told this story in the first place. He was, at this point in Luke’s version of Jesus’ life, taking his last journey to Jerusalem in a very roundabout kind of way. Jesus regularly made it a point to preach, teach, and heal at various places along the way. And since he – and his friends – were always traveling, finding their next meal was always a bit of a challenge. Jesus rarely ever said no to someone who invited him to eat at their table. And he regularly set a place at his table for anyone who came his way. This, though, caused issues since not everyone who visited Jesus were the kind of people we’d want kneeling next to us at the communion rail. These so-called sinners weren’t simply people who considered themselves good but who occasionally made a mistake. Those breaking bread with him included those who were seen as destroying the very fabric of what it meant to be a faithful community in the first place. The tax collectors often used violence and intimidation to funnel money to the Roman soldiers who occupied the land. Their work required them to violate the religious and cultural expectations that shaped who they knew themselves to be. And Jesus not only took the time to listen and care for them; he also ate with them in a very empathetic and merciful kind of way. Giving that kind of focus to those considered unworthy is something we all struggle with today. Yet instead of telling a literal story about the tables we choose to sit at, Jesus told a story about a father and a son whose table could only be described as completely dysfunctional. 

Now we don’t actually know what life was like for this family before the younger one left. Jesus doesn’t tell us if they got along or if any other family were around. All we get in the beginning is a conversation that includes no small talk at all. Rather, the young son went to the day and said “I wish you were dead.” I know that sounds a little harsh since it feels like all he did was ask for money. But the words he chose show how he wanted what he felt he was entitled to once his father was no longer there. Maybe, in our own lives, we’ve said – or imagined – or slammed a door while shouting down the hallway something that sounds a bit similar. Yet the weird thing that makes this entire parable something odd is how, at the beginning, the dad said “okay.” When it comes to Jesus’ stories, it’s always the weird, the absurd, the that-doesn’t-sound-right that provides us the opportunity to deepen our faith. This dad, after his younger child asked for the future to start right now even though his culture didn’t always give younger kids all that much – this dad agreed to do exactly that. And while there might be those among us who have offered – or received – a fairly significant financial gift like a college education, a wedding, a downpayment for a house, or cash to start a business to embrace some kind of new beginning – we don’t usually give the next generation our 401ks and social security payments before they’ve kicked in for ourselves. We, like the father, have our own needs, responsibilities, and callings from God to live out. Maybe, if we had the foresight and luck to know we won’t need our wealth to pay for our future health needs to be a bit more generous than we expect to be. Yet the need to hoard, to be afraid, and to keep what we feel we deserve often limits just how imaginative we get to be. The father had a lot of life yet to live but decided to act as if his future was already over. 

Then, what followed was a story full of excessiveness, unfaithfulness, anger, worry, confusion, mercy, and grace. And it was a grace I’m not even sure the father fully understood since, when the younger son came home, the ring, the sandals, the robe, and the fatted calf he gave no longer belonged to him in the first place. When the father accepted a future that no longer included him, the kid who stayed home received everything else. That son’s anger, frustration, and belief the one who didn’t repent shouldn’t then get a spot at the table is about more than them simply being jealous of the love the father showed. Rather, the dad was abundantly over the top with stuff he, in theory, no longer owned. It wasn’t his to give and yet, when an opportunity came to show grace to the graceless, he couldn’t help but live into a future where love abound. The father didn’t create a new beginning for his younger son when he came back after living his life. Instead, he built it at the start and refused to live – or accept – that their future could be anything else instead. Before the younger son left, his seat at the table was already set. And when he finally caught up to that different kind of future, a ring was placed on his finger and new sandals on his feet. That is, I think, one of the ways to imagine what our life with Christ looks like. We are, already, wrapped up in the new beginning he brought us by living a human life, going to the Cross, and living into the new future God has already brought about. We, as the Ones already made – or about to be made – as part of the body of Christ, have a seat at a table where God’s love never ends. This future was given to us not because we’re perfect, holy, or get everything right. Rather, the beginning we have with our God is the beginning of just how human we get to be. What allows us to be ourselves – to live and grow and face whatever comes next – is the grace that keeps the spot at God’s table for us. And since it’s God’s grace that holds the spot open, we get to extend that same kind of grace to those we’d rather push aside. It’s at Jesus’ table where we learn to listen, to care, to change, and be changed by one another and our God. And while Kennedy (who will baptize later) might find different parts of her life feeling like the father, or the older son, or maybe the younger one who just wished that the future she wanted was starting right now, the God who promises to be with her will carry her into a more holy future where Christ’s love is the beginning that never ends. 

