It Could Get You Thrown Off a Cliff

Luke 4:21-30
4th Sunday after Epiphany
January 30, 2022
William G. Carter

Then Jesus began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, “Is not this Joseph’s son?” He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’” And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown. But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.” When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way.

I have stood at the top of that cliff. It’s six hundred feet, straight down. The people in Nazareth call it “Mount Precipice.”

These days, there is a little plaza at the top. Old men sit on the benches in the morning, drink their coffee, and take in the view. Young couples emerge at dusk, inspired by whatever it is that they hope to see. Mount Precipice is an impressive spot at a great height, without a protective fence or guardrail. 

And it’s where Jesus almost got thrown upon the rocks after preaching his first sermon.

Well, we say it was his first sermon. It’s the first sermon of which we have a copy. Jesus was making his way around the region, teaching in all the synagogues. He was impressive enough to create a buzz in his hometown. Last week, we heard him announce the Day of Jubilee is right here, right now. His words stirred the hearts of every listener in the room. God has finally come to release captives, restore sight, and empower the demeaned.

Everybody nodded in approval. They were ready for a new day. Jesus dipped into the well of God’s ancient promises and lifted a cup of refreshing grace. They could taste it. Back in the corner, one of the old duffers said, “Can you believe this is Joseph’s son?”

But as we heard today, the sermon took a turn. Or at least the response did. The smiles turn into snarls. The happy buzz descends into a growl. As Jesus winds up what sounds to us like a favorably brief sermon, a tidal wave surges from the back of the room, sweeps him out the door, and thrusts him to the brow of the hill, to the edge of Mount Precipice.

As I stood there, wrapping my toes over the edge, I started thinking how dangerous it is to preach. I’ve never been threatened with my life. A retired teacher once wrote a letter, suggesting that I improve my grammar (thanks, Peg!). Others have murmured, which I took as a good sign; you want to make sure they’re still breathing.

Shortly before I moved up here, a man shook his head violently in disagreement, stood up, stomped out, and slammed the door. The Sunday after I left, he was back in his seat in the choir loft, a big smile on his face. I never told any of you about that.

But I’ve never been mobbed by people who want to throw me over a cliff.

Why did the people feel that way? What set them off? His sermon began so pleasantly. His words gave them delight. They were proud of him. Things turned when he anticipated their resistance: “I know what you’re going to say…” That was one of Billy Graham’s favorite lines. The old evangelist used to wave a verbal flag to signal a challenge. There’s nothing wrong with that. Some folks expect to be pushed a little bit. It’s church.

Then Jesus digs in. “I know what you’re going to say: Doctor, cure yourself. You’re going to try to dismiss and deflect by making this about me, and not the message. Then you’re going to say, ‘Why don’t you do for us what we’ve heard you do over in Capernaum?” They said that with a sneer. Do you know how I know that? Because they were talking about Capernaum. That little fishing village was full of misfits, miscreants, and – let’s call them, “human impurities.” Why don’t you do for us what you’ve done over in Capernaum? 

So he names this before he starts. The congregation begins to twitch. Then he tells them two stories out of their own Bible. 

Story Number One: It’s been a long time since we’ve seen the power of God. But there was a man named Elijah. He could do whatever God called him to do. A famine hit the land, the crops dried up, the food disappeared, everybody was starving. God didn’t send Elijah to feed the people of Israel. No, God sent him to feed a hungry widow in Sidon, up in what we would call “Lebanon.” She was a foreigner. A Gentile.

 

Story Number Two: After Elijah, there was another great man named Elisha. Like Elijah, Elisha had the power of God. In that time, a pestilence spread across the land, a skin disease called leprosy. Those who got this illness were as good as dead. Everybody feared they might catch it. And God sent Elisha to cure a leper named Na’aman. He was a commander in the Syrian army, a foreigner, a Gentile. Elisha didn’t heal any of the lepers in Israel, but God sent him to heal the outsider.

With that, the good people of Nazareth were inflamed. They were infuriated. They began to shout. They grinded their teeth. They grabbed Jesus the preacher and pushed him to the brink of Mount Precipice. They didn’t care if he was the former youth group president. They were going to get rid of him, toss him over, purge him from their midst.

It’s the same old story, told a dozen times before in the Jewish scriptures. The people blamed the messenger for the Message. It was a safe way to avoid the Message.

Here is one of the ways that Luke describes Jesus. He is a Prophet who bears the Word. He is also Lord, and Savior, and Son of God – but he is also a prophet. Of the four Gospel writers, Luke has the deepest appreciation for the Word of God, which he perceives as a Living Word, and not merely scribbles on a page. In fact, when the church gets cranked up after the resurrection of Jesus, Luke says, “The Word of God advanced.” Not the church, but the Word. The Message.

And Luke knows, whenever the Word has been proclaimed, someone has always tried to silence the messenger. That’s the primary evidence of human sin. God speaks and we don’t want to listen. God tells us how we could flourish, and we choose self-destruction. God calls us to love one another, and we fight, or divide, or exclude.

So Jesus opens the scroll to announce, “This is the Year of God’s Favor, the Year of Jubilee.” Sounds good for us, but not if we must extend it to them, like those Gentiles and half-Gentiles over in Capernaum. Then Jesus presses the Message further, telling two Bible stories of outsiders healed by God – and the mob pushes him toward the cliff. For that is the primary resource of the Prophet: he doesn’t say something new. He reminds them of what they already know. In this case, God loves everybody.

