Speaker: Pastor Stephen “Tig” Intagliata
Bible Passages: Luke 4:14-30
Summary: Jesus’ sermon in his hometown of Nazareth marked the inauguration of his ministry, and his stories heralding people outside the Jewish faith angered the crowd to the point of wanting to throw him off a cliff. During our country’s recent inaugural prayer service, Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde caused a stir by challenging our new president to show mercy to “outsiders” in our society who live in poverty or fear. Can we follow Jesus’ and Bishop Budde’s example and speak up with courage to defend the poor and marginalized in our midst?
This morning we’re going to look at a couple of inaugural sermons. The lectionary passage from the gospels for today happens to be Jesus’ sermon in his hometown of Nazareth. It’s considered the kick-off day of his ministry, so it’s known as his inaugural sermon.
You know, sometimes the church calendar has perfect timing, right? Because there’s been another inaugural sermon that took place last Tuesday, and I don’t know about you, but that sermon by Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde has been on my mind, and I think on our country’s mind all week as well.
So today we’re going to look at Jesus’ inaugural sermon, and then Bishop Budde’s sermon, and we’ll draw some parallels about the content of those sermons, the response by the people who heard the sermon, and what our response might be.
So Jesus’ sermon in Nazareth takes place soon after Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness by Satan. And while his body may have been weak from fasting and from the stress of battling with the devil, the scriptures say that he returned to Galilee “in the power of the Spirit”.
Jesus started off teaching in synagogues around the sea of Galilee, and then he makes his way to Nazareth, his hometown. And he got the opportunity to preach at his family’s synagogue there.
He opened the scroll to Isaiah Chapter 61, which proclaims what’s known as the year of Jubilee—here Jesus calls it ‘the year of the Lord’s favor’, or in other versions it’s called ‘the acceptable year of the Lord’.
The Jubilee year is described in more detail in the Old Testament book of Leviticus, chapter 25. It was meant to take place every 50 years, and it was kind of like a “reset” button.
What happens when you press the reset button on a laptop or smartphone? It wipes everything out and starts all over again, right? Well, the Jubilee year was like that—it gave everyone clean slate.
When the shofar or ram’s horn was blown at the beginning of the Jubilee year, it meant the beginning of a time of rest for the land, release of slaves and all debts were forgiven, and all land and property was restored to its original owners.
By redistributing wealth and laborers that had become concentrated in the hands of a few, the year of Jubilee would be liberating to people who had become overburdened. It would be good news for them, and not-so-good news for others.
Now it’s not known how often the Jubilee year actually took place, if at all, but nonetheless it reflects a deep expression of God’s justice and mercy, especially to the most powerless and vulnerable people in society.
Now the story says that Jesus’ hometown crowd initially was pretty impressed with his preaching. But then things started going south and he became a prophet who was not welcome in his hometown.
Hearing Jesus preach on the Jubilee year might have been enough to get the folks who had accumulated wealth and slaves a little squirmy in their seats.
But what really got people upset and enraged was when Jesus talked told two stories from 1 and 2 Kings, both of them about Gentiles, non-Jews, and the kicker is that they were held up as examples instead of Israelites:
25 …there were many widows in Israel during Elijah’s time, when it didn’t rain for three and a half years and there was a great food shortage in the land. 26 Yet Elijah was sent to none of them but only to a widow in the city of Zarephath in the region of Sidon. 27 There were also many persons with skin diseases in Israel during the time of the prophet Elisha, but none of them were cleansed. Instead, Naaman the Syrian was cleansed.”
In both of these stories, the theme is that God has extended mercy beyond the boundaries of his original chosen people. The circle has gotten wider.
Last Sunday I quoted from my former Greek professor Mary Schertz’ commentary on Luke, and here’s another gem from her that unpacks what’s going on here:
“By using these stories in his inaugural sermon in his hometown, Jesus announces that God’s new project in Jesus is stretching the boundaries of God’s mercy beyond Israel. The good news of Jesus’ Kingdom and God’s love is for all the peoples of the world who are poor, captive, blind, and oppressed. The people of Nazareth get it, but they do not like it. (p. 110)
You see, the Israelites here don’t like it because they thought that only they were deserving of God’s mercy and love. After all, they were the original chosen people, right?
