Isn’t This The Son Of Joseph?
Jeremiah 1: 4-5; 1 Corinthians 12:31-13:13; Luke 4:21-30
Isn’t this the son of Joseph?
They looked at each other in amazement, overcome by a potent mixture of wonder and pride. Wasn’t the man standing before them, speaking with such wisdom, one of their own? Didn’t he know every rock and hollow on the hillside behind the village? Hadn’t he walked the dusty path to the synagogue beside their own boys and grown up under their watchful eyes?
Isn’t this the son of Joseph?
Then, with dramatic effect, he closed the book, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down, which is the position rabbis took when they were about to teach. The scripture records that every eye was fixed on him. As he spoke, many scooted to the edge of their pews, ready to listen attentively to what he said. Of course, others scooted back, settling in for a little nap. But the sermon was short that day - short, and to the point: "Today this scripture has been fulfilled, even as you are listening."
Isn’t this the son of Joseph?
They had heard rumors of miracles in Capernaum — talk of healings and crowds and signs of God’s favor. Most of the people who gathered in the synagogue that day hoped that Nazareth would see what Capernaum had seen—maybe even more . . . much more. He is one of our own — and if he is a prophet, then his own people should benefit first. Doesn’t he have obligations to us? After all, we are his people! His family! His friends! If he would just reveal something marvelous, or arrange a miracle or two, (God knows we have needs!) then we will know God’s power is here — right here in Nazareth, a place where nothing much ever happened.
Because, after all . . . Isn’t this the son of Joseph?
But Jesus doesn’t respond as they hope, does he? Instead of performing a miracle, He reminds them of a story from Elijah’s time - a time of famine when many Israelites were starving, yet, God provided food for a widow of Zarephath, a pagan from the land of Sidon. Instead of revealing a wonder, Jesus reminds them of another story; a story from Elisha’s time — a time when there were many lepers in Israel yet, God healed Naaman, a pagan from Syria.
The people of Nazareth gathered in the synagogue hoping to be amazed by gracious words; hoping to marvel at mighty deeds. They wanted the hometown boy to bring them signs of God’s favor. But instead, they heard stories of God’s grace poured out, not to Jews, not to friends and neighbors, but to aliens, unbelievers, strangers in a strange land. And hearing this, they were filled with fury. And so they rose up, and drove him out of the town. They led him to the brow of the hill so that they might hurl him down, headlong.
After all, this is only the son of Joseph.
We meet the Nazarenes in the pages of scripture and view them across a vast gulf of time and traditions. We are separated by language and experience, and by differences too great to even measure. But despite these differences, maybe we are more like them than we know. Don’t we all, sometimes, want a God we can control? Don’t we all, at least sometimes, want a God who will reward his friends and punish our enemies?
Despite our affirmations of justice and inclusion, don’t most of us secretly hope that God shows a preference . . . plays favorites? . . . stacks the deck? If we’re honest, wouldn’t we sometimes prefer a God that will do our bidding, rather than expect us to do the bidding of God? We tend to limit God’s activities to our vision of what God should be doing. We want a God we can tame. But God has been in this business for a long time. And God doesn’t plan on changing careers. And that day in Nazareth, Jesus reminded his friends and neighbors that God’s ways are not our ways. God’s grace is not restrained by our fences or controlled by our prayers.
When Jesus spoke that day in the synagogue of Nazareth, he gave notice that his ministry would embrace the stranger and include the outsider. His message would confront as often as comfort. His teaching would be sharp and pointed and sometimes difficult to hear. Those who cannot accept this may find Jesus an unacceptable prophet. Those who cannot embrace this, may find themselves filled with fury and standing on the brow of a hill ready to hurl him, and his message, headlong down the cliff.
Jesus didn’t go elsewhere because he was rejected; he was rejected because he gave notice he will go elsewhere. That “elsewhere” beckons us, too. Or at least it should. Jesus defines our ministry, tells us the purpose of our being here. We are his body, called to minister in his name, called out of the waters of our baptism, to go to a world full of poor people, dying for some good news, of the broken-hearted, desperately in need of healing, of people enslaved by chains of addiction, materialism and hedonism, of those struggling for relief and release. Our world full to overflowing with those who are stumbling in the darkness, who need recovery of clear sight, of oppressed who need freeing, of those who have yet to hear and understand that God has called them into his Kingdom.
As those who have experienced scripture fulfilled in our own hearing, we should find ourselves strangers in a strange land, traveling a road to someplace more exciting, and following the God we cannot tame.
"The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, because He has anointed Me to preach the gospel to the poor. He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord.”
