As usual, those who choose the
scripture readings for the lectionary have chosen to tell only part of the
story of Jesus’ return to his hometown’s synagogue. In our reading this morning we hear how he
goes to the synagogue he grew up in, stands and reads a passage from the
prophet Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach
good news to the poor. He has sent me to
proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to
release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” Then he sat down, looked at those who were
congregated and said, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your
hearing.”
And, that’s it. That is all they have given for all of us
poor preachers to deal with on this Sunday morning . . . Jesus read the
scripture, sat down, and proclaimed to the hometown crowd that the words of
Isaiah have been fulfilled. We are a
curious people . . . actually, we are a nosey people . . . and, this reading
leaves us feeling unfulfilled . . . feeling as if there is more that we want to
know. We are an inquiring people and
inquiring people want to know . . . we want to know the rest of the story as
Paul Harvey used to say.
What is the rest of the story?
Well, Jesus being a hometown boy was
quickly sized up . . . he was found lacking and brash . . . the people were not
real pleased in the way that he addressed them.
In fact, it made them angry; the writer of the Gospel of Luke says that
they were “furious.” So furious that they
drove him out of town to the edge of a cliff . . . a cliff they planned to
throw him over. To say the least, they
were not too thrilled with the hometown boy coming home in all of his prestige
and press clippings acting like some sort of hotshot . . . or at least that is
how they perceived him and his actions.
Jesus knew this would happen, after
all, Jesus knew that a prophet was never well-received in his or her
hometown. Jesus was one of them . . . he
was “Joseph’s boy” . . . and, in this new persona, Jesus ruffled more than a
few feathers. Who was he to come
prancing in proclaiming himself a big shot . . . the redeemer of them all? This Jesus was nothing more than a snot-nosed
kid who had grown up among them just like every other snot-nosed kid . . . who
did he think he was putting them down as he confronts their disbelief?
What is it that Jesus actually
did? I would contend that Jesus did
nothing more than to point out to those who had gathered at the synagogue that
the Messiah was among them. True, he
pretty much implied that the Messiah was himself, but basically he was
proclaiming that the Messiah was among them.
The Messiah was one of them.
Those are some pretty potent words . .
. especially coming from one of the hometown boys. Hearing those words, the people decided that
they would have to put Jesus in his place.
There was no way that the people of his hometown were going to see him
as the Messiah . . . no way they were going to see the miracles he could
perform . . . no way they could hear the teachings he was going to share. Nope, Jesus was just being a little too big
for his own britches and the homefolk were going to help him get back into this
own pants.
Despite it all, Jesus remained
steadfast in what he was saying . . . the Messiah is among you.
There is an old story, the Rabbi’s Gift that you may have heard
before but it is worth repeating again.
It is the story about a monastery that had fallen on hard times. Once a great and proud order of holy men, it
had stumbled slowly into a state of major decline . . . they were down to an
abbot and four monks. It was clearly a
dying order.
In the woods near the monastery, there
was a small hut that a rabbi from a nearby town used to come to pray and
contemplate. Over the years the monks
had developed a sense of the rabbi’s presence whenever he came to the small hut
to pray. “The rabbi is in the woods; the
rabbi is in the woods again,” they would whisper to one another. The abbot, agonizing over the imminent death
of the order, decided he would go and visit the rabbi and see if there was any
advice that the rabbi could offer to save the order.
The rabbi welcomed the abbot into the
hut. The abbot explained the purpose of
his visit. The rabbi just shook his head
in understanding and explained that it was no different for him and his
synagogue . . . “The spirit has gone out of the people . . . almost no one
comes to the synagogue anymore.” And,
so, the two of them sat there in silence and wept . . . read the scripture . .
. prayed. Then the time came for the
abbot to return to the monastery. He
proclaimed that he had failed in his purpose of coming to visit the rabbi. He looked at the rabbi and asked, “Is there
any advice . . . any words . . . that could help me save my dying order?”
“No, I am sorry,” the rabbi
responded. “I have no advice to
give. The only thing that I can tell you
is that the Messiah is one of you.”
Returning to the monastery, the other
monks wanted to know what the rabbi had said.
The abbot told them all about his time with the rabbi . . . the weeping
and reading of scripture, the prayers, and the discussion. Told them that the rabbi could not help them;
then, the abbot said, “The only thing he did say, just as I was leaving—it was
something cryptic—was that the Messiah was one of us. I don’t know what he meant.” And, that was it.
In the days and weeks and months that
followed, the old monks pondered this and wondered whether there was any
possible significance to the rabbi’s words.
The Messiah is one of us? Then
they started considering whether or not it truly could be one of them . . .
they began looking at one another differently . . . they began treating one
another differently. As they
contemplated in this manner, the old monks began to treat one another with
extraordinary respect on the off chance that one among them might be the
Messiah . . . and, on the off off chance that each monk himself might be the
Messiah.
Surprisingly, things began to
change. Those who came around the
monastery for picnics and family gatherings began to notice this change in the
monks . . . they began to sense the extraordinary respect and love that was
radiating out from the place and from the monks. People began to bring other people . . . the
monastery became a special place. Soon
young men, curious as to this lifestyle, began to ask questions of the monks .
. . began to ask to join the monastery.
The monastery began to grow and become vibrant once again.
And, to think, it was all because the
rabbi suggested that the Messiah was one among them.
And he stood up to read . . . “The Spirit of
the Lord is on me . . . Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” The rabbi said, “The Messiah is one of you.”
I imagine that the people of Jesus’
hometown were too close to see and understand.
In response to the message Jesus shared, they rejected him . . .
rejected his message . . . rejected the possibility. There is a tradition in many of the varieties
of the Christian faith to use a greeting during the worship service that
acknowledges the presence of Christ found in each follower. It is that the Christ in me recognizes the
Christ in you. Which is good . . . but,
such an acknowledgement is meant to go beyond the walls of the sanctuary on
Sunday morning. It is meant to be lived
each day.
Consider it . . . consider it just as
the old monks considered it in the words of the rabbi . . . the Messiah is one
of you. The Messiah is among us. Consider it and what it would mean in the way
that you live your life . . . in the way that you treat others. What if Jesus was one of us . . . but, we
really don’t know which one of us Jesus is . . . maybe we would be safe in
doing what the monks in the story did.
Treating each and every person who wanders into our lives with great
love and respect just in case he or she is the Messiah. It can make a difference.
Yes, in our reading this morning the
Messiah was among those who had gathered . . . they just could not fathom it or
the possibilities. Jesus told us that
whenever two or three gathered in his name he would be among them. I look around . . . Jesus is here. Amen.
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