Amen.

From Dollarstore Children’s Sermon. 

Bring two cards from the sign board. The letters I and F 

So it’s my tradition after the prayer of the day to talk to all of God’s children. I brought with me two of the letters we use to put messages on the sideboard. It’s the letters F and I. These letters can spell a couple of words. One is the word FI which doesn’t sound like a real word to me but something giants say in stories like Jack and the Beanstalk. The other word, though, is one we’ll hear in our reading about Jesus today. It’s the word – IF. If is only two letters long but I think it’s a big word because it’s a word that is used for questions. What do you think is a question we could ask that needs the word if? Accept answers. A lot of times, these questions are really a kind of contract. For example, “if you clean up your room, I’ll let you play on the iPad” or “if you give me your ice cream, I’ll be your friend.” Sometimes these questions are simply negotiations that feel fine – but other times that make us wonder if we are who God knows we are. They’re questions that make us think maybe we’re not good enough or kind enough or loved enough to be a friend or to be a part of the popular kids or to even be liked by those around us. If you do this for us, we will do this for you – can be very scary when it seems related to our identity in the world. If is scary – and it’s a question Jesus will be asked a lot today. After he was baptized, he’ll feel compelled to go into the wilderness and while there, evil will come and ask him a lot of “if” questions. This evil force – the devil – everything that is against God – will ask Jesus to be something other than he is. And the devil does this by using the word “if.” If you are the son of God, turn these stones into bread you can eat. If you are the son of God, worship me and I’ll make you the most powerful ruler in the world. If you are the son of God, jump off a high building to force God to take care of you. If – if – if – which implies that Jesus is not. It was a test to prove who he is and to doubt his own story. Yet Jesus doesn’t because he knows who he is. 

There are times when we’ll doubt our own story too. We’ll doubt we’re loved or we matter or we’ll let others around us tell us who were supposed to be instead. But I think it’s important to realize that these questions to Jesus came after his baptism – after a moment when he heard God call him beloved. And that’s because, in your baptism, you’ve already been called beloved too. That doesn’t mean we’re always perfect or that we won’t make mistakes. But whenever someone – or even yourself – wonders if you matter, if you’re important, if you have value, if you’re worth dignity and care and support – know that God has already declared you are loved, that you matter, that you are worth more than you could ever imagine. No one can take away from you that the Creator of the Universe thinks you’re neat. And if we’re loved by the Creatore of everything – then we can live out that love by moving away from always asking others “if” and, instead, shift our words to remember that “since we’re loved – we get to be kind, be patient, to care, to support, and to show others just how much God loves them too.” 

²⁶ Then they arrived at the region of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. ²⁷ As he stepped out on shore, a man from the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had not worn any clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. ²⁸ When he saw Jesus, he cried out and fell down before him, shouting, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me,” ²⁹ for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) ³⁰ Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion,” for many demons had entered him. ³¹ They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.

³² Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding, and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. ³³ Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd stampeded down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.

³⁴ When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. ³⁵ Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they became frightened. ³⁶ Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. ³⁷ Then the whole throng of people of the surrounding region of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them, for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. ³⁸ The man from whom the demons had gone out begged that he might be with him, but Jesus sent him away, saying, ³⁹ “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.

