First Sermons

All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his lips. “Isn’t this Joseph’s son?” they asked [Luke 4:22]

I remember well the delivery of my first sermon. It was May 1987. I’d been “posted” as a 36-year-old “field ed” intern at Saxapahaw UMC (Chatham County, NC) for the summer that followed my first year at Duke Div School. Nowadays, Saxapahaw is a chic little village, with trendy shops and cafes, catering to those who want to live in nearby Chapel Hill, but who can’t afford the zip code. Back in ’87, however, it was a sleepy little town on the Haw River, struggling to figure out what was next as its dominant employer—a textile firm—closed its operations there.

Before that Sunday, I had spent almost 40 hours preparing that 14-minute masterpiece. I had practiced in front of a mirror for so long that the image before me seemed to yell, “Stop!” I delivered the sermon to the 40 or 50 souls assembled in the little sanctuary and thought to myself, “You did good, Tom, you did good.” That, of course, was neither the first nor the last time that I have lied to myself.

After the service, I stood on the front stoop of the church, shaking hands, and receiving the well wishes of the small congregation. Then one little lady, who would later become one of my favorites, stepped forward, took my hand in both of hers, looked into my eyes, and said, “Now don’t you worry, you’ll get better.”

Several days later, still stung by her frank (and accurate) comment, I said to myself, “Well, at least they didn’t try to throw me off a cliff.”

That’s, of course, what happened to Jesus after his first sermon in the synagogue in Nazareth. That sermon, and the people’s reaction to it, is described for us by Luke, the Gospel writer, in a passage that picks up just after Jesus’ 40-day sojourn in the wilderness, where He was tempted by the devil [4:1-13]. As Luke indicates, immediately thereafter, Jesus returned to “Nazareth, where he had been brought up” [4:16] and, as was his custom, went to the synagogue there on the Sabbath.

This year (Year C), the Revised Common Lectionary divides Jesus’ “first sermon” scenario into two sections, utilizing 4:14-21 for this Sunday (January 23), the Third Sunday after the Epiphany, and concentrating on 4:21-30 for the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany (January 30). I join with those who think that is an unfortunate division since it would have us stop this Sunday thinking Jesus had been marvelously received in his hometown, ignoring—until the following Sunday—the fact that his sermon almost gets him killed [4:29].

His “moment” in the synagogue had started out quite well. Apparently having been asked to read from the scriptures, someone—likely nudged by the Holy Spirit—had given Jesus the scroll that contained the words from Isaiah. Jesus didn’t begin with Chapter 1, verse 1 [there were, of course, no chapters or verses in Jesus’ time]. Instead, he found the place where it is written:

The Spirit of the Lord is on me; because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor [Mark 4:18-19, originally found in Isaiah 61:1-2].

Then He rolled up the scroll, sat down, the typical posture of a rabbi who desires to be in his “teaching mode,” and said, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing” [4:21].

Initially, may I posit that the use of the Isaiah text was certainly an appropriate “first reading” to the hometown folks, consistent as the Isaiah text is with his mother’s Magnificat [Luke 1:46 et seq.]. For many years now, I have wondered if Mary’s Song wasn’t surely on her lips on many occasions during Jesus’ childhood and early adult years? Did Jesus not sit near the hearth or at the proverbial kitchen table growing up, listening to his mother’s joyous and triumphant song, adopted as it was from Hannah’s own song of praise, when that earlier mother had given her own son, Samuel, to the Lord? [1 Samuel 2:1 et seq.].

Indeed, initially, the reaction of the Nazareth congregation to Jesus’ reading was nothing but positive. Nazareth seems to be fond of this young homegrown prophet. They also respond favorably when Jesus begins his “sermon” by saying that Isaiah’s words have been fulfilled in their hearing—a statement that, at least to some, might have sounded just a little presumptuous [4:21].

As I noted at the beginning of this meditation, everyone was pleased and amazed at Jesus’ “gracious words.” But something happens. Why does Jesus change his tone? Look at verse 23:

Jesus said to them, “Surely you will quote this proverb to me: ‘Physician, heal yourself!’ And you will tell me, ‘Do here in your hometown what we have heard that you did in Capernaum.

