Family Reunions and the Gospel

Proper 9

Year B

          Today’s sermon was interesting to write particularly in light of where I was when I was writing it.  Last night I returned from what our family calls “Cousin’s Weekend” which is our form of a family reunion.  All week we joked about the line in the Gospel, “A prophet is not without honor except in his own country and among his own kin and in his own house.”

          Tuesday we all began to gather on the Northern neck of Virginia—a place we have gathered every summer for the last 17 years.  As we—the now adult cousins--drove onto the property, we shed our “outside identities.”  No longer were we counselors, marketing executives, clergy (except at meal times when the blessing always fell to me), financial analysts, business managers—no we quickly returned to our roles that we have played for all the years of our lives while we were being raised almost like siblings—you could even say a litter of puppies.  These roles were particularly played out while tubing and beating the tar out of one another, the competitive spirit fully alive—no longer were we adults working and rearing our own children, but rather adults who had returned to the womb—the safety of our childhood.

          As we drove onto the property, we re-entered this comfortable world of our childhood, a world we recognize; a place, physical and emotional, to return that is familiar—a place of security.  A place where we know who we are, where we come from, and where we belong; where we know what is expected and we effortlessly exist—a place where the “rules” and the “roles” are so ingrained within us that we slip into them and allow them to envelope us like a warm blanket or a perfectly worn in old pair of jeans.  For me it is close to heaven on earth. 

          In today’s Gospel, Jesus also returned to his hometown, but he did not shed who he was as an adult (actually who he had always been but only recently was acknowledged) as he entered his own country.  And he certainly did not follow the rules.  The world where Jesus lived was a fixed society—you didn’t pull yourselves up by the bootstraps and leave the world of the middle class to become a member of high society.  You were born into a class and there you remained for all your days.  Further, this society was built and controlled by its strict honor/shame code.  If someone got “too big for their britches” the honor/shame code quickly kicked in to put them back into their place.

          Into his home country Jesus goes, and on the Sabbath he begins to teach in the synagogue.  Possibly initially they were pleased at the product that “they” had produced—almost like a hero’s welcome home.  They certainly do not deny that he has been given “wisdom” and has done “might works wrought by his own hand.”  No, they do not deny--, they cannot deny these things—quickly, they get very uncomfortable—their surprise and a little bit of pride takes a 180—they get nervous; possibly they get scared; and they get angry.  This man, Jesus, is not conforming to the “rules”; he is shaking things up, and they don’t like it.  And so they attempt to control him; to shame him; to return their world to the stable, safe, comfortable world they know.  They remind each other, and possibly him, that he’s only a carpenter’s son—a very low status—a manual laborer.  That’s not enough for them, however.  We don’t know what exactly Jesus taught in the synagogue that day, but it must have really terrified them because they pull out all the stops.  Not only do they remind themselves that he is a nobody, on the lowest rung of society’s ladder, but they also try to control him, to return him to that place through shame.  Remember this is a very patriarchal society, and yet they call him the “son of Mary.”  That would be extremely uncommon, but would be done as a way of questioning his legitimacy—“we think he’s the son of a carpenter, but really we don’t know—he could be even lower than that.”  Their world is so shaken by what they hear and by who they hear it from that they use any ploys they have to shut it down.  Jesus in word and deed and in being himself has challenged the status quo, has exposed them to another way of thinking, of seeing, of being.  Instead of embracing it, exploring it, considering it, in their fear, they clamp down hard. 

          The people of Jesus’ hometown don’t want to see something new because it challenges their constructed world—their world where they know who they are and what is expected of them—the world where they know how to be—the world where they feel safe and secure even if that world doesn’t bring joy; even if that world isn’t life giving—it is at least familiar. Jesus introduces a world that is different and we all know that difference, change, can be very uncomfortable—can even be terrifying.

