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.