He goes on to say that “no prophet is accepted in his hometown” [4:24]. Some of us want to cry out, “Jesus, Jesus, they have accepted you. They are amazed at your gracious words!” We’re left thinking, “How do we get, in just seven verses, from the townspeople’s universal praise of Jesus to ‘Let’s throw him off a cliff?’” [4:29].

That question, of course, has spawned a great deal of discussion over the years. I join those who say that Jesus saw through the easy praise thrown his way by the crowd. The crowd is eager for their hometown lad to begin to perform the works of Yahweh’s grace among them. After all, who knows what value might be tied up in a new, attractive, articulate—and local—prophet? The crowd is ready to share in the benefits that might accrue to folks who are in close proximity to the young prophet. Jesus senses, however, that they are also not just a little miffed that he has already done great things in Capernaum [4:23].

The Nazareth crowd thinks Yahweh has sent them a hometown prophet as a guarantee of rich blessings on them. Only Jesus carefully, and for many of them, tactlessly stresses that Yahweh has a mind to bless all the poor, all the captives, all those who suffer—not just the ones in and around Nazareth. And worse: Jesus announces that it is Yahweh’s nature to bless the poor, those who are imprisoned, and those who suffer, even if they aren’t from the house of Israel.

We may miss this point because of the passage of 2,000 years. Jesus points to a story in which Elijah wasn’t sent to a Hebrew household, but rather to the widow of Zarephath [1 Kings 17:17-24]. Elisha heals Naaman the Syrian. Like the widow, Naaman is no Jew. Jesus leaves the implication that in those same days there were Jews whom Yahweh did not heal. Jesus’ message: Yahweh extends His Grace and Power not based upon genetics, nor upon family relationships, or even a nation’s history. Yahweh distributes His Grace and Power in any manner that is pleasing to Him!

And that’s what angers the crowd. You see, Jesus isn’t telling the crowd something they don’t know; he’s reminding them of something that they do know. Yahweh will favor those whom Yahweh favors. Yahweh is not a captive god on a leash. He isn’t the sort of God who always favors us, and folks that look and act like us.

The crowd has an existential problem. You see, for a time, they were joyous that Yahweh might have favored them with a prophet. But when they heard about the radical inclusiveness of Yahweh’s love and grace, Yahweh’s failure to adhere to the carefully crafted barriers within the community, it crowded out their joy. They had too much to lose if Yahweh, or His Son, was allowed to speak freely.

And so, many in Nazareth invented an idea that is alive and well in our 21st century world. They crafted a rabid form of “cancel culture.” If the prophet Jesus wouldn’t say what they wanted, if Jesus insisted that the walls and fences that they had so carefully erected should come down, if Jesus had the audacity to say that it was for Yahweh to determine who is our neighbor, and not we ourselves, then they would cancel him. They’d run him out of town and throw him off a cliff.

Let’s not just pick on the first century crowd in Nazareth. How has the so-called “modern” church dealt with Jesus’ message of radical inclusiveness? Well, through the time of the Civil War, many southern preachers defended human bondage as a divinely appointed institution. From the birth of our nation down to the 1960s, in some southern churches, Protestant preachers allowed that God created humanity in his own image, adding what amounted to a “but” when it came to anyone outside the White race. There are many still in our congregations—not just southern ones—who see God’s Grace as extending in all directions except, of course, toward those who might be physically attracted to someone of the same gender.

We have at least one thing in common with the Nazareth crowd: we often prefer a God who plays by our rules, who extends love to those whom we think are lovable, and who withholds such love and grace from those who don’t deserve our approval.

Why, for example, are Mainline Protestant denominations so sure that Jesus doesn’t extend his radical inclusiveness to those who are waiting to be born? Has He ever given a clue that there is a limit to His love, a boundary beyond which He will not go, a human-made fence that he will not scale?

All of us need to be careful with this One named Jesus. You see, the difficulty with the Nazareth congregation’s position is this: because they were not open to the prospect of others’ sharing in the bounty of Yahweh’s deliverance, they themselves were unable to receive it. Indeed, those who would exclude others only end up excluding themselves.