Readings: Nehemiah 8:1-8, 5-6, 8-10. 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a. Luke 4:14-21.
May I be helped to speak in the name of the Living God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
We’ve just heard what is arguably my favourite passage of the New Testament.
Jesus comes to his hometown, to the synagogue where he worshipped as a boy, as a young man, and it seems he is due to preach there. He stands up to read from the scroll, from the words of Isaiah; (Isaiah 61:1-3). And he says:
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me. He has sent me to announce good news to the poor. To proclaim release for prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind. To let the broken victims go free. To proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”
There is silence, and the congregation waits. They wait for the young rabbi to speak, to expound the meaning of Isaiah’s prophecy. They wait for the sermon. And what does Jesus say? He starts by saying quite simply, “Today in your very hearing this text has come true.”
Luke describes the scene simply but beautifully. The congregation is hushed in admiration and awe at the gracious words of Jesus. What an incredible way to begin a ministry, with the congregation hanging on your every word.
But then, if you read the verses that follow this morning’s gospel reading, something goes wrong, badly wrong. The people turn against Jesus. They don’t like what Jesus has to tell them. It isn’t palatable. It isn’t what they want to hear. I wonder what it was that he said. How could one sermon upset so many people? What did Jesus say? Did he try to place the reading in its historical context, explaining what Isaiah had meant? Did he try to define the people in the passage: the poor, the prisoners, the blind, the broken victims? Did he try to explain the meaning of the year of the Lord’s favour? Luke leaves it to our imagination, but I’d imagine Jesus said something like that.
But Luke tells us that he didn’t stop there. In the verses that follow what we heard, Jesus likens himself to Elijah and Elisha, two of Israel’s greatest prophets. He says that, like the two prophets before, he has a mission; a mission to the Jews, but also a message to the Gentiles.
Look at the congregation’s reaction – there’s no doubting how they feel: they are furious. Who does this man think he is? How dare he talk to us like this? How dare he presume to teach us about life? He’s only thirty-something, what does he know about life? When all is said and done, he’s only Joseph’s boy.
I wonder how Jesus felt then. I wonder whether he felt disappointed. I wonder whether he knew right then and there that he was never going to change the minds of those people. I wonder whether he felt quite so certain about his vocation. I wonder whether he felt let down by God. I wonder whether he felt like returning to the carpenter’s shop; perhaps, perhaps not.
I remember doing an Ignatian exercise – a meditation of sorts – on this passage, whilst I was in theological college. I suppose that in some small way it was an experience that helped to clarify my own vocation.
In the first part of an Ignatian exercise, you read a portion of scripture a few times, and having got the story firmly implanted in your head, you try to put yourself into the scene in some way. You try to imagine what it was like to be there, to be one of the people involved. So I did that. I watched from amongst the congregation whilst Jesus spoke. I watched Jesus, I listened to him.
To me it seemed that Jesus was saying, I am here amongst you, and I want to talk to you. But I am here for others too. I am here for those you would sweep out of sight, those you would exclude from the kingdom of God. I am here for the poor, for the slave, for beggars, for the oppressed. I am here for the Gentiles.
I am here to proclaim that now is the time for equality amongst people. Now is the time for what the Old Testament calls the year of the Lord’s favour, the year of Jubilee; the year when equality is re-established amongst the people of God. Now is the time for the Kingdom of God to become a reality amongst you.
And I watched the congregation too. I watched as Jesus challenged them, as he said “Put self-interest behind you.” To me it seemed that even here, at the outset of his ministry, as Jesus declared his purpose to the world, he experienced suffering and rejection. He had his message to bring to the world, but the world simply didn’t want to know.
Luke shows Jesus as being quite unperturbed by all this. But in my imagination, Jesus didn’t feel at peace as he left the synagogue. He was in turmoil. And as I watched all this; as I watched the Word of God being delivered faithfully by Jesus; as I watched the Word of God being rejected by humanity, I too felt in turmoil.
The second part of the Ignatian exercise requires you to take your reaction to Jesus and to God. So I did that. I presented to God Jesus’ suffering, his rejection; his turmoil. And I presented my turmoil too. I asked God: must I suffer like this? What if people don’t want to hear the message I take to them? Where should I go that the message will be heard? I’m lost; I’m out of my depth here, help me!
Within my imagination, God answered. Was it the answer I wanted to hear? I didn’t know then; I don’t know now. God’s reply left me with little peace … but with little doubt.
“Preach my word; preach where I send you. Trust me.”
I still have a sheet of paper at home, summarising that exercise, with those words written on it. “Preach my word; preach where I send you. Trust me.”
And so, here I stand today. I guess I still feel turmoil to some degree when I stand up to preach; but these days I have a degree of peace too. Maybe that’s what Jesus felt: peace and turmoil. I believe that what I’m doing is what I’m called to do. I’m here in the place where, for the present at least, God has brought me. I’m here with the message God has given me. And in today’s reading from Luke that message is presented in a singularly clear way.
My words can’t match the beauty of Luke’s or Isaiah’s. But to me the passage means something like this. The good news is that God has come. He has come not only to the people who line the pews of this and every other church on Sundays. He has come to all people.
God has come even to those we – society, even the church – would reject, who we find it hard to be with: to the poor, to the imprisoned, to the ill, to the oppressed; to noisy rebellious children, to thieves and scroungers, to those with different skin from ours, to homosexuals, to those of other faiths, to those of no faith. God has come to all people. All are equal in the Kingdom of God, and that equality must be made a reality here and now.
So this is the message I proclaim. But the proclamation of this message is not my vocation alone. It is not the vocation of the clergy alone. It is the vocation of us all. It is the mission to which God has called us all. It’s your vocation just as it is mine. We all have a calling, a vocation, to fulfil the prophecy of Isaiah; to make concrete in our own era the words of Luke’s Jesus.
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me. He has sent me to announce good news to the poor; to proclaim release for prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind. To let the broken victims go free; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”
We may all feel turmoil as we come face to face with our Christian calling, with our vocation. We all fear rejection, failure. No one wants to deny their present way of living. But there is one greater than us who calls us. There is one who bids us cast our fears aside. And he says “Preach my word; preach where I send you. Trust me.”
It is my prayer that, as we go out into the world today, we might all be able to add to the words of Isaiah as Jesus did; that we, like Luke’s Jesus, might have trust enough in God to be able to add: “Today in your very hearing this text has come true.”
Rev’d John Routh, Vicar of Holy Trinity Church, Sutton Coldfield.