Or as Jesus will teach a page or two later, “God is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked.” (6:35) Granted, that may not be how you want the world to be run. But that’s how God is – kind, even to the ungrateful and the selfish.

The Message proceeds, whether or not you like the messenger. And you can try to toss the messenger down the hill, but he might slip away. And if he does, he keeps giving the message. Like a farmer who throws seeds everywhere. He will risk throwing the seed away if one kernel will only take root.

In fact, do you know where Jesus goes after he escapes the death plot in Nazareth? Did you read ahead? He goes back to Capernaum, that ragged little fishing village full of infidels and misfits. And where else does he go, but to the synagogue to preach. That’s what a messenger does. He keeps speaking the Message.

And in Capernaum, no sooner does Jesus begin to speak, when one of those misfits starts shouting back at him. The poor guy is beside himself. He is polluted with evil, possessed by a spirit he cannot understand. He’s a prisoner in his own heart, soul, and mind – yet Jesus is speaking to say today is the day, the Jubilee is here, and the captives must be released.

And do you know the last thing that possessed man says before he is healed? He looks at Jesus and says, “Why don’t you leave us alone?” Nope, not a chance. Jesus did not come in order to leave us alone. He came to speak the Message, to release the prisoners, to deliver good news to the poorest of the poor. He comes to empower all of us to see what we don’t want to see.

His very goodness is what we resist. Especially if it’s offered to others as freely as we expect it to be offered to us. So what do we do? Throw him off a cliff? That didn’t work. Nail him to a cross? That didn’t work either. In a last-ditch effort, we can cry out, “Why don’t you leave us alone?” He says, “Nope. You’re too precious. All of you are too precious.”   

That’s the Word. That’s the Message. For those of us who speak it, as for those of us who try to live it, it’s hard to keep it straight. It’s always in danger of being compromised by those of us who don’t have the spiritual clarity of Jesus.

Some years back now, we had a visitor one Sunday morning. It was one more of those preachers. He was on his way to retirement in North Carolina and stopped here one day for worship. Tried to sneak in, but I recognized him right away. He was part of the group that voted to approve my ordination as a preacher, but he always struck me as a red-headed agitator.

So he was polite enough on the day he was here. Shook my hand, gave me a nod of agreement on the way out the door. About a week later, a friend, also in North Carolina, called to report this guest had given his assessment of me. After one sermon, the assessment was, “That Carter is a disappointment. He’s been housebroken by the suburbanites. He only tells them what they want to hear.”

Well, that was an enlightening piece of gossip. I always wondered why the guy didn’t have a lot of friends, and he just lost one more.

But I was haunted by his comment for a brief time. His assumption was the old saw about preaching, that it should comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. I suppose those are two reactions – comfort the afflicted or afflict the comfortable. But it’s arrogant to reduce preaching to be about the preacher, and not about the Message.

What is the Word for today? The Message? What does God want us to hear and believe? Simply this, that all of us are precious, beginning with those whom we have excluded and ignored. Whether comforted or afflicted, all of us are children of God. 

And if that Message gets us thrown off a cliff, it’s one more reminder that the Gospel is true. The Gospel may be resisted. It may be ignored. But it’s true. All of us are precious.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

Check Cashing Day

Luke 4:14-21
3rd Sunday after Epiphany
January 23, 2022

Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.

When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."

The synagogue was buzzing. It’s not every day the hometown boy comes back to preach. No doubt, the neighbors knew him from the time he was a child. Others connected to him through his family’s wood shop. While growing up in Nazareth, Jesus and his family had been regulars in the synagogue, attending every Sabbath. 

It had been some time since they had seen him. He had gone away for a while, gone to hear the prophet John by  the river, after that retreating in the desert. Now, the word was spreading throughout the hills. Jesus was an impressive speaker, with a strong, resonant voice. He knew the scriptures, opened them to the people, and taught with wisdom and clarity. And now he was coming home.

The men took their customary seats. The women leaned forward to see him. We can picture his family was there, and all the neighbors. As he stood to read the scripture, the crowd hushed. Everybody was listening. In such a moment, Jesus didn’t need to do anything to get their attention. He had it. It was his to lose, but he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. Can you hear the anticipation?

Like I said: the synagogue was buzzing. Not only because it was him. Not only because he was familiar. Not only because he was right there. No, the excitement had to do with the passage that he chose to read:

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives

and recovery of sight to the blind,

to let the oppressed go free,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

And every eye was fixed upon him. They knew this text. They hoped in this text. Jesus unrolls their own Bible and gives it to them.

The text is Isaiah 61. Luke gives us a shorthand version of it. In many circles, it’s a big text, partly because it’s Jesus who says, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me.” But the significance is not what the reading infers about Jesus. No, this is a big text because it points to an even bigger text.

Today, we heard portions of that one, too. It’s the 25^th chapter of Leviticus, an extraordinary command from God to set aside one year as the year of the Lord’s favor. It would come every 50 years. Seven times seven, plus one more.

It is rooted in the practice of sabbath. God commands the people to rest every seventh day; ceaseless work is a form of slavery. Likewise, every seven years, you shall give the farmland a sabbath. Let it renew. Give it a rest. Let the fields go. Let the vineyards go. Every seven years.

