For whatever reason (perhaps because it takes two Sunday to do justice to Luke’s story in chapter 4), the appointed Gospel readings for the Third and Fourth Sundays after Epiphany are in fact one story, divided in half, giving pastors, priests, and preachers ample opportunity to clarify what Jesus did (and did not do!) while giving his first sermon in the Nazareth synagogue, his hometown “church.” Although I heard Pastor Katie Pasch of St. John Lutheran Church in Griffin, Georgia, unpack the full meaning and impact of Luke’s story, her busy schedule (she was the grandmother of a new baby yesterday!) precluded her sending me her text; and as a consequence, I’m making available Pastor Ron Luckey’s two sermons. Here is his first homily, based on Luke 4.14-21, as the people of Faith Lutheran Church, Lexington, Kentucky, heard it on the Third Sunday after Epiphany, January 24, 2010:
It’s a Friday evening. Sundown. The Jewish Sabbath has begun, and the town of Nazareth has gathered in the synagogue to worship. Jesus, the hometown boy who’s been out in the world making a name for himself is in the congregation that night. Before the service starts, the rabbi walks up to him. “Jesus, I wonder if you’d be willing to be our assisting minister and read a portion of the scripture for us, and say a few words this evening? I know the folks would appreciate it.”
“Sure, I’d love to.” So, after the opening prayers have been said and a psalm has been sung, the rabbi calls him forward and opens up the scroll to the book of Isaiah and hands it to Jesus. And Jesus turns to the part of the scroll that we call the 61st chapter today. He pulls the little chain on the pulpit lamp. Adjusts his glasses and clears his throat and begins to read. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
The people in the synagogue smile and look at each other and nod their approval. They love this passage. It’s one of the favorite scripture passages in the Hebrew Bible. Because it’s Isaiah quoting what the Messiah will do one day when he comes.
And Jesus rolls up the scroll and pulls the little chain on the pulpit lamp and hands the scroll to the attendant and, as was the custom, sits down to give his sermon. And these are the first words out of his mouth: “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” Translation? “Isaiah is talking about me in that passage I just read. This is how I will be staying busy in the days ahead.”
Now, you’ve probably noticed this already, but I’ll mention it just in case. Everything Jesus announced he would be doing had to do with words. With saying things. He’s telling that congregation: “Words will be the tools of my trade.” “I will get my work done with words.” Words that say to the poor: “God is with you.” Words that go the jails and say to the folks behind bars who are unjustly imprisoned: “You can go home now.” Words that speak to the eyes of the blind: “Be opened.” Words that say to a weary world: “This is the year God will start over from the ground up.” Words.
I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised. After all, God has always worked primarily through words. When God wanted to create the world, how did he do it? With his hands? No. He did it with his words. “Let there be light.” And there was light. On the first day, “Let there be…” On the second day, “Let there be…” On the third day, “Let there be…” God has always used words to get his work done. “Let there be…” “Let my people go.” “Do not be afraid.” “Your sins are forgiven.” “I am with you always even to the close of the age.” “He is risen.” Words, words, words.
We sometimes talk about words as if they have not value. “Talk is cheap,” we say. “Don’t tell me. Show me,” we say. “Sticks and stone can break my bones, but words can never hurt me,” we say. But that’s not God talking. Words matter to God. They are how God gets things done.
And because they matter to God, and because they are Jesus’ primary tools, they matter to us. When Jesus moved into our hearts when we were baptized, he brought his words with him in his suitcase along with his socks and his underwear. And from that moment on, we have a new vocabulary. As Richard Lischer has said: “Baptism signifies the death of one kind of language and the birth of another.” And he’s right. There are some things we just don’t say anymore after we are baptized.
We don’t use words to control others after being washed in the water. We don’t use words that bruise and cut. We don’t speak doom and gloom any more. We don’t speak fear after we’re baptized. Sojourner Truth was perhaps the most famous African-American woman in 19th century America. For over forty years she traveled the country as a forceful and passionate advocate for the dispossessed, using her quick wit and fearless tongue to fight for human rights. There was a moment when the African-American abolitionist Frederick Douglass was addressing an audience in Salem, Ohio, about racism in America. Sojourner Truth was there in the audience sitting tall and attentive on the very front row. Douglass grew more and more agitated, more and more despairing as he spoke. Finally, he said there was no hope for justice outside of violence and bloodshed. When Douglas sat down, the hall fell into a tense and somber hush. Then in her deep, commanding voice, Sojourner Truth spoke a sentence heard all over the room: “Frederick, is God gone?”
Four words. And the room was transformed. People were reminded of their faith. Hope was restored. “Amen” was heard throughout the hall. Somebody began to sing. Because a woman on the front row had remembered her baptism and said four words: “Frederick, is God gone?”
When Jesus moves into our lives, he throws out the old words and teaches us new words. And just like “Let there be” created the world, and “He is risen” recreated the world, our words point to a world that God is even now bringing to pass.
I’ve told you this story before, but I must tell it again. In her memoir, The Whisper Test, Mary Ann Bird says that when she was about ten years old, seven words changed her life forever. Mary Ann Bird was born with multiple birth defects. She is deaf in one ear, has a disfigured face crooked nose, a cleft palate. Her legs are bent and her back is curved. As a child she suffered not only from her physical infirmities but also from the emotional damage done by other children. They would make fun of her nose and her mouth and the stumbling way she walked.
One of the worst experiences at school—the day each year she dreaded the most was the day of annual hearing test. In those days the hearing test was not done with an instrument with dials and headphones in the school clinic. The teacher would call each child to her desk one by one, and the child would cover, first one ear and then the other with their hands. The teacher would whisper something to the child like, “The sky is blue” or “You have new shoes.” This was the “whisper test.” If the child could hear and repeat the phrase, the child passed the test.
Now, Mary Ann was deaf in one ear, but it was the one thing she had been able to hide over the years from her teachers and the children around her. To avoid the humiliation of failure, she would always cheat on the test by very slightly cupping her hand over her one good ear so she could still hear what the teacher said even though the teacher was whispering into her bad ear. One year Mary Ann was in Miss Leonard’s class, one of the most beloved teachers in the school. Miss Leonard was young and pretty and smart. Every student, including Mary Ann, wanted to be in Miss Leonard’s class. To be noticed by her. To be her favorite student. When her turn came, Mary Ann was called to the teacher’s desk. As Mary Ann cupped her hand over her good ear, Miss Leonard leaned forward to whisper. “I waited for those words,” Mary Ann writes in her memoir. But Miss Leonard did not say, ‘The sky is blue’ or ‘You have new shoes.’ What she whispered was, ‘I wish you were my little girl.’ ”
Mary Ann said: “God must have put those seven words into Miss Leonard’s mouth, because those seven words changed my life.” Words do that. Ask Jesus. He’ll tell you. Words have the power to raise the dead. That’s what words do. God made it so.
Tags: Epiphany Season, Pastor Luckey, St. Luke