Great Expectations

sermon by Torin Eikler
Isaiah 61:1-4, 7-9 Luke 4:21-30

I’d like to invite you all to take a moment to go back and think about the story we just heard read so well by Dave.

Jesus sat down after reading from the scroll of Isaiah and proclaiming that the prophet’s words were fulfilled in him. His words brought on an understandable wave of whispering among those gathered … generally good things, I’d say, since Luke reports that “all spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth.” Eventually, Jesus cut through the chatter in order to continue teaching, and after he finished speaking, the people drove him out of town in order to throw him off a cliff.


Interesting story, isn’t it? It’s one of the ones that we hear so often that we sort of skip over it. We recognize the beginning and our minds wander just a bit since we know what’s coming next. But if you listen more carefully and stop to think about what you’re hearing, you might find it more than a little strange.

After all, when Jesus takes the real risk- when he claims to be he fulfillment of prophesy, everyone welcomes his words. Yet, Jesus responds to their warm acceptance with what seems like a hostile diatribe. But, to me at least, the words he spoke don’t seem to be terribly offensive even if they might have been misplaced. So, how is it that the people have such a strong reaction to them? Even allowing for a liberal dose of cultural difference, I wonder at the extreme shift in the crowd. I mean, these people go from affectionate – even glowing – praise for the boy they know and love as Joseph’s son – to murderous rage in a matter of moments. It’s almost inconceivable.

So many things in this story raises questions for me. What was it that prompted Jesus’ confrontational words? Where did the people’s rage come from? And most of all, why did they try to kill Jesus? Why not just kick the upstart out of town? Well, maybe it will help if we come at those questions from a new perspective.


Last week the Supreme Court gave a controversial ruling on independently funded campaign ads. Citing the First Amendment right of free speech, the justices decided that it was unconstitutional to limit the amount of money spent by corporations and labor unions as they voice their opinions. While the decision does not change limits on direct contributions to candidates, there has been a lot of talk about how it will affect campaigns in the future. Many people are even expressing fears that it will lead to a congress filled with politicians who are in the pocket of those wealthy special interests.

Now, regardless of where you stand on the particular issue of political speech by corporations and unions, I suspect that we would all acknowledge to some degree that politicians do seem to respond to the concerns of those who support their campaigns and that they probably tend to pay more attention to those who give more money. It’s a no-brainer, right? You get what you pay for. The quid pro quo system seems to be inevitable.

It’s not just politics and money that work that way, though. We all assume our relationships (however they came about) will get us special treatment. We count on it just about every day. When it’s time for your organization to hold a silent auction fund raiser, you go to the people you know and ask them for a donation. It’s easier. There’s less embarrassment, and it’s less scary than asking someone you’ve never met. And, let’s face it, it’s more likely to get results because of the special relationship you share. When you need a babysitter or a dog-sitter or someone to help you get your computer system re-configured, you go to your friends or your family members first because they are more likely to do you a favor (they may even owe you one)… and they probably won’t charge you. We all do it all the time, and it’s not really very surprising because it works. Nor is it necessarily “wrong,” unless it becomes abusive or the system starts to hurt someone else or deprive them of something they need.

So, what if the confusion in the story has nothing to do with cultural differences? What if the people of Nazareth were not that different than we are and we just need to look at the situation from that perspective? R. Alan Culpepper does just that in his commentary on Luke[1], and he finds that the people’s behavior is not so surprising – at least their welcoming attitude. If Jesus was the healer the rumors claimed, if he’d done so much in Capernaum, then surely his friends and family could expect great things to be done in their town. They were connected, after all, by a lifetime lived together – relationships built by daily contact, by neighborly affection, and by favors traded along the way. It would make sense for him to do more for them than he had for others. Maybe they even felt like he owed them. If I were in their position, I might well have felt the same way because that’s the way it works, … right?

Apparently not.

Jesus grew up the same way everyone else did, and he had been part of the system. He understood what was going on. He knew, or at least suspected, the reason behind the warm welcome his words received as we can see in the first words he spoke to quiet the people: “Doubtless … you will say do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did in Capernaum.” He understood, and he reminded the people that his claim put him in the line of prophets like Elijah and Elisha who preached hope to all – Israelites and Gentiles equally. He put them on notice that it would not be business as usual – that God’s grace and mercy shows no favoritism, and they would not be getting special treatment.

