The people at the First U.P. Church of Crafton Heights are spending much of 2017-2018 in an exploration of the Gospel of Mark. On April 29, we looked at an episode the theologians call “The Rejection at Nazareth” – and thought about the ways that we are not amateurs when it comes to rejecting. Our texts included Mark 6:1-13 and Romans 15:1-7.
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On December 27, 1992, the NFL’s Buffalo Bills played the Houston Oilers in the final game of the regular season. The Oilers not only crushed the Bills by a score of 27-3, they also knocked out the Bills starting quarterback, Jim Kelly. When the teams met in the first round of the playoffs the following week, the Bills were relying on second-string quarterback Frank Reich. It did not start well, and by just after halftime, the Bills were lifeless, having fallen behind 35-3. The temperature in Rich Stadium that day was just about freezing, and apparently many fans agreed with the radio broadcaster who said, “The lights are on here at Rich Stadium, they’ve been on since this morning, you could pretty much turn them out on the Bills right now.” The arena started to empty. One reporter said, the fans are “pouring out of the gates, getting in their cars, driving home”.
But then, improbably, the home team scored a touchdown. And another. And another. And another. All in the 3rdquarter. The fans who had walked away in disgust were now clamoring for re-entry, and even climbing the fences until the Bills went against league policy and allowed people to re-enter the stadium. The ones who were there can say that they witnessed what is simply known as “the comeback” – the Bills winning the game 41-38 in overtime. Later, Bills coach Marv Levy said, “70,000 people were at that game. I’ve already met 400,000 of them”.
I lived in Western New York at that time, and was watching the game on TV. For the next few weeks, all anyone could talk about was the fact that so many people had left the game early. How many times have you heard someone say, “Can you believe that they did that? If I’d have been there, things would have been different. There’s no way I’d have acted like that!” Whether we’re disgusted with the way that fans treat a team, shocked by the behavior of a crowd, or appalled by the silence of so many during the Civil Rights movement or the Holocaust, it’s easy for us to say, “Not me. I’d have done things differently.”
Of course, Christians like to play this game, too. We’re not too far removed from the events of Palm Sunday and Good Friday, and we remember reading of the religious leaders who mocked Jesus, or the crowds that called for his torture. “Not us!”, we say.
Today’s gospel lesson relates an incident in Jesus’ life known as “the rejection at Nazareth”. Jesus has had some acclaim as a teacher and a wonder-worker, and now he’s come back to his hometown, where he is roundly and quickly dismissed. We hear this story, and we say, “How could people act like this? If I’d have been there, I’d have believed. I’m with you, Jesus.”
We who sit in these pews 20 centuries later find it easy to get offended on Jesus’ account. We may even find ourselves nursing some anger at the fact that these people, who ought to have known Jesus the best, were doubting him, questioning him, and even “taking offense” at him. We see the rejection at Nazareth as a scandal or embarrassment that should never have happened, and wouldn’t have, if we’d have been there.
When I catch myself thinking these things, I am caught short because in many ways, in my mind, the first-century rejection AT Nazareth has been replaced by the twenty-first century rejection OF Nazareth.
Here’s what I mean: many of us have found our way to some spiritual awareness or awakening. We have, somehow, been deeply moved or had a conversion experience of one kind or another. We find that we are more passionate about the faith or some aspect of it now than we ever have been. Maybe it’s a personal renewal of our spirit, or a newfound embrace of the environment; we are filled with compassion for the poor or have grown a heart for racial reconciliation. Somehow, the Good News of which Jesus spoke has come to take root in some place in our hearts, and we find ourselves among the converted. We are ready!
And when that happens, how tempting is it for us to live only with those who share our goals, views, and ideals? Isn’t it easy to want to spend all our time with those who are hungry for the same interpretation as we, or who are filled with the same kinds of compassion or fire for justice? Don’t we find it really easy to get irritated with, offended by, or angry at the folks who think differently than we do?
How easy is it to perceive that those who are not “sold” on the same things that we are are simply people in our way, or distractions? We find excuses to ignore or belittle them even as we seek to follow or respect or share with the people who are more “like us” in some way.
When this happens, of course, we aren’t really living in a true community – we’re existing in some sort of a “silo” or even a “ghetto” where everyone is just like us. We dismiss many of the people who are, geographically or biologically, at any rate, the closest to us. “Him? Oh, he’s a gun nut.” “Her? Please. She’s a baby-killer.” “Them? Wow, let me tell you about them. They are pretty over the top…”
Here’s my point: Jesus went to his hometown of Nazareth, to be with the people who knew him best, and with whom he enjoyed the closest physical proximity, and he was himself. And in doing so, he found that that self was rejected by his neighbors. It’s taken us 2000 years, but I’m afraid that now many of those who claim to be the followers of Jesus have turned that situation entirely around and it is we who refuse to dwell with our families or our neighbors; it is we who reject our own Nazareths.
In light of that, I am fascinated with what Jesus does next. Immediately after he experiences the rejection of his hometown, he calls his closest disciples together. So far as we know, each of these men comes from somewhere in the Galilee – from Capernaum, Bethsaida, or Cana. And when Jesus calls them to himself, what does he do? He sends them out, two by two, “to the surrounding villages”.
