Things are not always what they appear to be

              This week in Luke’s gospel, we take up where we left off last week. Like a literate Jewish man of age, Jesus takes his turn in the synagogue, unrolls the scroll to the writings of the prophet Isaiah, and reads what we have come to know as his mission statement.

“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 let the oppressed go free,

4:19 to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."

4:20 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.

4:21 Then he began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." 

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing” is where this week’s gospel begins.  What a stunning and jaw–dropping moment that must have been. But things turned ugly, quick. This was in Nazareth.  Jesus had returned to his home own after he had been baptized, spent his time in the wilderness, and we are told that he returned in the power of the Spirit to Galilee, where he taught in the synagogues, and his fame spread throughout the region.

His hometown people said, “Wait a minute! Isn’t this Joseph’s son?”  In other words, “We know you. Just who do you think you are, anyway?” or, as my grandmother used to say, “You’re getting too big for your britches, mister.” And Jesus tells them they don’t get it. He tells them that Elijah was sent to a widow during the time of famine in Israel, but Elijah wasn’t sent to the widows of Israel. No, God sent him to the widow in Sidon; and Elijah’s successor, Elisha, God sent him to heal Naaman, a Syrian, and not to the lepers in Israel. In other words, No prophet is accepted in his own country. Things are not what they seem to be.

That reminds me of a story in our family lore which has been re-told with fondness and hilarity for many years. It was 1976. My Mom and Dad lived in a suburb near Philadelphia. It was the bi-centennial year. About this time of year. A big snow was on the way. My mother was scheduled to have bi-pass surgery in a hospital in Philadelphia. My brother, Steve, was a senior in high school and had an interview for a scholarship at the University of Virginia, from which I had graduated four years earlier. He was interviewing for the same scholarship I had received. We were all deeply concerned about our mother’s health. I immediately flew in from Charleston. My sister was a nurse working at The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, and was there, as was my youngest brother, who was fourteen. My mother insisted that my brother Steve go for his interview, and I was the logical one to take him.

                My mother’s youngest sister, who lived in Charleston, was going to drive up and bring with her my clothes, which I had packed for a week’s stay, and didn’t bring with me on the plane. Well, a big storm came in, and Aunt Shirley couldn’t drive up. So my brother and I left my parents’ home outside of West Chester, PA, and made the long drive to Charlottesville, VA. Me wearing the most amazing and God-awful argyle brown and red cardigan sweater you can imagine. I say God-awful, because I think even God may not have liked that sweater.  We got there right before Steve was supposed to go to a luncheon, before the interviews later that afternoon. He looked nice in his suit, but was really nervous, and he had forgot to bring his dress socks. I don’t know much about fashion, now, or then, but I knew he wasn’t supposed to wear white socks with his suit, especially when dining with the President of the University and the selection committee. So, I swapped my socks with him – no they weren’t argyle.

                Well, I dropped him off at Newcomb Hall. The weather started to turn in Charlottesville. I thought I had better get an umbrella, so I parked the car, and went down to The Corner, and bought an umbrella at Mincer’s Pipe Shop. As fate would have it, I came out of Mincer’s and started to walk up toward the Rotunda, and the Lawn, when the wind caught the umbrella and turned it inside out. About that time, I ran into my Greek professor, John Michaelson, who, amazingly, remembered me from four years earlier, and asked me how I was doing, and I asked him the same. And then he asked me what I was doing. I told him that I was a law clerk for the West Virginia Supreme Court, and I noticed him looking me up and down – God-awful argyle sweater, white socks, inside-out umbrella – I can only imagine what he thought. But, things are not what they appear to be, thanks be to God. We talked for a little while, and I was warmed by our conversation, his graciousness, and that he remembered me.

                Well, I walked on up to Newcomb Hall where I met my brother, who said he enjoyed the luncheon, but, I could tell he was still nervous and worried about Mom. So, I told him what had just happened, and we laughed and laughed for a good twenty minutes about that, and other family stories. That seemed to break the ice. And we called Mom, to see how she was doing, and told her. It was so good to hear her laugh. She, and her brothers and sisters were the source of all kinds of family stories and mischief, and I know she was delighted to hear this one.