And after seven periods of seven years – in the fiftieth year – there is a great reset. All the land is given back to the original owners. All the servants, whether slave or free, are liberated and turned loose. All the debts that have accrued, some of them smothering a family – all the debts are canceled. The prisoners are free. The oppressed stand up. The poor get a new beginning.

It's called the Jubilee Year. Or in the language of our text, “The Year of God’s Favor.” It’s a sabbatical for the impoverished, a sabbatical for the indebted, a sabbatical for those who find themselves in a hole and can’t climb out. Jubilee!

So Jesus goes to the hometown synagogue, looks out upon faces that he recognizes, sees those  demeaned by a lopsided economic system that kept many in poverty while those who had a lot gained even more. He reads the prophet Isaiah, who announced the promise of Jubilee freedom, and he says, “Today is the day.” This is the Year of God’s grace. It is fulfilled in your hearing.

What an astonishing way for him to begin his ministry! He opens the Bible – which he knew well enough to dispel the temptations of the devil. He opens the Bible to this text – and he gives it to them.

This is the Year of God’s Favor. The Jubilee Year. This is it. It’s right here.

This is an amazing declaration, because ever since Moses wrote down the commandments of God, the people had waited a long time for a Jubilee Year. Apparently it's a whole lot easier not tasting pork or excluding the lepers than it is to lift up those who have been pressed down. Yet the commandment is there, declaring the values that God holds dear. 

Leviticus is a text that urges holiness, teaching that we sanctify the land by giving it a rest. It also teaches that people are sanctified, not only by prayer and diet, but by ceasing the endless cycle of domination and enslavement. We can't have holiness without justice.

Can you see why the people in that holy room are leaning forward? Can you hear how there isn’t so much as a pin drop? Jesus is speaking to Jews. Nazareth is close to the Mediterranean, where the Roman army has invaded their land. It’s near to a primary trade between Babylon and Egypt, two other empires well-schooled in domination. These people know how it feels to be put down.

They hear Jesus put the promise into the air: “This is the year to release all the captives” – and something in them awakens. They hear the ancient promise of “recovery of sight to the blind,’ and they know that’s a metaphor for those who can’t see the injustice of their own ways – these are the sightless who will see. They hear Isaiah sing again of “freedom for those oppressed,” and the pulse quickens. Hope seeps in. It is the year of the Lord’s favor. The Jubilee year. The Great Reset. The holy moment of fair opportunity.

And yet, has it ever happened? In fits and starts, but not completely. Can anybody guess why? The short answer is this: just because God commands it, that doesn’t mean anybody has done it. In one generation after another, the powerful speak up to say, “Not yet.” And those who are an inch ahead or above of their neighbors say, “Slow down. Don’t stir up trouble.”

One of my friends celebrates the birthday of Martin Luther King, Jr., by reading Dr. King’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail.” Ever read it? I hope you will. In April 1963, after King was arrested for peaceful demonstrations in Birmingham, he read a letter in the newspaper from a group of eight clergy – five bishops, a Baptist, a Rabbi, and a Presbyterian. All of them white. In their words, they said they supported the principles of justice, but they told King to cool it. Got the picture? White Southern preachers in Alabama, telling the Black preacher to quiet down and take measured steps.

King responded, in part, by expressing his disappointment, not with the white supremacist groups, not with the Ku Klux Klan, but with the white moderates. With those who wrang their hands, and said “let’s take our time, and this will work out some day.” King declared, “Today is the day for all to live in freedom and fairness. Not then, not some day, but today.”

 Later that summer, Dr. King stood at the Lincoln Monument before 250,000 civil rights supporters. It was one hundred years after Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation, and little had changed. King looked at the crowd, took a breath, and said,

We have come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our great republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note…that all...would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given its [people of color] a bad check, a check that has come back marked ‘insufficient funds.’ But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt.[1] ….

Dr. King said it's Check Cashing Day. It’s the Day of Jubilee. The Year of God’s Favor. What a great sermon! The kind of sermon that is so honest that it could get you killed.

His words were rooted in the words of the prophet Jesus. Jubilee. Freedom for all. He wasn’t preaching a self-centered freedom, that hideous illusion that we are free to do whatever we please. Rather, he spoke of the freedom to participate in your own future, the freedom to step up for your own well-being, the freedom to work for equality and fairness, and the freedom from chains – visible and invisible – that keep people down when they could be standing.

The reason Jubilee needs to be announced is precisely because it hasn’t happened yet. I recall the line in the recent film biography of President Lincoln, when a Southern politician confronts him about letting the slaves go free. He says, “Sir, would you destroy our economy?” Well, if the economy is based on injustice, then it is time for a Jubilee. Not to destroy it, but to make it available for everyone. For everyone.

No wonder they leaned forward as Jesus opened Isaiah’s words to them. He spoke what they hoped. And as we will hear next week, he spoke what they dreaded. Check cashing day is a threat to anybody who believes the bank is only for them. How else can we explain 160 years of gerrymandering and voter suppression in America? Some are threatened by equality. Others are afraid of losing what they have hoarded. Jubilee is what we all want. It’s also what a lot of us fear.

Yet today is the day. It is always the day. The year of God’s favor is here. “The scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”

Let me conclude by saying something about the word here for “fulfilled.” It means, “filled up,” “just about  overflowing,” all the way up to the brim, ready to spill over or burst out. In other words, “You’ve heard what God has said. It’s going to happen.”

