Sermon by Michelle - Where are you in today’s Gospel reading?

Every Sunday, we listen to the words of Scripture, often a snippet that forms a story or anecdote. We are invited into the passage, to picture it in our mind’s eye. Depending on the passage and the reader, we may hear people speaking to us, asking questions, or we may hear others being rebuked, cajoled, or encouraged. When we hear these things, when we picture these events happening, where are we?

Most days, it’s usually safe to be in the admiring crowd when Jesus performs a miracle. You know them – the people in the temple, or in the village, looking on. Not the blind person, or the lame person – the one that usually starts off being poor and begging, and in the end offers to follow Jesus to the end of the world. That’s not very comfortable. Sometimes, it’s safe to be one of the disciples. Usually, they get to be close to the action without having to be involved, but watch out! Sometimes, Jesus calls on them, to distribute never ending pieces of bread and fish, for example, or to go do a healing by themselves. Nothing good ever seems to come from being a temple official, though, so don’t pick them. Nope, as a rule, it’s safest to be in the crowd. You get to see the action, you get to be a part of it, sort of, but with none of the mess.

I think that in churches today, it is easy to think it's easy for us to imagine ourselves as part of the crowd. Let's face it, we ARE part of a crowd, sitting here, surrounded by other people. We're sitting inside, on pews (chairs), we're not walking outside chasing someone down, begging for a cure. Most of us are relatively healthy - we're not blind, or so lame that we are being carried around on a mat. Without too much effort, it's easy to picture ourselves in the crowd. Being a disciple, let alone being Jesus, that would take effort.

The crowd in today’s Gospel expected something great. They had gathered, for worship. They had heard rumors that Jesus was pretty impressive, a good teacher, but a little more. They also knew that Jesus was a hometown boy. And, they no doubt expected him to "make good," as they say. Like the politicians who bring back projects for their home districts, or famous actors and musicians who return to reinvest their fortunes in their old neighborhoods and schools, people expected Jesus to share a little of the power and the miracles that they had heard about. Jesus had performed his opening act - entering the temple and reading aloud from scripture. The crowd was ready for their miracle. A hush falls.

But Jesus refuses to perform. Because, he's not a magician. He doesn't perform on cue. And he's not looking for an audience. He's looking to fulfill the prophecy of Isaiah, which was the scripture passage he read. He plans to bring good news to the poor, to release the captives, and restore sight to the blind. He's looking to heal the world, to create the peace that passes all understanding.

And the crowd that had gathered in Galilee didn't need that. There weren't any lame people, there weren't any captives. Prisons bring down property values - they were more respectable than that. No people hovering near death. One didn't hang out with the sick - that would make you ritually unclean! You didn't want beggars around, they were just so unpleasant. And, of course, no people possessed by demons. What would people think if their town had a demon? The Galileans made sure that if anyone got a demon, well, let's just say they made very sure that the demon drove that person out of town.

What pressure to live in such a village! To live in fear of their judgment. To go through adolescence worrying that each pimple that appeared might be mistaken for leprosy, and result in condemnation and banishment. To be afraid that chatting with neighbors, and disclosing a financial setback or family illness, might result in their assumption that you had sinned, or brought the trouble on yourself. To welcome back an aging parent into the household, but only if that parent promised never to show herself weak or needy. Because the town was filled with the healthy and the strong, the people who were important. The town believed that God showed God's blessing by making everyone self-sufficient, and strong. The town was sure that they were blessed already, because they had no weakness.

And so, they had no need for Jesus's usual miracles. Nobody would admit that they needed to be healed, or set free. They wanted parlor tricks, not deep healing. Perhaps they were hoping he might turn straw into gold, or something similarly profitable. And when the people of Galilee heard that Jesus was looking for those people, they drive Jesus out. They don't want those people. They have worked hard. They have followed the rules. They don't want to risk their reputations, their holiness, by seeking out those people. They want Jesus's miracles for themselves, not for the unworthy. They are enraged at the mere suggestion that they share.

Because they had rid themselves of everyone that could possibly need healing, or so they had thought.

Jesus reminded them that they were blind, spiritually blind. They needed to be healed, not in their limbs, but in their hearts. They needed the love that Paul describes. Jesus reminded them that the prophets Elijah and Elisha did not heal the Jews who were suffering for their hardness of heart. Instead, Jesus reminded them, Elijah saved the poor person who shared what she thought would be her very last meal; and Elisha saved a rival who could easily lead his army against the Israelites.