          Into his hometown Jesus comes and he shakes things up---he is quite good at this shaking things up isn’t he?  Jesus shakes up the people of his hometown and if we’re honest with ourselves, he shakes us up.  Jesus forces the people of his time and forces us today to look at the world differently (remember last week loving our enemies)?  Not only does he challenge us to look at the world differently, but he challenges us to respond to the world differently; to live in the world differently.  But it doesn’t stop there—Jesus calls us to see the world differently, live in the world differently AND to point to it—to proclaim that the world can and should be different.  Jesus calls us to begin now—today-- to identify and proclaim the Kingdom of God present here and now—not just  the Kingdom of God to come.

          We, as Christians—as followers of Christ, are called not only to see injustice, but to act.  To not only not participate in racist, sexist, inappropriate jokes and conversations, but to declare them loudly and boldly wrong.  We are called to not only be inclusive of all, but to speak up for to defend those who are ostracized—those who are on the fringes.  We are called not only to serve the poor but to also proclaim the injustices of the systems that maintain the status quo—to proclaim the injustices and to work to change them.  To do this, we have to notice; we have to pay attention; we have to think outside of the box—to shake up our way of thinking and to have our way of thinking shaken up by others.  We have to begin to see things; to see people in a different way.  We have to think not in terms of “this is the way it is, this is the way it has always been or this is how the world is today” and instead think about how the world can be; how the world should be.  We are not to just come to church on Sunday but we are to take church to the world—to be church to the world.

          It’s not easy to be shaken up; it’s not easy to feel like you’re standing alone, and sometimes it flat out feels like it’s an impossible call.  It feels like running upstream.  We don’t see things changing—there is so much need still in the world, so much meanness in the world, in our schools, in our workplaces, in our lives.  During those times, it is easy to want to give up; to throw up our hands and say, “oh well I tried” or to retreat and to only associate with others like us—to not leave the security of our Christian friends, of our church family.  Perhaps we even want to say, “Well that’s not really my job—I’m not a professional—I’m not a priest.”   In our Old Testament lesson today, we are clearly told that none of that lets us off the hook.  God speaks to Ezekiel saying “Son of Man”—sometimes that is translated “mortal”.  God says to Ezekiel and to us—“mortal, ordinary human being—get up and do something, get up and say something.  Whether they hear or not is not the point.  Whether they respond or not, is not the point”— you are called: I am called—it is our duty to proclaim the Kingdom of God here and now in both our words and actions.” 

We promise this in our baptismal covenant, we say that we will proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ; that we will seek and serve Christ in ALL others, loving our neighbors as ourselves; that we will strive for justice and peace among ALL people and respect the dignity of EVERY human being—and we don’t say but only when we see it working, only when we know we’ll be successful, recognized and thanked.

          It’s not easy—I don’t want to be too harsh on the people in Jesus’ hometown,—it’s extremely difficult when our way of thinking, our way of acting, our way of being is challenged.  They were scared; they were threatened and so they used the means of their days to try to put their world back into their box.  It was too late—the coming of Jesus makes it too late.  I don’t know whether any of the people changed, whether any of the people began to live in the world differently, but I do know that we cannot.  Christ’s coming, Christ’s death and resurrection changed everything—it changed the people then and it continues to change us now.  It’s already out of the box—

          Sometimes we do need to return to the known; to the security of the womb.  It’s okay to acknowledge that; to need that.  It’s okay to sometimes need to be where it doesn’t seem so hard—to be where you’re accepted unconditionally; loved unconditionally; known fully.  I return to Cousins’ weekend every year for that, and every year I do leave refreshed and renewed (and a little homesick), but I leave to return to my life in the world.  We, as Christians, as members of Calvary; come to church—to our security where we are accepted, loved and known—where we have a common bond; we come to be refreshed and renewed; and we come to encounter the living Christ in the Eucharist—to encounter, to be changed and to take that change—that new way of being into the world.  We come to be reminded of who we are, whose we are—let us go forth and be that to the world.  Amen.