What was he thinking? He himself had been rejected, and now he sets them up to experience the same treatment.
I wonder how it felt to the twelve? They’d watched as he was attacked or accused or belittled or mocked by his hometown, and now he’s sending them out to the same place, presumably so that they might receive the same treatment.
And, to give him credit, Jesus is simply living into his own paradigm. I mean, he is responding to the rejection that he’s experienced in Nazareth and Galilee with an embrace and an affirmation. This should not be all that surprising, really: this is the man who told his followers that the Kingdom ethic involved loving the neighbor, praying for the persecutor, and, in general, giving better than you got. So in many ways, his sending out of the twelve is simply a concrete expression of this theology, right? His neighbors have rejected him and his message, and his response is to send out what is, by all accounts, the “B” team.
Except for this…
Look at what happens: the Junior Varsity outscores the star. In verse 5, Mark tells us that Jesus could not do anything. And yet, the ones who we often perceive to be the stumbling, bumbling, can’t-quite-get-it-right followers of Jesus show up in verses 12 and 13 preaching the good news, curing all kinds of people, and driving out many evil spirits.
These twelve people simply walk along the roads with which they are familiar, show up in communities where they’ve been before, and repeat the words of Jesus… and find that – lo and behold – this stuff works! Right there, in the midst of their everyday, normal, walking-around-town lives, the Good News of Jesus bears fruit in places where they might have expected otherwise.
I find this to be particularly interesting because in the past ten days, there is one thing that people have said to me far more than anything else. Almost every conversation I’ve had with anyone has included the words, “Well, Dave, how was the trip?” It’s gratifying, on one level, to know that people have an awareness of my travel to Africa and some discussion of the issues surrounding our international partnership, and justice, and famine relief.
And yet, there is at the heart of this magnificent greeting at least the glimmer of a suspicion or confession: when a hundred people greet me and say, “Hey! How was the trip?”, someone might be tempted to believe that I alone have been privileged to make a journey, that I alone have been called or sent out into the world in order to bear witness to the Kingdom of God. In some ways, it might be tempting for me or for someone who asks that question to begin to think, “It’s the trips to Africa or somewhere else exotic that count… maybe most of us, most of the time, aren’t being sent anywhere.”
The reality of the fact, as I believe it is underscored by today’s Gospel reading, is that each and every one of us are sent each and every day. Sometimes, there may be big, splashy trips that require vaccinations or passports, but mostly, we get the call to go and be faithful to the people who know us best and who surround us in the places with which we are very familiar. Each of us is called and sent to work, or school, or family each and every day.
Your neighborhood, campus, office… those are not the places where you are somehow stuck while you’re waiting for Jesus to send you to that one amazing place where you’ll have a life-changing experience. That’s not how the life of discipleship works! Your neighborhood, campus, office… those are the places to which you are being sent TODAY!
Let me offer some encouragement to treat each of these sendings in the way that we regard my having gone to Africa a few weeks ago.
When I found myself landing in Malawi, I was vigilant: I wanted to learn and remember the names of the people around me. I felt as though it was important to hear their stories, and to share a few of my own. I needed to be attentive to the ways that they were experiencing the world that was around them. I saw that they had some things to teach me, and believed that I, in turn, had some things of importance to share with them.
In the same way, can we be committed to actually being present in the places to which we’re being sent this day? Do you know the names of your neighbors, or the folks in your biology class, or the woman who sits at the receptionist’s desk in your building? Can we take the time to really listen for the stories of our neighbors and co-workers and fellow students? I know that sometimes, I can be pretty critical of the ways that we behave on social media, but this is an instance where we can, in fact, be socially engaged. Look at the photos your neighbors post. “Like” them, if it’s appropriate. Ask questions so that you’ll get stories. This is a great tool we’ve been given that can help us to come to know and love the people amongst whom God has placed us.
As you wander through your neighborhood – both geographic and virtual – ask God to use you to bring encouragement, or Good News, or healing in these places.
And you say, “Ah, come on, Dave… what good can it do? I can’t do much…” Maybe. But maybe “not much” is better than “nothing.”
On the recent Youth Retreat, Tim Salinetro planted a thought in my mind that’s been rolling around for a few weeks. He pointed out that in all of the science fiction movies that involve time travel, everyone is always really careful not to change even the tiniest detail because if they do, then perhaps that will result in some huge and radical change in our present circumstances. Maybe you remember the scene from Back to the Future where Marty McFly risks everything by interfering with the meeting between his parents… In this view of the world, everythingabout the present can be changed by one tiny little aspect of the past, right?
We can wrap our heads around that, for some reason, but hardly anyone in the present ever thinks that they can change the future much, if at all, by doing something small today. That’s too bad.
Listen: we believe that God is up to something here and now, in lives like ours, in places like this. God forbid that we reject our neighbor or colleague or fellow student out of a fear or insecurity or laziness or refusal to believe that the tasks that lie ahead of us this day and this week are somehow unworthy of the divine attention.
Charles Spurgeon was one of the dominant preachers in the English language in the 19thcentury, and he once said “every Christian is either a missionary or an imposter.” May we have the grace to see that we are being invited to walk through the world we’ve been given bearing witness to the Christ who is in us, and may we have the sense to not reject that world. Thanks be to God for the Good News at work in us. Amen.