Luke 8:26-39 (NRSVUE)

My sermon from 2nd Sunday after Pentecost (June 23, 2019) on Luke 8:26-39.

******

How would you, if given the chance, have written today’s story from the gospel according to Luke?

I’ll admit that’s a bit of an odd question because we don’t usually imagine ourselves writing the stories we read in the Bible. For us, living almost 2000 years after these stories were first told, we believe the story is already there. But if we think about it, we often find ourselves being asked to re-tell them. Someone, once, might have asked you what Christmas or Easter is all about. Or you might have been drafted to help teach Sunday School – and you quickly find that every story we share with kids is a paraphrase of the text itself. Or maybe there have been moments when a story from the Bible has popped into your mind exactly when you need it. And you suddenly find yourself re-experiencing that story – but not necessarily reciting the text exactly as it appears. Instead, we sort of re-mix it – and end up with a slightly new story, one rooted in the Bible, but shaped in our own particular way. 

So take a look, one more time, at this text from the gospel according to Luke. What would your re-mix of this story actually be? 

(Pause)

Now, if I had to guess, our remix would probably start in the same way. Jesus was in the borderlands – in the space between where devout practicing Jews lived and where gentiles were far more numerous. Jesus wasn’t in the place we’d expect a Jewish Rabbi to be so our remix should start exactly where he was. He was in the land of the Gerasenes and a man came out to meet him. Part of what makes a good story good – is the amount of details it contains. If there’s too little, our imagination isn’t big enough to see ourselves in the story. And if there’s too much, we end up buried by the amount of information we need to remember. Every detail should invite us deeper into what’s happening. So our re-mix would also include that the man had no clothes and that he lived in the tombs. We would keep all the words the demons shared with Jesus, the fact the community tried to keep him under guard and in shackles as a way to probably protected themselves and him. And our re-mix would totally keep the fact that he was so overwhelmed by forces outside his control that Legion, the name used to designate an entire Roman army, was the proper description of his reality. We might, since we live in the 21st century, want to claim that the man living in the tombs was someone with a mental illness. But we need to be careful. No one can be diagnosed from afar and we have to make sure that we aren’t, unintentionally, reinforcing the unChristian stigmatization we often force upon those living with a mental illness. We do a disservice to our friends and loved ones when we stigmatize them instead of accepting them as real human beings who deserve love and care. The man living in the tombs had been overwhelmed, invaded, and was, on one level, no longer human. And so when those forces were finally cast out, we’d totally keep in our re-mix of the story the really odd detail about the pigs running into the lake.

So, right now, our remix sounds exactly like Luke’s telling of the story. We would, like him, name the swineherds who saw everything that happened and who then ran off to tell the entire city about it. When the crowd came out to see what happened, they found the man from the tombs sitting at Jesus’ feet. And that moment feels like it’s the climax of the story. Jesus healed the one who no one imagined would ever be healed. So we might end our re-mix of the story there. But if we continued, our first instinct might be to celebrate what Jesus had done. We would probably do what we think we would do it that same situation. We would make them shout for joy, praise Jesus, and thank God for the healing that had occurred. We’d imagine the crowds and ourselves as the ones who would cheer Jesus on. 

But that’s why our re-mix might not always be the right story that needs to be told. Because, as we read, the crowd didn’t shout for joy. Instead, they were afraid. They had, I think, overtime become comfortable with the man as he was. They couldn’t control him, keep him under guard, or help him live the way they thought he should. He was completely unpredictable – wild and untamed. But they had learned to – accept that. The community grew accustomed to what they thought was possible with the man in the tombs. They couldn’t imagine their relationship with him being any different; so they didn’t even try. He was who he was, and the crowd assumed his story was already written. The man couldn’t help isolating himself from others so the community let that story be there story. Their relationship to each other was defined by staying apart until – when Jesus showed up – the story changed.  

