Who Sets the Limits?

Some time ago I saw a cartoon picturing a pastor standing in the pulpit, ready to preach to the congregation. Right beside the pulpit are several suitcases and a stack of boxes labeled “books,” apparently from the pastor’s study. The caption has the pastor beginning by saying to the congregation, “Today’s sermon is one I’ve wanted to preach for some time now!”

Even the most secure of pastors, those with both a strong sense of calling and the kind of skills that make for respectful and loving communication with the people of their congregations—even these may well have times when they are anxious about how people will respond when their preaching touches upon a controversial area or a point of conflict in the congregation. Indeed, some may wonder, if they do preach forthrightly and prophetically, whether they will need to pack their bags. We are likely to assume that Jesus, when preaching, had no such issues. After all, Jesus traveled light, and, the Gospel writers tell us, Jesus frequently had no place to lay his head. And yet, in this morning’s Gospel lesson, Jesus finds himself, near the beginning of his public ministry, preaching before a home crowd—no simple task for most of us! Apparently Jesus had been well received in the neighboring town of Capernaum, perhaps even performing some remarkable feat of healing, and the people of Nazareth expect Jesus to match that performance among them.

It’s intriguing to note just where Luke places this story—immediately after Jesus has spent forty days in the wilderness, grappling with the nature of his ministry and call from God. Jesus has flatly denied the devil’s attempt to make Jesus into a self-gratifying, power-hungry messiah; Jesus has confirmed that there is more to life than material wealth, more than status and personal acclaim, more than power over others. Instead, Jesus resolves to begin his ministry as a servant, one who brings good news to the poor, the lonely, the forgotten, the lost, the broken, the confused, the hurting.

That’s the power of the text Jesus chooses when he has opportunity to preach before his home synagogue in Nazareth. A Sabbath service in those days generally began with a reading from Deuteronomy 6, “Hear, O Israel; the Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. Keep these words that I am commanding you in your heart.” This passage, called the Shema, was followed by a reading from the law, then one from the prophets, then a sermon and prayers. In those days any male worshiper, even a visitor, might be handed the scroll and invited to read Scripture and preach a sermon. When Jesus is called upon to do so, he turns to a passage from Isaiah 61, a poem about the mission of God’s servant, called to restore Israel to its former glory.

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he 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,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

No doubt it was a passage with which the people were familiar, but they would have been little prepared for what follows, as Jesus asserts, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” Not tomorrow, not some time off in the distant future, but today. The scripture is being fulfilled now. Jesus is not talking about some pie-in-the-sky future; he is announcing that he has come to usher in the very kingdom of God, here and now. And Jesus is inviting not only the hearers of his day, but us as well, to join with him in this challenging task of proclaiming good news, breaking down barriers that divide, embracing the way of peace and reconciliation, going the extra mile in relationships, unleashing the bonds of oppression, taking on the heart of a servant, dying to self that we might come to embody the promise of life abundant and life everlasting. Every bit as much as in the time of its first hearing, these words of Jesus challenge us here and now: Today this scripture is being fulfilled!

The people are initially excited, yet clearly baffled. Questions swirl in their minds. Is this not the son of Joseph, someone we have seen growing up among us? How dare he claim to play a key role in God’s unfolding salvation, God’s gift of love? Where did this seeming arrogance come from?

Jesus is frustrated by the people’s skepticism, and reminds them, “No prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown.” And then Jesus goes on to assert that God’s gracious love, God’s promised salvation—these are not their exclusive property; indeed, they are not the exclusive property of any one group of people. Jesus draws upon two stories from Israel’s past to make the point that God’s love is inclusive, not exclusive. The first is the story of the prophet Elijah seeking the aid of a widow of Sidon, even though the land of Israel was full of widows to whom the prophet could have turned. The second story is similar. There were many persons in Israel suffering from leprosy, yet the prophet Elisha becomes the instrument for healing for Naaman the Syrian. Though faithful Jews in that day believed that foreigners—Gentiles—were beyond the reach of God’s love, Jesus reminds the people of the very opposite. It is Christ’s way of asserting that all persons are created in the image of God, that God’s love will not be limited by our fears and prejudices and suspicions; God’s love will not be inhibited by our racism.

The hometown crowd is enraged, driving Jesus out of the synagogue, wanting to hurl Jesus off a cliff. Tragic, isn’t it, how frequently we yearn for the gift of God’s love for ourselves, but want to keep that love from others. We want Jesus to be for us, but not for “them.” We want to decide for God who’s in and who’s not, in the kingdom of God. But right at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry he is asserting that God’s love and grace, God’s compassion and goodness, extend far beyond the limits you and I would create. Indeed, God’s grace is never subject to the constraints of any one nation, any particular faith community, any racial group, any single locale or perspective. You and I may well be called to be instruments of God’s grace for others, sometimes without our even knowing it, but we are never free to create boundaries that exclude.

Rebecca Manley Pippert has a book entitled Out of the Saltshaker and into the World, in which she speaks of evangelism, sharing our faith, as a way of life. Rebecca has been involved in ministry with college students, and she relates the story of a young man named Bill, a brilliant yet unkempt student who during college has become a Christian. Bill was a unique individual, a kind of “left-over hippie” with stringy hair and always barefoot, whether in winter or in summer, whether in snow or rain or sleet.

