The Whole Truth

If no one is troubled by my sermon, did I tell the whole truth?

Sometimes I wonder.

Of course, there are good reasons to avoid the kind of fearless proclamation that Jesus exhibits in today’s Gospel from Luke. If preachers ruffle too many feathers, we risk losing members, or dollars for ministry, or social capital, or all of the above. What’s more, we risk forfeiting the approval of our listeners; we might have to give up the illusion that everyone likes us.

That’s a uniquely painful prospect among the people who knew you first, those who may think they know you best– your family of origin and childhood community. Consider Jesus’ return to Nazareth. His unflinching commitment to the truth carries an especially high cost in his hometown. Driven out by an angry mob, he is cut off from his roots, his family home, the place of his childhood memories. It’s the kind of rejection people go out of their way to avoid, even if it means keeping quiet about the most important issues.

But, Jesus has no choice but to preach the truth. He is the Beloved of God in whom all others are to learn that we are beloved, too; Jesus’ messianic ministry can’t become smaller in order to fit the expectations of any in-group.

And in fact, it’s not the sweeping significance of his ministry that causes offense in Nazareth: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,” he reads aloud from the prophet Isaiah, “because God has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. God has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free….” Then, he preaches the shortest sermon in history: “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”[1] And in so doing, he generates a buzz of amazement and approval among his hometown neighbors. And why not? This is the carpenter’s son, after all. If God has anointed one of their own, then it must be a sign of God’s favor for their community.[2]

Only when Jesus insists on God’s concern for outsiders does the scene turn ugly. The prophet Elijah, he reminds the people, was sent not to one of the many widows in Israel, but to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon; and none of the lepers in Israel was cleansed in the time of the prophet Elisha, but only Naaman the Syrian. Teaching in a Jewish context, in other words, Jesus points to God’s historical care for non-Jewish people.[3] And at this, his neighbors’ admiration turns to hostility. Ironically, by affirming God’s inclusiveness, Jesus is excluded.[4]

Why the sudden change of heart? Why are the people of Nazareth so triggered by simple references to their own scripture? As it happens, Jesus stands in a long line of lonely prophets who pay the price for telling the truth to people who don’t want to hear it. To quote one interpreter, “The people take offense not so much with what Jesus claims about himself, as with the claims that he makes about a God who is more than their own tribal deity.”[5]

To be clear, this is not a problem for ancient Jewish communities, but for communities in general. We, too, are inclined to patrol our borders, so to speak. And whereas our political or cultural or religious categories may help us make sense of the world, it’s not the sense that God makes. Whereas our boundaries may make us feel more secure, they’re not God’s boundaries. As soon as the barriers we erect prevent us from apprehending the fullness of God’s mercy, we’ve missed the whole truth.

We struggle to accept the breadth of God’s compassion because we tend to restrict divine activity to an arena we can comprehend and control. Rather than open our hearts to God’s boundless grace, we project our own limited and self-serving logic onto God. If God is for us, then how can God be for them? This is how Christian nationalism, for instance, lures Americans into believing that our nation somehow enjoys more favor than others.

Of course, there are good reasons for cultivating a strong community. As one interpreter puts it:

Community is a place of identity, where people have a sense of belonging because they are known and recognized. …Community provides protection and support. …Community shapes values and provides cultural norms.

But there are risks in a strong community. The expectations and demands of a social order may restrict the freedom and creativity of a person. The past ways may not be suitable for the challenges of the future. A strong community may be so focused on itself that it loses the capacity to relate to those outside.[6]

As the adage goes, any time you draw a line to separate yourself from someone else, Jesus is on the other side of the line. Let that be first a caution, and then a comfort. The good news today is that Christ dwells among us to broaden our perspective; he expands the possibilities for community according to the divine dream that is coming true in him.

Friends, God has a way of bursting the boundaries we set for God’s mercy. And by defying our conventions, God has a way of unsettling us. It’s hard to manage discomfort in a healthy way, isn’t it? We tend to lash out at truth-tellers, even the truth itself, rather than allowing it to change us. But if we’re willing to stay, to listen, to learn, we’ll discover that the truth, even when first it makes us miserable, will finally make us free.[7]

[1] Luke 4:18-21.

[2] See R. Alan Culpepper, The New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. IX, 107.

[3] Gail Ramshaw, members.sundaysandseasons.com/Home/TextsAndResources/2019-2-3/1977#resources.

[4] David L. Ostendorf, in Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1, 310.

[5] Peter Gomes, cited by Peter Eaton, in Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1, 313.

[6] Harry B. Adams, in Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 4, 116.

[7] John 8:32.