That’s the promise Jesus puts in the air. So what are we going to do about what we have heard?

---

[1] Listen to (or read) Dr. King’s speech at https://www.npr.org/2010/01/18/122701268/i-have-a-dream-speech-in-its-entirety

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

What Comes Before the Fall

Luke 4:1-13
January 16, 2022

Sometime during the long history of Christian faith, wise leader came up with a list of the Seven Deadly Sins. There are various versions of that list. These are the behaviors and attitudes that can destroy a person. At the top of every list is the sin of pride. Pride.

“What’s wrong with pride?” asked the fourth grader. “Our teacher told us to take pride in our work, and I want to do a good job.” So she spells each word correctly, double-checks the arithmetic before turning it in. She cheers for the basketball team when they score. She does as her teacher says and takes pride in fine work.

Counselors tell us to muzzle any negative voices in our heads. Be positive. Do not disqualify yourself. Stretch to your capacity. All of that is helpful, especially as a person grows into their own skin. There are personal qualities to claim, abilities to develop, and boundaries to explore. We were created to stretch.

And yet, pride is not all that it’s cracked up to be.

The problem is an old one. Back in the Garden of Eden, the serpent said, “I know how you can be like God. Just have a bite of that apple. If I had an arm of my own, I’d pull it down for you. I guess you will have to reach for yourself.” Eve and Adam both reached . . . and their reaching got them banished from the Garden.

Of course, people will make the most of their circumstances. There’s another ancient story in the Bible, just a few pages after the Eden disaster. Once upon a time, when there was only one language in the whole earth – I think it was Hebrew. Since everybody spoke one language, everybody started to get organized. They joined forces. They sought to make a name for themselves. They agreed to build a tower that stretched all the way up to the heavens.

As the ancients tell the story, God began to feel threatened – and that’s why God confused their single language in a kind of reverse-Pentecost event. Suddenly some spoke Swahili, others spoke French, still others spoke in a rare Mandarin dialect. That fractured community lost interest in their common tower, and God breathed a sigh of relief. For the very first time, diversity trumped arrogance, and God had some elbow room.

Stories like these warn us about getting too big for our britches. They remind us there are limits to our lifespan; we will not live as long as Moses or Methusaleh. There are limits to our physical ability; the gladiator Samson got a haircut and lost his legendary strength. There are limits to our understanding; even that know-it-all apostle Paul had to confess that he could not understand God’s ways. “Who has known the mind of the Lord?” he asked. “To God be the glory forever.”

Yet we keep stretching. We keep reaching. It seems to be written into our DNA. Anybody remember when Michael Crichton wrote a novel called Jurassic Park? It was a hypothetical tale about cloning the DNA of ancient dinosaurs and setting them in a theme park. All the investors reasoned, "We have the technology. We can do this." It never occurred to them this was a bad idea…until the dinosaurs started acting like dinosaurs. Sure, it’s possible for a human being to clone a velociraptor – but why would you want to?

It has to do with stretching . . . with reaching. The old church fathers called it “superbia.” That was the Latin word. Superbia referred to “aiming at what is above.” It is the word we have translated in English as “pride.” The first and deadliest of the sins is to reach for what belongs to God. We blur the distinctions between creature and Creator. We forget who we are.

That’s why the Gospel lesson is so important to remember. Whatever else we say about it, it is a test of pride. Jesus has been keeping a Holy Lent in the wilderness. He has been serious about it: fasting for forty days, praying for guidance, and listening for God’s claim on his life. He has been doing what he can to keep clear about who he has been called to be.

But forty days is a long time, a really long time. He is famished, says Luke, and his stomach begins to growl. The growl continues to grow. Soon it is purring like a fierce cat, and then the tempting words are formed: “Listen! (says the tempter) You don’t need to go hungry. I thought you had the power to set the stars in the sky? Can’t you create something to satisfy your appetite?” Jesus listened to the growl. He held his aching belly.

Just then, he saw a big rock, about this size. It was the largest around. And the voice said, “If you are the Son of God, you could turn this rock into a huge loaf of bread. And it doesn't have to  be a private miracle out here in the desert where nobody will see it. Think of how many hungry people you could feed if you turned all these rocks into bread. The poor could be eating out of your hand.”

And Jesus said, “No.”

So the Tempter took a deep breath, and said, “You’re probably right, Jesus. If you fed the people today, they would be begging for more bread tomorrow. Since you are the Son of God, it’s a better idea to take a broader perspective, take a deeper view. What we’re talking about is significant change, about doing what’s best for the largest number of people. Don’t settle for this little bitty desert – let’s get you set up as a politician. In an instant, Satan showed Jesus all the kingdoms of the world. “Their glory and authority belong to me,” says the devil, “and I would gladly give it to you. Just say the word, and I will put a crown on your head.”

Here, says Will Willimon, we pause to wonder: whoever gave all the nations of the world to the devil? Did God say, “I have no interest in such grimy affairs. Here, Satan, I’ll let you take the politics”? We don’t know. All we know, says Willimon, is that, when it comes to politics, there does seem to be an obvious linkage with worship of the devil. (Sinning Like a Christian, p. 38)

But Jesus says, “No.” He will not sidestep the cross in order to become the king.