That’s why, I think, the crowd was terrified. And if we had been there, we would have been terrified too. How many times have we let an old story, an old assumption, or an old stereotype be the only story we listen to? Even when we are confronted by a completely new reality, we fall back onto what makes us comfortable. Too often, that’s the story we choose to tell. We surround ourselves with opinions, viewpoints, and voices that reinforce the reality we already choose to accept. We assume we know the story as it’s truly written. We find ourselves making story remixes that challenge everyone else but ourselves. And in that process, we miss seeing what God is already doing in front of us. We miss bearing witness to the story Jesus is already writing down. Because the climax of today’s story isn’t, I think, the healing. Rather, it’s the very last verse when the man who once lived in the tombs begged to live with Jesus instead. Yet Jesus sends him away because our experiences of God are not meant to only be for ourselves. When we meet Jesus, we end up becoming part of a new reality where God’s story remixes our own. No longer are we limited to the old stories of isolation, separation, and the status quo. We have been opened to a new way of life where reconciliation, restoration, and the forming of new life-giving relationships is the focus of what we do. We might imagine that this new way of life depends on us meeting God like the man did in today’s story. Yet, through your baptism, through your faith, and through the fact that the Holy Spirit brought you to be in this place today – means Jesus has already met you. And in the holy communion we are about to share, we will meet him again. When we encounter God, we end up being remixed into the person God knows we can be. Which means, wherever you are, Jesus is too. We can, right now, start writing the rest of our story. Our old assumptions, stereotypes, and all those voices meant to keep us comfortable are not the limit to what we can become. With Jesus, we do not need to be afraid. Instead, you can become exactly who God has already imagined you to be. 

Amen.

¹⁴ Then Jesus, in the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding region. ¹⁵ He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.
¹⁶ When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, ¹⁷ and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:
¹⁸ “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
    because he has anointed me
        to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
    and recovery of sight to the blind,
        to set free those who are oppressed,
¹⁹ to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
²⁰ And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. ²¹ Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” ²² All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, “Is this not Joseph’s son?” 
²³ He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’ ” ²⁴ And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in his hometown. ²⁵ But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months and there was a severe famine over all the land, ²⁶ yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. ²⁷ There were also many with a skin disease in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.” ²⁸ When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. ²⁹ They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. ³⁰ But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way.

Luke 4:14-30

My sermon from the 4th Sunday after Epiphany (February 3, 2019) on Luke 4:14-30.

******

One of the difficult things about reading scripture is knowing when to pause. Our translations try to help by including periods and commas and other kinds of punctuation. But that doesn’t mean we always get it right. In fact our experience of Scripture can sometimes get in its own way. When Luke, with the work of the Holy Spirit, compiled his version of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, he expected people to interact with his words via their ears. The Christian community, at that time, was only two or three generations removed from Jesus’ public ministry. And small assemblies, of maybe a few dozen people, were scattered around the Mediterranean sea. On Sunday mornings, these groups would meet in a private house to pray, to talk about Jesus, and to eat. When they worshipped, someone was usually elected to read a piece of text from either a book or a letter or a scroll – out loud. No one else, in that gathering, would have those words in front of them. Instead, everyone would listen. Now, this pattern for worship is something we continue to this day. But our context has changed. We, in this church, pretty much expect everyone around us to know how to read. We print everything we need for worship in our bulletin, in a font size we hope you can see. And when someone at our church reads Scripture out loud, we can physically see each others’ heads and eyes bounce from one word to the next as we follow along. Our experience of Scripture in this place, and in other areas of our lives, happens via reading. And we have, as a community, become somewhat bound to how we read this written word. When we come to the end of a sentence, we hurry to the start of the next. And if we don’t run into a paragraph break, one where we have to physically shift our eyes down and to the left, we end up zooming through pauses that we’re not supposed to miss. When we read through Scripture, trying to get to the end of the text, we sometimes miss seeing those gaps of drama where we discover the long pause of new life that Jesus gives to all of us. 

