Luke 4:21 - 30
The summer after I was
ordained a deacon, I took my family back to Montana. We went to
visit my relatives in the little town of Belt. Two of my uncles and
a cousin were farmers, and another uncle was a carpenter, but he was
also the town plumber. They all decided it would be a wonderful thing
if I could assist at the weekday Mass and give a sermon, and in fact
they had already cleared it with the pastor. So I frantically
scribbled some notes and got into an alb that hit me at the knees.
Father had been working in his garden so he came in and stomped the
mud off his feet and put on his vestments and off we went. It was
obvious that father had not served with a deacon since probably
seminary days, because we kept bumping in to each other. Finally I
gave my sermon. After Mass my family took us all to the local diner
where everyone – you guessed it – talked about the weather, crop
prices, which kind of manure worked the best – things farmers know
a lot more about than me. They did not try to drive me off a cliff,
probably because I didn't say anything controversial or maybe because
they weren't all that amazed at the gracious words that came out of
my mouth.
This gospel always leaves
me a little puzzled. Jesus goes back to his home town and preaches
in the synagogue. We heard what he said last week, remember? “the
spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me to bring
glad tidings to the poor...” And then he says, “today this
passage is fulfilled in your hearing. And the reaction of the people
is very positive. When they ask “isn't this the son of Joseph?”
I hear a suggestion of pride in the local boy who made good. But
then Jesus seems to read their thoughts, that they are expecting him
to work miracles and healings in his home town even more than they've
heard he's been doing elsewhere. And after all, Capernaum is up in
gentile country; shouldn't Jesus be putting more effort into helping
his own kinsmen? Jesus says no, and reminds the people that a
prophet is not without honor except in his own country. So far, so
good. But then as though he wants to rub salt in the wound, he points
out that god sent Elijah to a pagan woman even though there was a
famine in Israel; and sent Elisha to cure a Syrian leper even though
there were plenty of Jewish lepers around. But why throw him off a
hill? Why try to kill him for these words? I might have walked away
angry or disappointed, but I can't put myself in the mind set of the
people of Jesus town.
Perhaps there is a clue,
though. When Elijah walked the earth, his biggest challenge was
that king Ahab had married Jezebel and she had started to establish
the worship of Baal in the land of Israel. I'm sure you remember
when Elijah challenged the prophets of Baal and ended up slaughtering
all of them. And things weren't much better in the days of Elisha,
when the king, having executed all his blood relatives, also
attempted to import a pagan religion. The context here is that Jesus
is pointing to a time when god was no longer being honored in the
land he had given the Jews, and consequently had taken his business
elsewhere. So I don't know if Jesus was comparing his home town to
the Jewish people of the past, or whether he was indicating that he
was making no distinction between the Jews and the gentiles in his
ministry, but whatever it was, they reacted with burning anger.
But what can we bring
away from this gospel? One thing is that god is not a vending
machine. The people of Nazareth really expected that their native
son would answer their needs, pretty much because he was one of them.
I think when we don't get what we pray for, we might feel a little
like this – I've done everything you asked, lord, and now I expect
something back. Heal my disease, save my marriage, help me find a
better job. But when Jesus performs miracles in scripture, even in
response to a request, it's always clear that it is on his
initiative.
Another lesson perhaps,
is just because we belong to the church which has the fullness of
truth, which has the real presence of Christ, which has the
sacraments, does not make us entitled. If anything, our being
Catholics gives us more responsibility. During Jesus' time the Jews
understood that they had a twofold mission – to honor god by
keeping his commandments, all 613 of them, and to be a light to the
gentiles. They were good at the first, but not so much at the
second. And we Catholics are not very good at spreading the gospel
in our own society, even though that was the last thing Jesus said to
his apostles before he ascended into heaven.
And finally, how do we
react when we are confronted with a truth that we don't agree with?
I think somewhere in our teenage years we go from accepting what
others tell us to questioning things we don't agree with. That's
good in a way, but if it puts blinders on us it's not good. If you
support elected officials who take moral positions contrary to what
the church teaches, on the grounds that you've decided that the
church at least in that area is mistaken, or maybe you don't even
care,, this is a problem. The church has had two thousand years to
think about how human beings should live, and the reason for its
teachings has to do with human happiness, in this life and the next.
If we are to be a light to the gentiles, then we have to show through
our own lives that the teachings of Jesus through his church make our
society preferable to what is out there. The early Christians won
converts partly because the society around them could say, “see how
they love each other.”. Unfortunately, when you begin to enumerate
many of the church's teachings otherwise good Catholics will find at
least one or two that they disagree with. And conversely, when we
witness a friend, a neighbor, a relative who is living a life that
endangers his or her soul, are we willing to be prophets to them, or
do we say “it's none of my business”.
Jesus could walk through
their midst and move on to the next town. I, on the other hand, am
usually concerned about being thrown off the brow of the hill.