Steve relaxed, and the outstanding young man that I knew, and know him to be, just shined in his interview. We had a room at the Howard Johnson’s reserved, but after his interview we decided to drive back to West Chester and arrived in the early morning hours, in time to clean up and go to the hospital that same morning. Mom’s surgery was a success, and the people at the hospital got to know me that week as the guy with that sweater. Steve got the scholarship, and the rest is history. Things aren’t always what they seem to be.

                And that makes me wonder. If Jesus was sitting here in this church today … if he would show up at Christ’s Kitchen, or the Food Pantry – would we recognize him?

                Don’t be too harsh on the Nazareth folks. After all, they had seen Jesus grow up. He was the son of Joseph and Mary, whom they knew well as one of them. They did not recognize who he truly was. And, if we’re not careful, we will not recognize him, either.  I think this is why this gospel reading comes during Epiphany. Epiphany is an interesting word. It comes from two words in Greek, epi + phaneros. It means essentially to appear, to make manifest – a shedding of light in respect to someone, or some thing.

Greek is a fascinating language. Professor Michaelson taught classical Attic Greek at UVA when I was there. He always took an interest in his students, and treated us gently and kindly, but expected a lot of us, and we didn’t want to disappoint him. He knew that only one or two of his students would go further in Greek and classical studies. I was not one of them. Knowing that, and knowing that there might be some of us who might want to learn to read New Testament “koine” Greek, during the second semester, he devoted a whole month to teaching koine Greek, and reading the gospel of John.

                John, in his gospel, tells us that the word – the logos - was in the beginning, and was God, and that there was One in the beginning with God, and in him was life, and the life was the light –phos- of mankind. There’s that word “light” again, in the season of shedding light on what things appear to be – Epiphany.

                Next week is the last Sunday of Epiphany. It is Transfiguration Sunday. We will see that on the mountaintop with Peter, James and John, Jesus’ face appears to change, and his garments were gleaming white. In Matthew’s gospel “There He was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun, and His clothes became as white as the light. The Greek word in Matthew for transfigured is one you recognize as metamorphosis.

                So, if things are not always what they seem or appear to be, how can we, as Christians, come into the light from light, as we say together in the Nicene Creed, and see things for what they truly are? Seeing who we truly are, or who we can be? We see the larva, but can we see the butterfly it becomes?  Those guys in Nazareth were ready to throw Jesus off the cliff. They took him up there to do that. And yet, the gospel says that he passed right through them, and went on his way. How did that happen? I think the answer lies in our New Testament reading today. Paul’s great Love chapter, 1^st Corinthians 13. I think that every step Jesus took emanated love, and of all virtues, Paul tells us that the greatest is love.

 The Messiah, who comes with the power of healing, who brings good news to the poor, who releases that which takes us captive, who frees us from what oppresses us, and who gives sight to the blind, helps us see beyond what things may appear to be, through his great love. In his baptism, which we read during Epiphany, he was called “the Beloved.” He tells us we are beloved, and we are the light of the world.

With every step Jesus took, with every one he met and touched, especially the foreigner, the sick, the outcasts … sinners, he loved them, and showed them they are loved. How can we do that? Mother Teresa was asked how she could carry on her ministry to the poorest of the poor. She replied that she saw the face of Jesus in everyone she met and cared for.

How can we shed that light – to see ourselves, and others, as they are meant to be seen… as beloved? Just as that Greek professor who saw potential in young students, who inspired us to be more, and to do more than we thought we could do, who treated us with respect and dignity, who remembered us. That professor gave me a gift I take with me forty (40) years later, in the love of what he taught me, how he taught me, and how he treated me.

                Paul tells us “Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

May we, through the light of love, be transformed to be who we are called to be, beloved, and to see beyond appearances of others, to see that they, too, are beloved of God, and worthy of our love. Amen.