Now I already gave a hint of where I think the pauses matter in our gospel reading today. And those pauses bookend the second half of Jesus’ sermon. As we heard last week, this text is Luke’s version of the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry. After gaining a positive reputation while preaching around Galilee, Jesus headed back to his hometown of Nazareth and visited the synagogue he grew up in. While there, he was handed a scroll from the book of Isaiah to read out loud. So Jesus unrolled it, found a few verses from different chapters in Isaiah, merged the texts together, and summed everything up with a one sentence declaration. Everyone in the synagaoe was pretty impressed and they started to say really good things about him. But after a few moments, at the end of the verse 22, there’s this odd little pause and what the people thought they heard started to change. It’s as if the weight of Jesus’ words, after having a moment to linger in the ears of those who heard them, started to work on them in a different sort of way. No longer did they only hear the good things they thought they were entitled to. Instead, they realized that Jesus’ words were also convictng them. Jesus kept that energy going, upending their unspoken desire for him to make good on everything he said since he was the hometown kid. Instead, he pointed to examples in Scripture where God’s love went to places it wasn’t expected. Jesus brought up the prophet Elijah who traveled across the border, into a hostile and non-Jewish land, to bring healing to a non-Jewish woman and her family while the rest of the people of Israel suffered. And then, Jesus named another prophet, Elisha, who met up with Naamen the Syrian, a successful general who regularly won battles against the people of Israel and Judah. Neither the widow nor the general were seen as the ones who should receive the Lord’s favor. And yet that widow was fed in a time of famine and that general was restored to wholeness. Each of them were given a new opportunity to thrive while still participating in a non-Jewish way of life that challenged God. The king Naamen served and the kingdom where the widow lived would be a thorn in the side of the Israelites for generations to come. And yet God’s love went out to them, to a place and to a people where God’s love wasn’t supposed to be found.

 So the community got mad because they felt entitled to a promise that Jesus knew was bigger than them. They heard about captives being freed, the oppressed being liberated, and good news being given to the poor but they missed how these promises undercut any sense of entitlement they thought they had. These promises weren’t theirs only because of who they imagined themselves to be. Instead, God’s promises always begin, and end, in what God does. And what God does is love which means the sense of entitlement found in Jesus’ hometown and the sense of entitlement found even in the church cannot limit what’s possible with God. When Jesus said, “today this scripture has been fulfilled,” he meant it. And a promise of good news for the poor does not mean that the financially secure will somehow get off scot free. Jesus isn’t interested in defining his life by what we think we, or others, deserve. He, instead, is our Savior which means the entitlements we articulate and those we silently hold onto don’t stand a chance. When we define our relationships to each other, our neighbors, and our world by what we think we deserve because of what we’ve done or because of whatever opinion we happen to hold, we suddenly find Jesus on the other side of that border we created, serving the widow we refused to see. Everytime we believe we are entitled to Jesus, Jesus pauses, giving us the space to get out of our own way so that we can see what God’s unentitled love actually does. 

And that, I think, is what the second pause in our text gives us. At the end of verse 29, the crowd should have thrown Jesus off the clift. But they don’t. Instead, there’s this pause where, I think, the full weight of Jesus’ words became real to them. Because even though good news for the poor isn’t, initially, good news for the rich, Jesus’ words challenge all of us towards a way of life where even those who don’t expect God’s love actually receive it. Jesus isn’t bound to whatever entitlements, words, or experiences we find ourselves wrapped up in. Instead, we, through our baptism and through our faith, are offered a pause from our way of life and, instead, gifted his. Through his words, his presence, and his story, we discover a Savior who isn’t interested in what we think we’re entitled to. But rather, he’s much more interested in giving us a new way of love where the poor are entitled to good news, where the oppressed are entitled to freedom, and where all people, including a widow, a general, a member of his hometown synagogue, and even you and me are gifted a new life that finds its fullness, when we, like God, just love. 

Amen.