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, 1st 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.
