Jesu Juva
St. Luke 4:16-30
January 23, 2022
Epiphany
3C
Dear saints of our Savior~
During a pastor’s very first sermon . . . nobody smiles. Doesn’t happen. This is partly because rookie pastors tend to preach their first sermons in front of the hometown crowd—before people who knew him way back when—long before he ever set foot in a pulpit. No one smiles during his first sermon because half the congregation remembers the preacher when he was in diapers. And the other half are too busy saying to themselves, “Who does this guy think he is?”
I’ve told you before about my first sermon before a live audience. I’ll spare you all the gory details. Suffice it to say, I was only about a page into the sermon—just getting warmed up, as they say—when a dear elderly woman slumped over in her pew unconscious. Well, yada, yada, yada . . . I never did get to finish my sermon that day—what with the paramedics and the ambulance and all. And as you might imagine, nobody was smiling.
I’m comforted, though, by the fact that there wasn’t a single, smiling face when Jesus preached His first sermon either. Jesus had returned to His hometown of Nazareth, the city where He had been brought up. On the Sabbath Day Jesus
But then Jesus sat down to begin the sermon. Every eye and ear was fixed on Jesus—the local boy who was quickly gaining celebrity status. Jesus said: Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing. What Jesus was saying was that He was the Lord’s anointed. He was the Messiah—the One whom God had sent full of the Spirit to proclaim good news and set captives free. At first, the hometown crowd approved and spoke well of Jesus. Then, what Jesus said began to sink in. The situation deteriorated quickly—so quickly, in fact, that the congregation transformed into a mob which drove Jesus out of town, with the intention of sending Him flying headfirst over the nearest cliff. Oh, and, nobody was smiling.
What got Jesus into trouble was telling the truth. Every preacher called and sent by God is, in some sense, a truth-teller. And telling the truth—the unvarnished truth—is always a dangerous activity. All Jesus did was point out the obvious: No prophet is acceptable in his hometown. The whole nation of Israel had a long history of being inhospitable and unaccepting to the prophets whom the Lord had sent.
Jesus singled out Elijah and Elisha as perfect examples. Elijah miraculously multiplied the oil and flour of a gentile widow in Zarephath, even while the King and Queen of Israel conspired to kill him. Elisha miraculously healed a gentile general called Naaman of his leprosy, even while suffering contempt from his fellow countrymen. These prophets from God were not welcome among the people of God. Any Israelite kindergartner could have told you these things. Jesus was just pointing out the naked truth that God’s people often don’t like to hear the truth about themselves.
We’re not much different. The truth about us is painful. It hurts to hear the truth that we would each prefer a thousand pats on the back to one loving word of correction or rebuke. It hurts to hear that, while we expect others to be patient and forgiving of our shortcomings, we have zero tolerance for the smallest imperfections in others. It hurts to hear the truth that we find it far easier to despise preaching and God’s Word, rather than gladly hear and learn it.
Another truth that’s often difficult for us to hear is the truth about abortion. Forty-nine years ago this month the US Supreme Court legalized the killing of the unborn. And since then millions of human lives have been snuffed out because they were viewed as inconvenient, unwanted mistakes. Christians ought to be the ones leading the charge and speaking the truth about God’s gift of life and the horror of abortion. But speaking that truth—well, it might just get you run out of town, thrown over a cliff, or worse.
All of human life is sacred and precious to Jesus. There is no human being for whom Jesus didn’t die—no baby whom Jesus didn’t reconcile and redeem on His holy cross. God creates life—redeems life, and makes life holy. We are constantly tempted not to talk about that truth. After all, what difference can one voice make? Or one donation? Or one hour of volunteering? Or one prayer? The Lord doesn’t call us to solve the problem or to defeat the culture of death singlehandedly. He simply calls us each to be faithful—to speak the truth in love, to friend and foe alike. And just maybe this will be the year when Roe v. Wade will be struck down—and the tide will be turned—and the momentum will shift—and thousands of babies will be conceived, and be born, and will smile their very first smiles.
Will you pray for that? Will you advocate for that? Will you bear witness to the truth that God loves life? If so, you’ll need to step away from that Nazareth mob that didn’t want to hear the truth, and open your ears to the Word of God. Step into the waters of the Jordan River along with Naaman, taking God at His Word, and watch the leprosy of your sin be washed downstream. Kneel beside the widow of Zarephath, and rejoice to receive the holy food that your God provides at this altar—the body and blood of His own dear Son, miraculously distributed in bread and wine, for your forgiveness.
In fact, if we are to embrace God’s truth and speak that truth, then we need to hear it—read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest it. We need to join the returning exiles of Jerusalem, in the days of Ezra and Nehemiah. We heard about them in today’s OT reading—how they gathered at the Gate as “one man,” packed tightly together, demanding to hear the life-giving Word of the Lord. Men, women, and children all stood and listened for six hours straight to hear the Word of the Lord which they hadn’t heard together in more than a generation.
Those exiles show us what it means to hold God’s word sacred, to gladly hear and learn it. They listened long and hard, in faith. Faith doesn’t look at the clock and say, “Is it time to go yet?” Faith says, “Couldn’t we hear some more? Keep giving us the Word; we can’t get enough of it.” They stood for six hours with no shade, no padded pews, no pipe organ, no climate control. They listened to the truth of God’s Word—held it sacred. They listened in faith. They repented. They recognized how sinful they were . . . and how gracious the Lord is.
But we can’t finish up today without heading back to Nazareth, and watching the aftermath of Jesus’ first sermon. Even as the crowd that day wanted to kill Him, Jesus went away, passing through their midst. Miraculously, mysteriously, Jesus dodges the bullet and slips away unscathed. It’s a strange ending. But it had to end this way because His hour has not yet come. In due time, He would be rabidly rejected by men—a man of sorrows, not success. He came to His own but His own did not receive Him. Jesus is the rejected and reject-able Messiah, who won’t force His gifts on anyone. Three years later they would lay hands on Jesus again—and He would allow it. And He would be crucified. And in that death He would answer for your sin and die your death. No matter how rejected you may feel at times—no matter how terribly you may have tampered with God’s truth in your life—Jesus Christ stands ready to forgive you and love you. Your sins are forgiven in His blood. And now there is no condemnation for you—for all who are in Christ Jesus.
And if that good news doesn’t bring a smile to your face, then I don’t know what will. You have my permission to smile as this sermon winds down. Today the Scriptures are preached and fulfilled in your hearing. Today your sins are forgiven. Today you stand justified before God in Jesus. You are His dear child through the cleansing power of Baptism. And the joy of the Lord is your strength.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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