The crowd is outraged. They want miracles, not moralizing. And if this Jesus is going to speak so poorly of them, to suggest that they might not be perfect, well they would do away with him. They rush him, as if to throw him off a cliff.

So, where are you in this story? Are you part of that crowd, waiting for Jesus to do exactly what you want him to do, to make your perfect life a little more perfect? Because it turns out, the crowd is not a good place to be. Jesus isn't looking for people to be in his crowd.

Or are you someone else in the story? Are you one of the people who couldn't be part of the crowd? The ones banished inside the house, not allowed to go out? The ones who were imperfect, but not allowed to say so? The ones held captive by the village's demands that everyone be perfect, everyone be self-sufficient, and everyone be happy? Are you willing to go out on a limb and say that you need Jesus?

Or, are you with Jesus himself? In that dangerous place, on the edge of the village, risking a lot to say, "I'm here to bring justice, to relieve suffering, and to heal the world. I want to help bring about that peace which passes all understanding."

You've heard me talking about the peace that passes all understanding, I think. I usually say those words as part of the blessing at the end of every service. Have you thought about what that means?

Most of us think of peace as - well, as a whole lot of nothing. No noise, no conflict. We think of it as something we can achieve for ourselves. "I will move out of this apartment with the noisy next door neighbors," we say, "and then I will have some peace." But true peace means more than that. True peace is absence of fear, or of want. It means no more suffering. Not just that you aren't suffering, but that nobody else is.

Suffering, anywhere, diminishes peace everywhere. Think about it. From our earliest days, we seem to be programmed to empathize with the suffering. If you watch a group of toddlers and infants, you will see that when one of them begins to cry, the others reach out, to try to soothe their peer. That empathy continues, as we get older. As we go through life, we see need, and feel compelled to respond. Until, for some, our empathy gets overloaded, and we feel we just can't take any more. Or, for others, until we feel that we can't give any more, or we begin to fear that others will take what little we have. So then, we try to move away from the need, because we think that will bring peace.

Normally, this Sunday would be a "social justice Sunday" at St. Paul's. A Sunday where, for five minutes after each of the main services, we consider the stories of those whom Jesus sought out - the widows, the orphans, the lame, the captives, and we ask how God might be calling us to heal their situations. They look different now. When we started Social Justice Sunday, we chose the last Sunday of the month, because that is the Sunday when the widows and orphans recieving Social Security would see their benefits start to run out. But, we could have chosen any Sunday. For those crippled by discrimination, the reminders of justice can surface at any time. For those working in jobs crippled by low wages, any weekend will bring the struggle to make ends meet. On Social Justice Sunday, we take time to seek healing for our communities, to pray, and to try to follow in the footsteps of Jesus.

Jesus worked a miracle in today's Gospel. Did you hear it? Not the miracle the people wanted - not a public magic trick, but to my way of thinking, a miracle nonetheless. It happened at the end of today's reading, when it seems as if the crowd is about to kill Jesus. And yet, he escapes. By doing the most amazing thing. He escapes, by turning around facing the crowd that wanted to do him in, and walking right through them. And, if you've ever faced an angry crowd, you'll know how significant a miracle that was.

We don't know quite what Jesus did after that. Scripture tells us he went on to Capernaum. But, in my mind, I imagine Jesus made a few stops along the way. While the crowd was still at the top of the cliff, wondering where Jesus went, I imagine him walking through the empty streets of the village, calling out to those who were left behind. Come out, he says, it's safe now. Come out if you're poor, or sick, or lame. Come out if you're not perfect. I have time for you. You do not need to be ashamed. Because that's where Jesus usually is - walking back to the people who need him, reaching out to them in love.

That's where Jesus calls us to go, too. To have the courage to admit that we are not perfect, and to recognize that we have been blessed. And to reach out with love to those who are not as blessed, and help them in their struggles. Not because we are better than they are, or because they need to learn fro us. But as Paul reminds the Corinthians, because we are called to love. And, in order to love, we need to be with people, to listen to them, and to pray with them. We need to see them in our midst and love them instead of scorning them, and we need to seek them out in the places where respectable people don't go.

Jesus turned to face an angry crowd, and encouraged them to heal the world. Will we have the insight to answer his call?