As I thought about this “Israel first” attitude, what came to my mind in our American context is this idea of “America First”. I hear it especially among people with a certain political worldview.
This “America First” agenda, is a self-serving and entitled mentality that American citizens are more deserving that non-Americans, whether that be in other countries or right here within our own borders.
It creates an “us” versus “them”, an adversarial and hierarchal approach to life. And it grieves me to see how some sectors of the church have bought into it, and one of the outgrowths of it is Christian Nationalism.
Last Monday was a day when we honor Martin Luther King and his prophetic preaching and witness to address racial injustice in our country, another “us” vs. “them” issue that still rears its ugly head today.
In Dr. King’s sermon on the Good Samaritan called “On Being a Good Neighbor”, he spoke of the interconnectedness that all of us of us share as humans living in this world together:
We cannot long survive spiritually separated in a world that is geographically together. In the final analysis, I cannot ignore the wounded man on life’s Jericho Road, because he is a part of me and I am a part of him. His agony diminishes me, and his salvation enlarges me.
With Dr. King’s words and his actions, he left us a great example of standing in solidarity with people who face injustice and who need mercy.
His vision grew out of his faith, rooted in a merciful God who defends the most vulnerable in society and calls God’s people to do the same—this theme permeates the scriptures. We see this call in verses like Proverbs 31:8-9 :
Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves; ensure justice for those being crushed. Yes, speak up for the poor and helpless, and see that they get justice.
The reality is that speaking up for those whose voices are not heard or ignored can be risky business. It’s dangerous because it challenges those in power who benefit from inequality and injustice.
Dr. King knew the danger, but it didn’t deter him from speaking out. Here’s another thing he said in his sermon “On Being a Good Neighbor”: (I’m using more inclusive language as he would have done if he lived today):
“The ultimate measure of (people) is not where we stand in moments of comfort or convenience, but where we stand at times of challenge and controversy. The true neighbors will risk our position, our prestige, and even our life for the welfare of others.”
This reminds me of a story in the latest issue of Anabaptist World that I was going to share last week when I preached on courageous love.
It’s about a Mennonite Brethren pastor, Jacques Pilipili, in the Democratic Republic of Congo whose church is in an area where militias operate. Instead of secluding himself or moving away, he showed courage in befriending some of the militiamen, and he taught them Jesus’ way of peace.
Some of the militiamen ended up laying down their guns, picking up Bibles, and began learning more about living in peace with others.
I’m just about to get to the other inaugural sermon from this past week. But before I do, I want to tell you about a friend of mine who spoke out against injustice and called people to Jesus’ way of peace in his home country of Guatemala.
I met Gilberto Flores when I was pastoring in San Antonio, Texas. He was the pastor of another Mennonite church in San Antonio at the time. After that, he served in many different roles in Mennonite Church USA. Now he’s back in Guatemala, pastoring a church, Casa de Paz, in Guatemala City.
In the 1980’s before Gilberto first came to the United States, he was a pastor during the Rios Montt dictatorship in Guatemala. People who were being oppressed by his government and speaking for justice were threatened, imprisoned, tortured, or killed.
As a pastor, Gilberto spoke out against the injustice and violence of the government, and for peace in Guatemala. One day Rios Montt himself walked into one of Gilberto’s worship services.
After the service, he confronted and threatened Gilberto to not criticize his government. But Gilberto didn’t let fear or threats silence him; he kept preaching for justice and peace for his people and his country.
Which leads us to the inauguration sermon of Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde, who in less than one week has become a household name, as her sermon sent shockwaves through the capital that have reverberated all across the country.
Bishop Budde spoke clearly, calmly and prophetically to the President and Vice-President, other politicians and their families at the prayer service at the National Cathedral on Tuesday.
The overall theme of her message was unity, and this is what she said directly to our new president as she closed her sermon:
In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are gay, lesbian and transgender children in Democratic, Republican, and independent families, some who fear for their lives. The vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay their taxes and they are good neighbors.
