14 Then Jesus, in the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding region. 15 He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.
Luke 4:14-21
16 When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, 17 and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:
18 “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 set free those who are oppressed,
19 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
20 And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. 21 Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”
My sermon from the 3rd Sunday after Epiphany (January 26, 2025) on Luke 4:14-21.
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So a few days ago, I co-lead the annual overnight retreat for the New Jersey Synod candidacy committee. This committee shepherds folks through the ordination process and I, as the candidacy coordinator, guides folks through all the different faith-based benchmarks we ask them to meet. Our goal for the 24 hour retreat was to make it a time that provides committee members and candidates a chance to learn from each other. And so, this year, we made the theme for our gathering centered on all the different kinds of transitions the candidacy process and life throws our way. A few of that space were just starting the process, heading to seminary in the days ahead. Others were already experiencing what it’s like leaving their home congregations and serving as pastoral leader during their year long internships. And a few more were actually acting as clergy in the congregations they’ve been a part of for a long time, transitioning from sitting in the pews to being behind the altar while preaching to their family and friends. Every one of these transitions came with their own challenges, joys, and some grief as their life changed from what they knew into something new. Yet we all, even those who aren’t wearing a collar around their neck, have lived through all kinds of transitions we didn’t plan for or expect. A broken relationship; a medical crisis; learning to parent our parents as their mobility and abilities slow down – life is filled with challenges that blow up what we hoped this moment might be. It would be incredibly helpful if, when these kinds of transitions happened, we’d only have to go through them one at a time. But the transitions we choose and those that choose us are often stressfully layered one on top of the other. Our hope was to help these candidates for ordained ministry to grow in their ability to not only recognize these transitions but wonder how to faithfully proclaim the good news of Jesus Christ to people and communities going through all kinds of transitions too. And so, after a series of conversations, bible study, prayer, worship, and intense pondering of where they’ve been and where they hoped to be, we broke everyone into groups of four to come up with a list of best practices they should follow while leading congregations going through very specific transitions of their own.
Each group consisted of candidates and committee members so they could use their collective wisdom to address issues congregations throughout the NJ synod are currently working through. One group was exploring the transition that takes place when we need to hire a new musician while another thought about what needs to happen when a congregation transitions out of a pastor who served there for a long time. The third group talked about heading off to internship while the final group pondered what needs to happen when two congregations merged into one. As the groups talked, we could tell most of them were building on what they had done (or what they shouldn’t have done) while going through these various scenarios. They were basing their thoughts on the transitions they could plan for and expect. What we needed to do was get them to get a little more creative by introducing something random and unexpected. So when we felt that they were nearing the point where they had a wise and complete outline for the transition they knew, we added something different to push them towards something more. There’s a deck of cards put together by a ministry organization called “Blow Up Your Idea” which uses little thought phrases and puzzles to explore our ideas in deeper ways. Each group would pull a card that invited them to wonder how their scenario might be changed if someone gave them a $25,000 donation or a hot-air balloon they had to use. What if teenagers were suddenly the only ones in charge or if everything had to be undone in reverse? Some of these cards didn’t make sense and would never appear in real life. Yet the pause each group held while transitioning from what they expected into what they now faced created space for them to discover who God might be calling them to be. The space between the transition we expect and the one we get can be full of all kinds of wonder, confusion, fear, and even joy. And in our reading today from the gospel according to Luke, we see the community that watched Jesus transition from a child to an adult pause as He announced being the One who might blow up who they knew their God to be.
Now today’s story is actually a two-parter that will continue next week. So rather than trying to explain it all today, I think it’s better to notice the pause at the end of Jesus’ words today. Jesus, from what we’re told, had started to make a name for himself while wandering through Galilee after his baptism in the River Jordan. He soon returned to his small hometown of Nazareth who were excited about who he might be transitioning into. The twenty or thirty extended families making up the town had seen Jesus change from being a child to an adult who others seemed to be listening to. And that might be why, when it came to worship on the sabbath, they handed him a scroll from the Hebrew Bible to read. Luke implies that this style of worship – picking a scroll, unrolling it, reading it, interpreting it, and then a collective response to it – was a big part of what each sabbath morning was like. They were, in that moment, doing what they always did but chose to hand that scroll to the One who seemed to be becoming something new. I imagine those around Jesus expected him to say or act in a certain way since they had seen him skin his knees in the marketplace while playing with his friends as a kid. Even though it seemed as if he was transitioning into some kind of new skill or new story or new ministry, their expectations for what that might be wasn’t fully formed or fleshed out. Yet the words Jesus read seemed to linger in the air, causing them to pause and wonder what exactly he meant. The folks around Jesus picked up that the words he mashed together from the prophet Isaiah were the kind of transition the community would experience when the Messiah finally appeared. At first, they were a bit happy and excited and they immediately imagined how they expected this holy transition would transform their lives and their world. But as they listened, they couldn’t help but pause and notice what he said. Jesus’ emphasis on the word “me” … the mercy God commanded we show to those we push aside … the fact that good news for the poor isn’t necessarily good news for those who have enough … that pause began to feel full and loud. Jesus wasn’t simply affirming their hopes for what they expected the future might bring for themselves and their community. He was claiming this identity as his own with words reminding us of the ways we fail to be who God calls us to be. Letting Jesus’ words linger before we transition to what happens next is, I think, a faithful way to ponder not only what this transition meant for those around Jesus but also why it might still matter to us. The Jesus who we celebrate as being born and placed in a manger; the kid who ran away from his parents to hangout in the Holy Temple when he was 12; the adult who, with his mom and his friends by his side, turned water into wine to keep a wedding party going; and who we assume will always meet our expectations of what goodness and holiness and kindness will always be – is also the One who demands care for those who are suffering; freedom for those who are oppressed; hope for those who are hopeless; relief for those who need wholeness; and mercy for all we push aside. The Jesus we meet at the Lord’s table is also the One who blows up our expectation of how limited God’s love should be. Sitting in that pause with those in Jesus’ hometown is an opportunity to wonder who is the Jesus we choose to see. And can the Jesus who promises to be with us through every transition life brings our way, move us away from our expectations and towards a deep and abiding mercy meant for us – and for all?
Amen.