They looked at each other in amazement, overcome by a potent mixture of wonder and pride. Wasn’t the man standing before them, speaking with such wisdom, one of their own? Didn’t he know every rock and hollow on the hillside behind the village? Hadn’t he walked the dusty path to the synagogue beside their own boys and grown up under their watchful eyes?
Isn’t this the son of Joseph?
Then, with dramatic effect, he closed the book, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down, which is the position rabbis took when they were about to teach. The scripture records that every eye was fixed on him. As he spoke, many scooted to the edge of their pews, ready to listen attentively to what he said. Of course, others scooted back, settling in for a little nap. But the sermon was short that day - short, and to the point: "Today this scripture has been fulfilled, even as you are listening."
Isn’t this the son of Joseph?
They had heard rumors of miracles in Capernaum — talk of healings and crowds and signs of God’s favor. Most of the people who gathered in the synagogue that day hoped that Nazareth would see what Capernaum had seen—maybe even more . . . much more. He is one of our own — and if he is a prophet, then his own people should benefit first. Doesn’t he have obligations to us? After all, we are his people! His family! His friends! If he would just reveal something marvelous, or arrange a miracle or two, (God knows we have needs!) then we will know God’s power is here — right here in Nazareth, a place where nothing much ever happened.
Because, after all . . . Isn’t this the son of Joseph?
But Jesus doesn’t respond as they hope, does he? Instead of performing a miracle, He reminds them of a story from Elijah’s time - a time of famine when many Israelites were starving, yet, God provided food for a widow of Zarephath, a pagan from the land of Sidon. Instead of revealing a wonder, Jesus reminds them of another story; a story from Elisha’s time — a time when there were many lepers in Israel yet, God healed Naaman, a pagan from Syria.
The people of Nazareth gathered in the synagogue hoping to be amazed by gracious words; hoping to marvel at mighty deeds. They wanted the hometown boy to bring them signs of God’s favor. But instead, they heard stories of God’s grace poured out, not to Jews, not to friends and neighbors, but to aliens, unbelievers, strangers in a strange land. And hearing this, they were filled with fury. And so they rose up, and drove him out of the town. They led him to the brow of the hill so that they might hurl him down, headlong.
After all, this is only the son of Joseph.
We meet the Nazarenes in the pages of scripture and view them across a vast gulf of time and traditions. We are separated by language and experience, and by differences too great to even measure. But despite these differences, maybe we are more like them than we know. Don’t we all, sometimes, want a God we can control? Don’t we all, at least sometimes, want a God who will reward his friends and punish our enemies?
Despite our affirmations of justice and inclusion, don’t most of us secretly hope that God shows a preference . . . plays favorites? . . . stacks the deck? If we’re honest, wouldn’t we sometimes prefer a God that will do our bidding, rather than expect us to do the bidding of God? We tend to limit God’s activities to our vision of what God should be doing. We want a God we can tame. But God has been in this business for a long time. And God doesn’t plan on changing careers. And that day in Nazareth, Jesus reminded his friends and neighbors that God’s ways are not our ways. God’s grace is not restrained by our fences or controlled by our prayers.
When Jesus spoke that day in the synagogue of Nazareth, he gave notice that his ministry would embrace the stranger and include the outsider. His message would confront as often as comfort. His teaching would be sharp and pointed and sometimes difficult to hear. Those who cannot accept this may find Jesus an unacceptable prophet. Those who cannot embrace this, may find themselves filled with fury and standing on the brow of a hill ready to hurl him, and his message, headlong down the cliff.
Jesus didn’t go elsewhere because he was rejected; he was rejected because he gave notice he will go elsewhere. That “elsewhere” beckons us, too. Or at least it should. Jesus defines our ministry, tells us the purpose of our being here. We are his body, called to minister in his name, called out of the waters of our baptism, to go to a world full of poor people, dying for some good news, of the broken-hearted, desperately in need of healing, of people enslaved by chains of addiction, materialism and hedonism, of those struggling for relief and release. Our world full to overflowing with those who are stumbling in the darkness, who need recovery of clear sight, of oppressed who need freeing, of those who have yet to hear and understand that God has called them into his Kingdom.
As those who have experienced scripture fulfilled in our own hearing, we should find ourselves strangers in a strange land, traveling a road to someplace more exciting, and following the God we cannot tame.
"The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, because He has anointed Me to preach the gospel to the poor. He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord.”
That’s the message that Jesus preached in his own town that day. That’s the message he came to embody and fulfill. This is the message that Jeremiah felt in his bones. It’s the same message that we, and the rest of the world, long to hear today.