“Now, just a minute,” says the Tempter. “Aren’t you the Son of God? On the day when you were baptized, didn’t you hear that voice from heaven calling you the Son of God? If you are the Son of God, we need to line up some people who believe in you - - and I have just the thing.”

So the devil took Jesus to Jerusalem. They left behind the desert, went to the Holy City. And they climbed to the top of the Holy Temple. “Pretty impressive, don’t you think?” The devil said, “Look at all those people down there – I’m going to get them to believe in you.”

Jesus said, “What are you thinking?”

The devil said, “Well, you know the Bible, just like I do. And there’s that Psalm – Psalm 91 – about how the Lord will bear you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of His hand. The Bible says it, I believe it, that settles it. Jesus, if you’re the Son of God, jump off of here and let God catch you. Go ahead and do it, while I stand here and hum that song. The Bible says God will hold you in the palm of his hand. Let’s see if that is true.”

Jesus said, “No.”

Then Luke says that the devil sauntered away, leaving Jesus until “an opportune time.” He stays out of sight, until the very end of the story. When Jesus was crucified, the tempter’s words would be repeated. But this time they would be on the lips of soldiers who work for the “kingdoms of the world.” They say, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself.” Even one of the criminals nailed next to him says, “If you are the Messiah, save yourself and us.” This is the “opportune time,” and the devil’s words are now on human lips.

What are they asking? If you are the Son of God, then act like we think the Son of God should act. We are the ones who define you, Jesus; pay no attention to what God says. It’s all about us – save us, do it on our terms, fulfill our needs, answer our desires – forget about God; it’s all about us . . . or at least, it’s all about you, and what you might do apart from your Father.

And Jesus hangs there on the cross until he dies; in his silence, he says, “No.”

There was a spiritual writer of the seventh century, by the name of John Climacus. He understood clearly about “superbia,” the sin of pride, and what it threatens to do to a person. Here’s what he says:

Pride is a denial of God, an invention of the devil, contempt for men. It is the mother of  condemnation, the offspring of praise, a sign of barrenness. It is flight from God's help, the harbinger of madness, the author of downfall. It is the cause of diabolical possession,  the source of anger, the gateway of hypocrisy. It is the fortress of demons, the custodian of sins, the source of hardheartedness. It is the denial of compassion, a bitter pharisee, a cruel judge. It is the foe of God. It is the root of blasphemy.

Now, does that sound a little harsh? I thought so; and then I remembered the words of a  celebrity athlete after his life imploded:

I stopped living by the core values that I was taught to believe in. I knew my actions were   wrong, but I convinced myself that normal rules didn't apply. I never thought about who I      was hurting. Instead, I thought only about myself. I ran straight through the boundaries that a married couple should live by. I thought I could get away with whatever I wanted to. I felt that I had worked hard my entire life and deserved to enjoy all the temptations around me. I felt I was entitled... I was wrong. I was foolish. I don't get to play by  different rules. The same boundaries that apply to everyone apply to me. I brought this shame on myself.

Pride is more than the positive feelings that accompany good work. To quote C.S. Lewis, it is “a spiritual cancer” that takes over the soul. It is possible to be so full of ourselves that there is no room for God. Or just as deadly is when we allow just a little-bitty-Sunday-only spot for God. Integrity evaporates, justice is forgotten, peace is replaced, others are bulldozed.

Like all of the deadly sins, pride starts small, and then begins to take over. We won’t pick up the dirty clothes, because it’s beneath us. We refuse to take a service job or a volunteer opportunity, because we are qualified for so much more. We want to be a positive influence, but begin to push our opinion, defend our position, exert our force – and we seek our own way, rather than open ourselves up to God’s way. We win an argument, and then we need to win the next argument, and the next . . .

Perhaps the clearest sign that pride is slowly choking us to death is when we refuse to take any direction from anybody else. We can’t even listen to God. Nobody can tell us what to think or what to do, because we know better. Should that happen, it is a stage four cancer.

The antidote to pride is humility. It occurs to me to quote an anonymous sage: “If you get an attack of importance, call your mother or scrub a toilet. Either one will put your talents in perspective.”

Jesus did not take the crown that Satan offered him in the wilderness. His road was the humble road, all the way to the cross. When he got there, jokers put another kind of crown on his head, a crown of humiliation, a crown woven from thorns. But that did not define Jesus, either.

No, Jesus was defined, as we were defined after him. It was the day of his baptism, when God said the same thing to Jesus that God has said to us: “You are my beloved child. Now, get to work…”

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

All the Way Back

Luke 3:15-17, 21-38
Baptism of the Lord
January 9, 2022

Jesus was the son (as was thought) of Joseph son of Heli,

son of Matthat,
son of Levi,
son of Melchi,
son of Jannai,
son of Joseph,
son of Mattathias,
son of Amos,
son of Nahum,
son of Esli,
son of Naggai,
son of Maath,
son of Mattathias,
son of Semein,
son of Josech,
son of Joda,
son of Joanan,
son of Rhesa,
son of Zerubbabel,
son of Shealtiel,
son of Neri,
son of Melchi,
son of Addi,
son of Cosam,
son of Elmadam,
son of Er,
son of Joshua,
son of Eliezer,
son of Jorim,
son of Matthat,
son of Levi,
son of Simeon,
son of Judah,
son of Joseph,
son of Jonam,
son of Eliakim,
son of Melea,
son of Menna,
son of Mattatha,
son of Nathan,
son of David,
son of Jesse,
son of Obed,
son of Boaz,
son of Sala,
son of Nahshon,
son of Amminadab,
son of Admin,
son of Arni,
son of Hezron,
son of Perez,
son of Judah,
son of Jacob,
son of Isaac,
son of Abraham,
son of Terah,
son of Nahor,
son of Serug,
son of Reu,
son of Peleg,
son of Eber,
son of Shelah,
son of Cainan,
son of Arphaxad,
son of Shem,
son of Noah,
son of Lamech,
son of Methuselah,
son of Enoch,
son of Jared,
son of Mahalaleel,
son of Cainan,
son of Enos,
son of Seth,
son of Adam,
son of God.