At the same time a well dressed, middle-class church across the street from the college campus decided to work more intentionally at developing a ministry to students. They were not sure how to go about it, but decided a first step was to try to make the students feel welcome in their worship. One Sunday morning Bill arrived in his jeans and tee shirt, and of course, bare feet. Long time members looked a bit uncomfortable, but no one said anything to Bill. So Bill began walking down the aisle looking for a seat. It was a particularly crowded Sunday, so as Bill got down to the front pew and still had not found a place, he just squatted down on the front carpet—perfectly acceptable behavior in a college gathering, but quite unusual in the sanctuary of a staid, rather up-tight congregation.

Tension began to build, as people wondered what they ought to say or do, when one of the older members, a deacon, began walking down the aisle toward Bill. The church became silent, all wondering what would unfold, most assuming that the deacon would chastise Bill for unacceptable behavior. But as the old deacon approached, with some difficulty he sat down on the carpet next to Bill, and the two of them worshiped together that Sunday. A message of welcoming, inviting, inclusive love was communicated silently, yet visibly, to that staid congregation, and, according to the story, there were few dry eyes in the sanctuary.

Who sets the limits? Certainly not you and me. Indeed, the greatest danger is that those who seek to impose limits upon God’s love will find themselves in peril, cutting themselves off from God’s love because of their own blindness. For the incredible good news of the gospel is that God’s love is a love that knows no limits. God’s grace and compassion, God’s justice and mercy, God’s peace and righteousness—these are available to us all.

One of the remarkable events of recent history is the ending of the divisive system of racial apartheid in South Africa. A few years back I read Nelson Mandela’s autobiography, A Long Walk to Freedom. Writing of his 27 years of imprisonment because of his outspoken opposition to the injustices and inequities of his day, Mandela nevertheless attests:

I never lost hope that this great transformation [the end of racial apartheid] would occur … I always knew that deep down in every human heart, there is mercy and generosity. No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they cal be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite. Even in the grimmest times in prison, when my comrades and I were pushed to our limits, I would see a glimmer of humanity in one of the guards, perhaps just for a second, but it was enough to reassure me and keep me going. Human goodness is a flame that can be hidden but never extinguished.

Surely the gospel of Jesus Christ holds the same conviction, that human hearts can be taught to love, that we can be fashioned and renewed in the image of Christ, that we can begin to walk in the footsteps of the One who came proclaiming peace, offering release to the captives, preaching good news to the poor, extending justice and hope to the broken and the lost.

Mandela concludes his book by asserting,

When I walked out of prison, that was my mission, to liberate the oppressed and the oppressor both. Some say that has now been achieved. But I know that is not the case. The truth is that we are not yet free; we have merely achieved the freedom to be free, the right not to be oppressed. We have not taken the final step of the journey, but the first step on a longer and even more difficult road. For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others. The true test of our devotion to freedom is just beginning.

I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance that I have come. But I can only rest for a moment, for with freedom comes responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not yet ended.

In the Christian life, we are ever on the road; we are continually in the process of becoming the persons Christ frees us to be. And along the way, we dare not set limits of exclusion, for all persons are created in the image of God, and all are invited to journey in faith. As followers of Jesus Christ, the Spirit of the Lord is upon us, for God has anointed us to preach good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

Sisters and brothers, now is the time to embrace anew the journey. Now is the time to walk forward, doing justice, loving tenderly, and walking humbly with our God. May it be so among us this day. Amen.

Pastoral Prayer

Loving God, Creator of each of us and of all of us, we come today, affirming that we want Jesus to walk with us—in our time of worship this morning, in our times of struggle and in our times of smooth sailing in life, in our times of darkness and our times of hope, in our times of fear as well as times of light.

Walk with us, Lord Jesus, and even more, teach us to walk with you. Open our eyes and our hearts to your presence in one another. Fill us with your peace that passes all human understanding, your grace that knows no limits, your hope that inspires us along life’s journey. Lord Jesus, let us walk with you.

God, thank you for blessings beyond measure—for the gift of creation, for the beauty of freshly-fallen snow, for the promise of relationships.

Forgive us, God, when we lose sight of your good gifts—when we remain wrapped in self-centeredness; when we allow ourselves to be satisfied with business as usual, ignoring the pain and brokenness in us and around us; when we seek to go it alone in life, walking alone rather than with you and with one another. Forgive us, and plant within us a new heart and a new spirit—a spirit of compassion and grace, mercy and peace.

Hear us now, O God, as we pray for peace in our troubled world. For peace in Iraq, in Afghanistan, for peace between Israelis and Palestinians, for peace wherever your people create barriers than divide, we pray.

O God who holds each person as precious, we yearn for that day when swords are beaten into plowshares, when your kingdom of justice and peace and hope reigns supreme. Grant us courage, O God, to be your reconcilers and peacemakers, to be ambassadors of your gracious love.

Hear us, Lord God, as we remember those in special need of your healing touch. You have heard our spoken joys and concerns, and you know those unspoken yearnings of our hearts as well. May your light and love envelope all who yearn for healing and wholeness.

Loving God, continue to bless our brothers and sisters of Second Baptist Church. Guide them as they seek to walk in the footsteps of Christ Jesus our Lord, in whose spirit we pray. Amen.