Springwood Presbyterian Church: Whitsett, NC

Both passages this morning show us the power of God’s word.  In the first passage, the people who had been captive in Babylon have returned home to Israel.  The scroll of the torah or the Law of Moses has been rediscovered.  Their leaders, Nehemiah and Ezra, gather the people to hear and remember the law, and to rejoice in it.

Nehemiah 8: 1-3, 5-10

Jesus, after being baptized and spending 40 days in the wilderness being tempted by the devil, begins his ministry by teaching in the Galilean countryside.  The word he preaches in Nazareth brings the people not to tears of joy but acts of rage.

Luke 4: 14-40                                                                                      2-07-10

Summoned by the Word

What were you doing this morning while the scripture was being read?  Did you read along in the pew Bible?  Did you try to listen meditatively?  Maybe you tuned out after a few verses and started replaying the game your team lost yesterday.  Or…perhaps you tried to figure out what I might say about these particular texts.

The folks in Nazareth may have been just as attentive, or inattentive, as you, the day Jesus came home for the first time after his baptism by John and his testing in the desert.  Services in synagogues consisted of prayers, scripture reading, commentary on scripture by one or more of the men of the congregation (only men in those days), and usually a time to give alms to the poor.  It was very similar to our own order of service, except that, since there were no priests or ministers, all of it was led by lay men.  Any man in good standing could read the scriptures for the day and offer his interpretation.  The person selected would stand up as a sign of reverence to read the scriptures, then sit to give his commentary or sermon.

Word had been going around about Jesus teaching in other towns.  He was the hometown boy who made good, so when he came back, they invited him to read.

He stood up, and the elder in charge of the synagogue handed him the scroll of the prophet Isaiah.  Jesus unrolled it these words: God's Spirit is on me; he's chosen me to preach the Message of good news to the poor, Sent me to announce pardon to prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, To set the burdened and battered free, to announce, "This is God's year to act!"

Exciting words!  What miracles God is promising!  Wouldn’t you think the people in the synagogue would be as delighted as those who heard Ezra read the rediscovered scroll?  …  Were you?

Ho hum.  The congregation had heard these old familiar words read year after year.  I picture a couple of men yawning—another fidgeting—another twiddling the tassels on his prayer shawl—and maybe one or two waiting expectantly to hear if Jesus could make these old words come to life.

Jesus got their attention in a hurry.  His sermon was short—just one sentence—but what a sentence!  You've just heard Scripture make history. It came true just now in this place.

Came true?  Had the oppressed already been set free?  The congregation must have laughed out loud.  Rome was still ruling Israel.  Had the blind gained their sight?  Those in prison flown the coop?  And besides, what did any of that have to do with worship?

A good question then.  A good question now.  Churches—especially mainline churches these past 20 years or so—spend a lot of energy and time dealing with questions such as “What is the nature of the church?”  “How should the church be organized?”  “How can we grow—should we canvass the neighborhood two by two each Sunday afternoon?”  “How can we fund our work—is it ok to have yard sales and car washes to raise money for the church?”  “How do we train our officers--how to assimilate new members?”

These are important questions.  But notice that each one has to do with the church as an institution.   But they’re not questions of faith so much as they’re questions about the survival of an institution.

Jesus wasn’t in the business of building buildings, electing officers, organizing committees, preparing a budget.  He was starting a holy movement of justice and freedom—the movement we know as the kingdom of God.  A movement: nothing static or still or passive or placid.  A movement: a dynamic, active, disturbing, ongoing mission in service to God’s world.

And it’s still going on.  It isn’t complete, even 2000 years later.   The poor—especially in places like Somalia or Haiti--haven’t had much good news.  The oppressed—whether oppressed by tyrannical governments or by cultures or religion or individual oppressors--still aren’t free.  So, when the church gathers for worship and fellowship, we have a two-fold purpose: first and foremost, to glorify God; and as a consequence of that, to equip each other to make the kingdom of God visible and tangible to a hurting world.  How do we do that?

In the gospel lesson, Jesus announces. God's Spirit is on me; he's chosen me to preach the Message of good news to the poor.  The Spirit is upon all of us who claim to be his followers: calling us, too, to preach good news in Whitsett and Gibsonville, and far away, too.  We do it with words, of course, but we do it also with medicine—food—water—money—peacekeepers—bulldozers, especially in places like Haiti, where the needs are so great for the things that sustain life. 

Abraham Lincoln was in the habit of going to mid-day worship services whenever he could, as a respite from the agonizing decisions he had to make about the War Between the States.  Normally, he’d slip in a side door as the service began and leave just before it ended so he wouldn’t be noticed.  One day, however, he was still sitting in his pew long after everyone else had left, a puzzled look on his face.  Worried, his aide tried to start a conversation:  “Mr. President, what did you think of the sermon today?”

          “Oh, I thought it was eloquent, well thought out, and powerfully delivered.”

          “Then you like it?” ventured the aide, still concerned about Lincoln’s behavior.

          “No, it failed,” said the president.  “It did not ask of us something great.”

Jesus, reading Isaiah’s words, asks something great of us: to join him in bringing about God’s will for the world with our hands and our hearts and our pocketbooks. 

Jesus declared his mission that day in Nazareth by addressing the ills that plagued humanity then—and that still do.  When we pledge our lives to him, we commit ourselves to confronting the great issues of our time: poverty, hunger disease, war, political freedom, substance abuse, racial and ethnic hatreds, the survival of the planet.

And we do it as the early Christians did: through the church.  The church doesn’t exist for itself, nor even to please its members, but instead, to carry out Jesus’ work.  At its best, the church helps us recognize that all of life is holy—all of life.  Our worship--the time we spend gathered here to sing hymns, pray, read the scriptures--is meant to prepare us to carry our faith out into the marketplace, the world of work and commerce and education and family life.

And, as an extra-added benefit: it’s good for us.  Being useful—especially being useful to God—improves our lives, as it improves the world for others. 

In Ann Tyler’s novel, A Patchwork Planet, an elderly woman--Maud May--phones a business called Rent-a-Back.  She hires a young man to bring in a Christmas tree, get the ornaments down from the attic, and decorate the tree, so when her children come, they’ll think she’s doing just fine on her own and won’t try—for the millionth time--to talk her into moving into assisted living.

While he’s working, Maud May puts on her makeup and her best dress.  She steps into the living room and the young man says, “Maud May, you look beautiful.”

          “I do?”  Her face brightens.  “I look useful?”

          “No, I said, you look beautiful.”

          “Oh,” Maud May says, and noticeably sags in disappointment.

The sign outside the Quaker meeting announced: “Join us at 11:00 a.m. Sunday.”  A first-time visitor was puzzled, for at 11:25 the congregation had been sitting in silence for almost half an hour.  He whispered to the person next to him, “When does the service begin?”  The answer: “When we leave.”