I take delight in watching your faces when I read a text like that. I don’t do it very often. You couldn’t bear it, and neither could I. There are many genealogies in the Bible. We skip over them. And if one is appointed to be read, a smart liturgist will shake his head and say, “Glad I didn’t have to read all those names.”

The gospel of Luke drops his genealogy of Jesus right here in chapter 3. Seventy-seven names, a few familiar, most not. Were these all the generations before Jesus? We don’t know. Yet before dismissing the list, take note that the ancient people placed a high premium on reciting their heritage. That sounds curious to people like us, who probably don’t know the names of our great-great-grandmothers.

Sometimes there are lessons to be learned. Like in the Gospel of Matthew. Matthew begins his book with another genealogy for Jesus. Not exactly a page-turner (or maybe it is). And then we realize Matthew breaks an ancient Jewish rule: he gives us the name of women! And not only women, but unusual women who had scandalous births. It’s a setup for him to say, “And let me tell you about the birth of Jesus to Mary…”

Luke offers no scandals, mentions nothing unusual. He traces the generations of Joseph as far back as he can. It’s a remarkable feat. We can assume he got this information from an “orderly account” (Luke 1:1). And it’s an amazing list of names.

Yet let me ask the obvious: why should we even care? Why bother with genealogy?

Well, you tell me. Sometimes the topic comes up in my home: do I want to take one of those genetic tests to discover more about my past? Maybe there are details I’d rather not know. Yet there is a natural curiosity for many of us. Where do I come from? Who are my people? And so we might trace the roots.

During my wanderings this summer, I stopped by the square in downtown Boalsburg. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there. It’s a few miles east of State College. My maternal grandmother was a Boal. She told me about David Boal, an immigrant from Ireland who served as a captain in the Revolutionary War. In 1789, the brand-new United States gave him a gift of land in central Pennsylvania to honor him for his military service. He settled there and started a tavern.

He had a son, also named David, who got in trouble back in Ireland. In 1798, the Irish government put a price on his head for taking part in a rebellion. His friends hid him inside a wooden chest and smuggled him on board a ship headed for the United States. If you visit the family home in Boalsburg, the chest is still there. Now, that’s some kind of story!

And it goes on. After David came George, who was a farmer. In 1852, George was one of the founders of the Farmers High School. Have you ever heard of it? It’s now called Penn State University. Perhaps I should have asked if there is a family discount. After all, we had a stowaway in a trunk; our family’s been looking for bargains ever since.

There’s a lot to learn through history. Something happened before I was born. In this instantaneous, disposable age, imagine that! History might explain how I am who I am, or why I do what I do. The grandfather of someone I know was also an immigrant from Britain. When he landed in the State in the 1920’s, the only room he could afford was located in a brothel. He was Puritanical enough to insist he never visited any other rooms. But he had a lifelong obsession with washing his hands. Didn’t want to catch anything.

History fills in our story, so Luke recites the family history of Jesus. He wants all the pieces to fit.

Yet in the very first line, there is a hiccup. Did you notice that? Let me read it again: “Jesus was the son (as was thought) of Joseph son of Heli (3:23).” That is, everybody assumed he was the son of Joseph. Now, we have inside information from the Christmas story. We know about the angel, the mysterious pregnancy, and all of that. Yet that’s not the kind of story that you tell the neighbors, especially in a first-century culture where shame and scandal were a big deal.

In no small part, Luke recites this genealogy to provide legitimacy for Jesus. To say this “presumed” son of Joseph is part of Joseph’s family. Like I said, this is a bit of a hiccup. And it’s a reminder that a good many of our families have … unusual … connections. We don’t talk about them very much.

My dad was the fifth of nine children. Shortly after he died six years ago, we discovered he had another brother. This was a brother that he never knew about. The short version of the story was that Grandpa didn’t always stay home. Fill in the blanks. There was a child. Nobody knew, until long after Grandpa’s death, Grandma blurted out the whole story to one of my aunts and then swore her to secrecy. I mean, this is an embarrassing story.

The tale stayed quiet until a retired state police officer in Buffalo, New York, decided to find out more about his ancestry. He did one of the saliva tests, got the results, and started calling all the Carters that he could find on the internet. One of them was my aunt, who knew the story.

One thing led to another. Apart from all the turmoil over what Grandpa had kept from everybody, some of the relatives wanted to meet him. Others weren’t so sure. And to bring it all to a focus, there was a family reunion scheduled on the calendar. Should Uncle Terry get an invitation? He did. He went. He’s kept going every year.

