Luke 4:21-30
As I have thought about this story, my mind kept returning to the prayer service at the National Cathedral, the day after inauguration day. It is a tradition that happens every four years, but this year it got an unusual amount of attention.
When it first came to my notice, I listened to Bishop Budde’s whole sermon, where she spoke of unity, and the things that are necessary if we hope to work toward unity. It was a good sermon, but what struck me most strongly was her voice. The bishop’s voice was gentle, soft, full of grace. I was amazed at the graciousness of her voice.
I also liked what she said. She suggested that there are three foundations for unity: honoring the inherent dignity of every human being, honesty, and humility.
And then she closed with an appeal for mercy, which is high on the list of Christian virtues, of course. And I agreed with her, wholeheartedly, on these things.
But even as I listened to what I heard as pleasing words spoken in a pleasing voice, I sensed that it would not please everyone to hear these things.
Something that is strange but true about human beings is that it can be very uncomfortable for us to acknowledge God’s grace and mercy, because it is difficult for us to acknowledge that we have any needs. We prefer to see ourselves as self-sufficient creatures. To acknowledge our own shortcomings and recognize the mercy and grace God is offering, can very quickly make us uncomfortable. We would much rather focus on power and strength than to look at our vulnerabilities.
Sure, we Presbyterians have a lot of practice at this, participating in the corporate confession of sin every Sunday we are asked to see ourselves as one of the weak, the vulnerable, the sinful, and yet, by the grace of God, forgiven. God’s mercy, right before us every Sunday. Still, I wonder if we can understand the human propensity to reject the notion that any of this applies to us personally.
If we can understand these things, then we might be able to understand what happened at the synagogue in Nazareth on that Sabbath day.
Perhaps, as he read the scriptures, Jesus’ voice was as pleasing as the voice of Bishop Budde. The congregation’s immediate response was to speak well of him, to be pleased with his gracious words. But then something else happened.
Jesus was not finished yet. It was the custom for the preacher to read the scripture standing and then to sit down to deliver his sermon, so Jesus was just getting started. He had much more to say.
He quoted a sort of proverb, “Doctor, heal yourself,” which might have meant take care of your own first, if you expect us to take you seriously. Show a little love for your own people. It seems that Jesus is anticipating this reaction from the congregation, and it is exactly what he wants to talk about. His clear message is that the love of God is not limited to any one group of people. God’s love and salvation is offered to all of God’s creation.
These words of Jesus, as he continues preaching, and the way the congregation reacts to his words, seem to suggest that there is a conventional wisdom at work, that this is an either/or proposition. God either likes us or God likes the other guys – as if God’s love were finite. As if God’s expectation of us were to love our friends and hate our enemies.
Tragically, this is precisely how some Christians view it. I have become all too aware recently of pockets of the church that preach these kinds of divisions, defining who is their friend and who is their enemy, who they should love and protect and who they should hate. There are churches that build their house on a foundation of hate.
In his sermon Jesus pointedly reminds the people that their own scriptures show something quite different. Time and again, God has demonstrated great love and mercy for the outsiders, the others. Time and again, God has been deeply disappointed by God’s chosen ones when they have shirked their responsibilities for their own people. All the prophets of Israel had some pointed things to say about that, and none of the kings liked to hear it, not one bit.
It is a human shortcoming, I think, to be always looking for a scapegoat, for someone to blame when things go wrong. At times we allow our anger about things to drown out any voice of compassion. Compassion is weak. Empathy is a sin – some people are saying this now in the hate-based church. But anger, they believe, shows strength.
The people of Nazareth might have been angry. They had cause, certainly. They were treated unjustly at the hands of the Roman Empire. We would not have blamed them for their complaints and even desire for vengeance. But vengeance is not God’s plan for us. And blaming someone else is often only an excuse for our failures. ‘Physician, heal yourself,” the people might have been saying. But they would not have the courage to heal until they could hear Jesus’ message, which is God’s gracious love is for all.
We, too, will struggle with our own need for healing, unless we can embrace such mercy, such compassion that leads to a generosity of spirit, a desire to extend a healing hand to others.
Whether it is anger, or anxiety, or fear, or all of these things that afflict you, know that healing begins when we reach outside of ourselves. When we honor the inherent dignity of every human being, when we are unafraid to be honest about our shortcomings.
God’s love is not for one and against the other. God’s love is for all the world.