That explains Jesus’ response, and it goes a little way toward giving us a motivation for the sudden change in the people’s attitudes. How would you feel if you received the same kind of rebuke from someone you had watched grow up from the time he was three years old. No, I think I can understand their anger as a way to protect themselves from the embarrassment of being rebuked in public. What I still struggle with, though, is their desire to kill Jesus. A little hurt pride is no justification for murder. But before I pass judgment on them, I have to ask the question, are Christians today any different?
In a recent article from Geez magazine I came across an article about students taking a New Testament class in Tennessee. Part of it reads:

On day five we travel to a Southern Baptist mega-church … and meet the senior pastor. Beaten as a boy by an alcoholic dad, he plotted his own suicide, yet just before jumping in front of a midnight train, the voice of Jesus spoke to him and saved his life. “He told me He’d be my father now,” [said the pastor.] One student asked the pastor, “Do you think believers of other religions go to hell?” “Most certainly,” he says. “How can Muslims – millions of whom want to slit your throats – make it to heaven?” … Another student asks, “How does your church view gay and lesbian Christians?” “Gay men were abused as children,” he replies. “Gay people choose to be gay they will be punished for it.”
A few days later, a student brings in a photo she took the night before of a street preacher in the city. The man holds a sign which boldly lists those of us bound for hellfire: Democrats, rock-n-rollers, potheads, adulterers, yuppies, liars, liberals, Catholics, bad cops, and used-car salesmen. One student, sadness in her voice, says, “I feel like I understand how religious wars start.”[2]


When I read those words, they nearly brought me to tears, but I quickly started to feel angry. I couldn’t believe … I can’t believe that there are people out there preaching such words of hatred in the name of Christianity. How can they come up with that (insert word of your own choice) when they claim to believe in the Christ who reached out across religious lines to offer acceptance and healing – the Christ who died on the cross for everyone. At least they weren’t Brethren or Mennonite. It’s bad enough that they claim to be Christian.

Then a little voice spoke up in the back of my head, cutting through all my self-righteousness. “Yes, but are you so much better?” And, of course, I have to admit that I’m not so much better. To say that I’m so much better would sound prideful, God forbid, but I do still want to say that Jesus is at least a little more pleased with me – with all of us because we don’t say such things. We don’t carry signs condemning people to hell. We don’t condemn millions of Muslims because of the actions of a few of them. We are part of a church that preaches the love of Christ and has always believed that war is wrong, and we would rather die for those beliefs than respond in ways that tear down the value of other people.

Despite all that – or maybe because of it – there is a part of me that still holds onto the idea that I’ve got a pretty good grasp on the mind of Christ, that I tend to understand Jesus’ teachings better than most, and that there are some people out there who don’t deserve the grace and mercy God offers. They’ll get it because God’s love is wide enough to include them, but they don’t deserve it.

So, I too, am guilty of putting a box around God. I too want to play favorites with Christ’s love – to put myself and people who believe like me in the “in group” (that would probably include most of you) and to exclude all those people from the family of God. And the irony is that this story teaches us that our tendency to understand grace and mercy as a closed system – our tendency to see salvation in terms of “in” and “out” is precisely what puts us in the group that’s “out.”

Throughout history, the good news of the gospel of Christ has always been more inclusive than any group, denomination, or church has been. God’s love really does reach out to include everyone. And though we struggle to broaden our own sense of love and acceptance to match it, we are so put off by the absolute nature of grace – it’s so hard for us to grasp – that we continually try to limit it, to force it to obey the rules that our other relationships due. But remember that line from the Lord’s prayer, “forgive me my sins as I forgive those who sin against me” and Jesus’ warning to judge not? The more we limit grace for others the more those limits hamper our ability to accept its fullness ourselves.


At the Music and Worship Leaders conference this month, Brian McLaren shared an interesting piece of insight. He said, “You know that Muslims revere Christ as a prophet. They don’t accept him as the Son of God. But that means they have to follow his teachings. Christians just have to believe in him.”


The teachings of Christ lead us toward a life of openness and acceptance, a life of serving all others regardless of who they are or what they believe, despite what they smell like or how they treat us. What more could we accomplish if we really walked that path? What more might God do with us if we were ready and able to go beyond the boundaries of community and the limits that we, ourselves, put on our love? I don’t know what that would look like, but I might be willing to find out.


[1] New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary, pg 108.
[2] David Jackson Clark, “Geez: holy mischief in an age of fast faith.” Issue 16, 64-5.