I reached out, and we decided to meet for lunch at an Applebee’s. He wanted to know about my dad, the brother he would never know. And I asked him to say something of his own story. “My story?” he said. Then he laughed gently and said, “Sometimes I feel like I’m in a novel and the first four chapters are missing.” He paused; and then he added, “Now the pages are starting to get filled in.”

Then I told him then what I’ve said to the relatives who were curious why I set up the lunch: everybody needs a family. Ever if you don’t know if you have a family, everybody needs a family.

Who was the family of Jesus? Luke fills in some of the names. Seventy-seven names. Some of them we know: David is on the list, Jacob, Isaac, and Abraham are on the list; Noah is on the list (you knew he had to be there). There are a lot of them we don’t know; you can ask our liturgist to recite those names later. The list goes all the way back to Adam. This is the family where Jesus belongs.

It's most important that the Bible doesn’t make a big deal about whether his father was Joseph. We don’t know if Joseph ever had second thoughts about agreeing with what an angel told him. What we do know is that he took Jesus as his own. And that’s as important as any biological information.

Do you know the primary characteristic of a real family? They take you in. Sometimes it happens in adoption. Sometimes it just happens. There are people who claim you, people who say, “You belong with us.” Any honest person will look at a family tree and see broken branches. They also know that no tree ever grows perfectly straight. But they will know if belonging happens, if love is shared, if lessons are taught, if history is imparted, they have a family.

How curious – how remarkable – that Luke gives us the genealogy of Jesus when telling us about his baptism! Luke already told us Jesus was circumcised; he was part of the Jewish family. Now, in anticipation of the Messiah’s arrival, Jesus is baptized. The sky rips open. A dove descends. And a Voice from heaven says, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you, I am well pleased.” And we can read into that all we are able.

At one level, it’s the same Message that God speaks when we are baptized. Just as Joseph took Jesus as his own, so God claims us in our baptisms. Baptism is the moment of our adoption into the household of God. This is the claim that precedes every other claim on our lives. It is the event where we heard the ancient words of the prophet Isaiah as words spoken to us:

Thus says the Lord: I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
When you walk through fire you shall not be burned.
For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. (Isaiah 43:1-3)

“Jesus, as supposed, was the son of Joseph, the son of Heli, the son of Matthat, the son of Levi …the son of David…the son of Jacob, Isaac, and Abraham… the son of Noah …the son of Methuselah… the son of Adam, the son of God.”

That’s a nice touch. If you reach all the way back, Jesus comes from Adam. And where does Adam come from? From the creative grace of God. Adam’s life was a gift, just as your life is a gift. Every birth is an act of holy creativity. That’s why strong, husky men are reduced to tears when a new baby is placed in their arms.

And this specific Child – Jesus of Nazareth, presumed son of Joseph – Luke is telling us Jesus is a Jew, but more than a Jew. He comes for everybody. He is a New Beginning for everybody. The apostle Paul will echo this when he writes, “Sin and death came into the world through Adam, but the righteousness of Jesus leads to justification and life for all.” (Romans 5:18).

And if that’s not enough, the Swiss theologian Karl Barth pushes it further. He calls Jesus “the New Adam” who comes from Adam. Then he adds, “For Christ who seems to come second, really comes first, and Adam who seems to come first really comes second.” Now, that will blow your circuits on a snowy day!

For us, the question is really this: how far back can you go? We go back to Christ, and through Christ to Abraham, and beyond Abraham to Adam. We go all the way back to God. That’s where we come from. Every one of us.

And thanks to Christ, we are adopted into a venerable heritage, bequeathed with undeserved blessings, and surrounded by a family far greater than the one into which we were born. That’s a lot to ponder, and it’s enough for today.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

A Plan for the Fullness of Time

Ephesians 1:3-14
Christmas 2
January 2, 2022
William G. Carter

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,

who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places,

just as he chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world

to be holy and blameless before him in love.

He destined us for adoption as his children through Jesus Christ,

according to the good pleasure of his will,

to the praise of his glorious grace that he freely bestowed on us in the Beloved.

In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses,

according to the riches of his grace that he lavished on us.

With all wisdom and insight he has made known to us the mystery of his will,

according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ,

as a plan for the fullness of time,

to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.

In Christ we have also obtained an inheritance,

having been destined

according to the purpose of him who accomplishes all things

according to his counsel and will,

so that we, who were the first to set our hope on Christ, might live for the praise of his glory.

In him you also, when you had heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation,

and had believed in him,

were marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit;

this is the pledge of our inheritance toward redemption as God’s own people,
to the praise of his glory.


The other day, I was talking with a friend. We were catching up on our kids, and then she told me that she’s no longer working where she was. “At first, it was hard to take,” she said, “but then another position opened up nearby. And then my husband and I decided to buy a property on a lake that we love.” Glancing toward heaven, she added, “Maybe that was The Plan.”

She said “Plan” with a capital P. Such reflection brings us into the mystery of God’s will, the recurring perception that, behind all the job changes, home purchases, and stories about our kids, there is a hidden scheme where all things unfold. It’s an enormous topic for the beginning of a new year.

The will of God. It came up for a fellow pastor on New Year’s Eve. Friday was a foggy night in the north Jersey woods. A deer wandered on the road, right in front of his Dodge Caravan. The unexpected collision demolished the vehicle. “We are OK,” he reports, “and with 345,000 miles, the van didn’t owe us anything.”

