Image: Icon of All Saints, late 20th century, Pantocrator Monastery, Mt. Athos, Greece. Retrieved from St. Paul's Icons.
January 26, 2025: Epiphany 3C
1 Corinthians 12:12-31a; Luke 4:14-30
Here’s a little thought experiment on this text from celebrated historical theologian Justo González:
One can imagine, in our day, a young man who becomes a famous athlete and signs a contract for millions of dollars. He then returns to his hometown, and all come to receive him and hear what he has to say. The town band goes out to greet him. The local papers praise him. The town gathers at the stadium for a welcome ceremony. Everybody is excited. Some say: “It is difficult to believe that this is Joe, who grew up next door.” When Joe finally comes to the speaker’s stand, all are eager to hear what he has to say. They know that he has talked of the need for better schools and clinics, and that he has supported such institutions elsewhere. Now Joe stands up and says: “Do not think that because I grew up in Smallville you will receive any special favors from me. Actually, I have decided to support the school in Eastville, and the clinic in Northville.”[1]
How do you think the townsfolk would react? (wait for answers) Having grown up in two small towns, I can safely say there would be rage. How dare he? Who the h does he think he is? Oh, now he thinks he’s better than us! While he might not be literally run out of town on a rail or tarred and feathered, he would certainly be unwelcome in that community from that day forward.
This is what happens to Jesus in that synagogue in Nazareth that day. Luke tells us that they were all astonished at his words. Could it be? The hometown boy, the son of the local craftsman—could he be God’s chosen one? Might that mean he would do some special favors for them, say something like he did in Capernaum? Or even better, might he use his power to give them power and dominance? The room is abuzz with excitement.
And then Jesus totally kills the mood. Instead of telling them what he is going to do for them, he instead points to two examples when God helped gentiles—non-Israelites—instead of His own people. The widow at Zarephath in Elijah’s day wasn’t the only widow starving. And the Assyrian general Naaman wasn’t the only one afflicted with a skin disease. Yet, in God’s strange, unknowable will, those were the only ones who experienced healing. They were favored above God’s own people.
Now, if you have an automatic distaste for this, good. That means you’re paying attention. Jesus is telling his neighbors, friends, family not to expect special favors from him just because he’s from there. Neither should they expect a good show. Jesus is not there to entertain anyone. There were plenty of religious hucksters in those days making the circuit among various towns doing exactly that. The point couldn’t be clearer. There is no inside track into favor with God. In fact, no one is more worthy than anyone else: believer or unbeliever, Christian or non-Christian, community pillar or criminal. In God’s eyes, all our good works—which we should still do, by the way—don’t earn us an iota of grace from God. That’s why it’s called grace.
But we don’t like this. We don’t like it because we make those judgments all the time. We often live reactively, putting people in ready-made categories: good person or bad person; worthy or unworthy; smart or stupid; compelling or boring; brave or foolish; wise or crazy. We seek out information that confirms our biases, ignoring evidence to the contrary. Social media and cable news fan the flames, stoking hatred and contempt. (By the way, Pope Francis issued a warning yesterday about too much online scrolling, saying it would lead to putrefazione cerebrale, or “brain rot”!)
But in Jesus’s beloved community, the church, we have a different way of life. Jesus didn’t come to start a country-club church of the like-minded. He came to begin a movement, based on his self-giving love for us. And that love does not play favorites, but in fact honors those we think less honorable, in Paul’s words. It’s a movement that is anchored not in the world’s ways of power and influence, but in Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection that reconciles us to God and brings new life to the world. It’s a way of mercy, not domination; of humility, not braggadocio.
And it’s a way that includes all of us who belong to Christ, no matter who we are, where we come from, or who our parents were. All are members of Christ’s body here on earth. And all have a part in making him known to a lost, broken, and hurting world. His love is for all people, not just some. His mercy and forgiveness are also for all. And through our baptism, we are invited afresh every day to live that life. To let go of cliquishness, tribalism, unforgiveness, contempt, and despair, and live lives of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. We will fail at this, of course, and fail often. But God’s forgiveness and peace are for you, me, and the whole world. And through his grace, we get up time and time again to follow our Lord. Amen.
© 2025, David M. Fleener. Permission granted to copy and adapt original material herein for non-commercial purposes with appropriate credit given.
[1] Justo L. González, Luke, ed. Amy Plantinga Pauw and William C. Placher, Belief: A Theological Commentary on the Bible (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 66.