I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away, and that you help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here.
Wow! What courage she had to speak the truth of the gospel to those in power! I saw an interview of Bishop Budde with Rachel Maddow on MSNBC, and when Maddow asked her if she was scared when she gave that sermon, she said something like, “yes, I was, but I’m always scared when I get up to preach.”
Before the clock struck midnight that day, there was pushback from the president, through interviews and tweets on social media.
And along with the president’s criticism, his supporters—many who are evangelical pastors and politicians –came to his side and labeled Bishop Budde’s message as “political” or unbiblical, disrespectful or inappropriate.
One person called for her to be deported, others issued death threats. Some would probably throw her off a cliff like Jesus’ hearers wanted to do to him.
But thankfully, there has been pushback to the pushback, by Christians that I respect because to me they’re rooted in the words and example of Jesus. One of those voices is Ben Cremer, whom I’ve quoted before. Cremer said this:
If your Christianity causes you to be offended by someone asking the most powerful person in the country to be merciful toward the powerless, then you have deeply, deeply misunderstood the teachings of Jesus Christ.
You know what’s sad? What’s sad is that most of the criticism of Bishop Budde came from people claiming to be Christians, while much of the affirmation she got was from people who would call themselves secular; maybe some who have given up on Church because of the hypocrisy and lack of love.
Here’s how “introverted hiker” on the social media site Threads put it:
The secular world essentially universally embracing Bishop Budde while the evangelical world has largely condemned her is further evidence that love, mercy, and compassion not only exist outside of their tight religious framework but that those outside of the framework often exemplify those traits to a far fuller measure.
And then our friend Shane Claiborne called out the hypocrisy in an article for Religion News:
“The word ‘Christian’ means Christ-like. If it doesn’t look like Jesus, and it doesn’t sound like Jesus, let’s not call it Christianity. If it’s not about love and mercy…let’s not call it Christianity. It it’s not good news to the poor…let’s not call it Christianity. If it’s not about welcoming the stranger…let’s not call it Christianity.”
I don’t know about you, but Bishop Budde’s sermon that day lifted my spirits. It gave me hope that there are still people speaking the truth of a just, merciful, loving, and inclusive God to the powers that be in the world.
It inspires me and it challenges me to ask the question: How and where can I and we as a church can be a voice for the justice and mercy of God in our circles of influence? We’ll have a chance to start thinking about that in our response time.
I love what one of my favorite authors Parker Palmer said this past week:
“None of us have the ear of people in high places. But we all have a chance to speak truth to family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, co-religionists and others in our orbit. What happens over the next four years will depend in part on how many of ‘We the People” have the courage of Bishop Marianna Edgar Budde as we speak to people who have power in our lives.”
And I love the attitude of Bishop Budde through all of this, focusing not on the negativity but on the good that can come about when we speak up and reach out to those in need of mercy and compassion. On Face the Nation this past week, she said this:
It requires practice and discipline to be a source of goodness. It’s not hard to be negative, or even cynical about the world—that’s actually really easy to do. But people of faith must be called to set our gaze higher—to be there not only looking for good, but actually trying to promote it.”
To close, I’d like us to do a responsive reading from the words of Menno Simons, one of the early Anabaptist leaders. It was one of the first quotes I heard when I came into the Mennonite church, and I’ve always loved it.
It’s known as “true evangelical faith”. (Note that back in the 16th century, the word “evangelical” didn’t have the same cultural baggage that it has now):
True evangelical faith cannot lie dormant
But spreads itself out in all kinds of righteousness and fruits of love.
It dies to flesh and blood; It destroys all forbidden lusts and desires;
It seeks, serves, and fears God in its inmost soul;
It clothes the naked; It feeds the hungry;
it comforts the sorrowful; it shelters the destitute;
it aids and consoles the sad; it does good to those who do it harm;
it prays for those who persecute it;
it teaches, admonishes, and judges us with the Word of God;
it seeks those who are lost;
it binds up what is wounded; it heals the sick;
it has become all things to all people.
The persecution, suffering, and anguish that come to it for the sake of the truth of Christ have become a glorious joy and comfort to it.