One of his friends said, “Everything happens for a reason. Wait six months and you’ll understand why this happened.” David replied, “No need to wait that long. This van was living on borrowed time.” He paused and added, “Aren’t we all?”

That’s all true enough, and the passing of time does add perspective. But I wonder what God’s plan was for the deer who wandered onto the road. It’s hard to imagine the Holy One, seated on a throne and decreeing, “OK, six-point buck, you have lived long enough. And David needs a new van.”

What is the will of God? We pray for it regularly in the words of Jesus: “Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.” It’s a striking phrase. It presumes that God does have a will, or at least a plan or intention. Otherwise the planet would stop spinning and the stars would fizzle out – unless, of course, that was God’s will.

In the prayer of Jesus, it sounds like there is complete obedience in heaven. Down here, not so much. “May your will be done on earth,” he prays, because there’s a chance that it might not be done. At least, not immediately. We live on a planet that resists its own well-being.

Like he said recently: “I’m not getting my covid shots. My time’s about up anyway.” His very wise son said, “How can you be so sure, Dad?” Good point.

Others ponder the will of God and ask, “Has God scheduled viruses and their continuing evolution?” Ever think about that? I’m not prepared to go that far. Yet if we step out of our present circumstances, we realize that viruses and pandemics occur and reoccur throughout history. Back in Bible days, a pandemic was called a pestilence. They’ve been around for a while.

All I know is that, in my own lifetime, smallpox and polio have been wiped out by the research of science and the development of vaccines. Which was the will of God? The origin of the disease or the development of the cure? You tell me.

These are cosmic questions for an unseen God. We can speculate. Any declarations will only be provisional. Is losing a job and buying a lake house the intention of God? Or smashing up a well-worn vehicle on a foggy road? Catching the inevitable virus or getting a vaccine? What is the will of God?

Picture one more scene, a young man in his early thirties. He kneels in a garden to pray, “Let this cup pass from me.” It’s young Jesus, facing his almost certain assassination. He has confronted more of his share of conflict. He knows the dark clouds swirl around him. He knows what he wants. So he prays, “Let this cup of suffering pass from me.” But then he’s wise enough to pray another phrase, “Yet not what I will, but what You will.” (Luke 22:42).

That’s the key. Setting aside our wishes, our plans, our manipulations, to welcome the unfolding script that we do not yet know. That’s the key – and it is so difficult. It punctures the illusion that we are in charge of very much. And it leaves us vulnerable to whatever is coming.

But Jesus did not pray, “Not what I will, but what my enemies will.” He was not waiting for what Caiaphas, Pontius Pilate, and the rest of them would do. He was looking through all the human intentions to see what God was going to accomplish. Jesus was lifted high on a cross, between earth below and heaven above, to bring heaven and earth together. This reconciliation is the will of God.

That’s what our scripture text is singing about. “In (Christ) him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses…” In his life, death, and resurrection, an orderly heaven and disorderly earth are united. This plan from heaven was not anticipated. This event of God’s will was not expected. Yet this one revelatory death – and its confirmation in the resurrection – was sufficient to “raise us from the deadness of our trespasses” (2:4-6) and “break down the wall of hostility (2:13-14).”

And why did God intend to do this? The church of the Ephesians sings all about it:

• “it was our destiny to be adopted into God’s family.” (1:5)
• “it was our inheritance” as new members of God’s household (1:11)
• it happened “according to the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us” (1:7-8)
• And the bottom line: we belong to God now “through God’s good pleasure” (1:5, 1:9)

The church sings it again: “With all wisdom and insight he has made known to us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ, as a plan for the fullness of time.” (1:9)

In these days after Christmas, Ephesians lays out the plan of God: “to gather up all things in Christ, things in heaven and things on earth.” As one of our favorite Christmas carols declares, “Peace on earth, and mercy mild / God and sinners reconciled.” This is what God has always wanted. The coming of Christ has made it happen.

But what this to do with us? With changing jobs, looking for new cars, and getting vaccines? The connection is best stated by the British scholar, N.T. Wright. He writes,

Paul’s great prayer at the opening of this letter is a celebration of the larger story within which every single Christian story – every story of individual conversion, faith, spiritual life, obedience and hope – is set. Only by understanding and celebrating the larger story can we hope to understand everything that’s going on in our own smaller stories, and so observe God at work in and through our own lives.”[1]

The smaller decisions, the risky moments, the tragedies, and the temporary accomplishments are all woven into the tapestry of all that God has done and continues to do. Our lives are part of a larger story that is still unfolding. Call it “a plan for the fullness of time.” Or think of it as “the purpose of God who accomplishes all things.” Our lives are a gift from the immense and eternal life of God. And the mystery of God’s will has been revealed to us in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Eugene Peterson may say it best, as he translated a line from our text: “It’s in Christ that we find out who we are and what we are living for.” (The Message, Ephesians 1:11)

So we move beyond Christmas and begin a New Year at the Table of our Lord, professing the power of his self-giving death in the light of his resurrection. We pray, “thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven,” and we look for that divine will to be done in us, among us, and beyond us. It is a gift to be here, to share this life together, to share this life in Christ.

May the riches of God’s grace bless you in this New Year. For this is the will of God, according to God’s good pleasure.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.  

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[1] N.T. Wright, Paul for Everyone: The Prison Letters (Louisville, Westminster John Knox Press, 2002) 8.