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The Jesus who went home to Nazareth in today’s gospel was not the same Jesus who had left there. He was a changed man. So much had happened to him in a short time. He had followed the crowds to the Jordan wilderness where he had heard the fiery preaching of a prophet named John. He had even asked John to baptize him. And in a dazzling moment of prayerful union with his Father, he had seen the heavens open up and the Holy Spirit descend on him, and he had heard a voice from heaven: “You are my son, my beloved one. My favor rests on you.” No wonder he was a changed man! But there had been even more: forty days of fasting in the desert, forty days utterly alone communing with his Father, coming to terms with who he was and what his mission would be and what it might cost. And then there had followed that terrible encounter with the Evil One who tried to divert him from that mission, enticing him with temptations that must have seemed so very sensible at the time, temptations to use his gifts and his powers for his own advantage -- to turn stones into bread, to turn the whole world into a kingdom for himself. In other words, to play at being God or to redefine God in terms of radical selfishness. And to each of those temptations – at what cost we can only guess -- Jesus had said “no.” And those “no’s” must surely have steeled him for that one great “yes” that still lay in his future. So much had happened in so short a time. Jesus may have gone home to Nazareth but there really was no going home for him no returning to the way things used to be, and no pandering to the hometown crowd by telling them things to make them feel good. No, instead, he took them to places the prophets had always taken God’s people: uncomfortable places, scary places. And they took him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, determined to hurl him off the precipice. Some homecoming! It hadn’t started out that way. Luke’s account of Jesus’ return to Nazareth indicates that the people’s first reaction to him was positive. “All spoke well of him…they were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth.” But when he began to invade their comfort zone: when he went beyond reading stirring prophetic words from Isaiah to speaking pointed prophetic words of his own, amazement quickly turned to indignation and then to fury. No surprise there. The hometown crowd didn’t like their local luminary playing the prophet. Who was he to remind them of how, because of people’s hard-heartedness, the great prophets, Elijah and Elisha, had worked their great wonders for outsiders only – heathen foreigners? Who wants to hear a message like that? The people of Nazareth certainly didn’t. It came too close to home. And what about us? Are we comfortable with that message? Not very, I think. And yet it is a recurring message in all the scriptures, including the gospels. Luke’s gospel, which we will be reading for much of this new year, is literally loaded with stories of God favoring outsiders, and of outsiders becoming insiders. It’s a central theme of his gospel. Think of the shepherds at the manger, or the tax collectors and prostitutes, or of that unlikely band of women disciples who followed Jesus to minister to him. Outsiders, each one of them. Or think of the Good Samaritan of the parable, or the Prodigal Son, the good thief, or the Roman Centurion at the foot of the cross. Again, outsiders each one of them, but insiders in Jesus’ scheme of things. But Jesus is not the only prophet in today’s readings. Notice how Jesus the prophet is paired with Jeremiah the prophet. Jeremiah’s call, like Jesus’ call, had come to him while he was still in his mother’s womb. His call was woven right into his very being. Unlike Jesus, he tried to resist it – pleading youth and ignorance – but to no avail. “I will be with you,” the Lord God had said, “I will put my words in your mouth.” And what were the words God put into his mouth? Hard words, disturbing words, anything but comforting words. “State my case against my own people,” said the Lord. “Brace yourself. Stand up and speak to them. Confront them by telling them everything I bid you…They will fight against you, but they shall not prevail against you, for I am with you to deliver you.” You see why today’s first and third readings belong together. Do you suppose that Jesus, driven from his hometown synagogue on that wave of fury, his own friends and neighbors clamoring for his life – do you suppose he thought of Jeremiah and his lot? It’s hard to think he didn’t. But he must also have taken comfort in God’s promise to be with him. The call to be prophet. It’s our call, too: given us on the day of our baptism. And it will probably take us to places we’d rather not go. These kinds of places: owning our faith when others question or even ridicule it (“You’re Catholic? You really believe in all that stuff?!); standing up for the value of life – each and every human life – when others don’t; speaking out against injustices that keep poor people poor or that deny them their God-given rights. The possibilities are many and, whatever the case, our call will probably bring us no more comfort than the call of Jeremiah, or the call of Jesus. It will no doubt make our lives less comfortable, not more. Yet it is our call – our baptismal call -- and God says to us as God said to them, “You are my beloved one…I will be with you.” Father Michael G. Ryan |
The
4th Sunday in Ordinary Time