Off the Cliff

A sermon by Associate Minister Elsa A. Peters, January 31, 2010

Luke 4:21-30

They got so mad. Their fists clench. Their backs tightened. They wanted blood. So, there was no other way. There was no possible other way to express their rage. They followed their instincts when they stormed out of the temple, “drove [Jesus] out of the town and lead him to the brow of the hill” so that they might hurl him off. Not push. Not throw. Not shove. That angry mob wanted to hurl Jesus off the cliff.

Surely, you’ve been there before. You’ve been pushed. You’ve been shoved. You’ve been led to the edge of reality. You’ve stood on the brow of some hill. You’ve looked down at your feet and wondered what you could have said or done to be in this awful spot.

It’s works out for Jesus. It might not work for us, but it works out for him. He just walks away. “He passed through the midst of them and went away.” That’s nice for him, but it’s never that magical for me and probably not for you either. When you’re pushed to edge like that, you can’t just pass through the crowd. There has to be an apology. There has to be some resolution. You can’t just go away like Jesus does. It just doesn’t work that way. So, how does it work? What epiphany are we supposed to have off this particular cliff?

We heard Jesus say these words last week. This week, we hear it again as Jesus reads from Isaiah, rolls up the scroll and proclaims again that “this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” We’re OK with that because we believe that Jesus is the fulfillment of all that we hope for in the year of the Lord’s favor. It doesn’t rub us the wrong way. But, whoever they were in that temple in Nazareth that day, they were mad. They were so mad. Their fists clench as they demand, “Is not this Joseph’s son?”

Truthfully, they started it. Whoever those Nazarenes are, they threw the first insult. They would get the time-out first. They would be first to sit in the corner and be told to think about what they had done. But, let’s be clear. Jesus is not blameless here. He insults them back. He throws proverbs at them like the stones they want to throw at him. He preaches at them. You can just see him wagging his finger as Jesus turns the stories of faith into weapons pointing out the broken systems that failed a widow and a Syrian. Truthfully, Jesus should get a time-out too, but that’s not what happens. There’s no one to interrupt. There’s no one calm everyone down. There’s no one to assign time-outs. Instead, Jesus is driven, pushed and nearly hurled off the cliff.

Friends, this is not good news. It’s not good news for Jesus even if he can walk away. It’s not good news for those of us that feel pushed that far. It’s not even good news for the Nazarenes who nearly push Jesus off the cliff “on which their town was built.” The anger is still there. The fists are still clenched. Their backs are still tight. It doesn’t all just disappear when Jesus walks away. These Nazarenes are insulted. They are hurt. They are mad.

And… you know what? They’re not alone. So are we! It’s an “angry mob reaction” but we have a place in that mob. We’re mad that our politicians are still arguing over healthcare. We’re mad that no one can seem to agree. We’re mad that none of our leaders seem to listen to each other, never mind their constituents. It’s not just the leaders. There are other problems. The economy is still a mess. There are those personal problems, financial and otherwise. But, there’s more… A terrorist attempt interrupted our Christmas celebration. And then, when it seemed that things had to get better, Haiti happened. An earthquake destroyed the capital city of a country that many of us had to look up on a map. It’s not just the Nazarenes that are mad. We’re mad too.

We’ve used all of the words we can think to use and still we’re pushed to the edge. We’re perched off the cliff next to Jesus as much as our anger feeds the angry mob. We’re staring at our feet calculating how much space we have until we fall off – and what’s most scary is that we might. We might just fall off the cliff. We’re that close to the edge. There’s no walking away from this. We can’t just pass through the midst of any of this. And it’s terrifying. It’s absolutely terrifying.

And yet, what strikes me in moments like the ones in this Gospel Lesson is the simple reality that we’re all feeling the same stuff – Jesus, the angry mob, you and me. We’re all scared. We’re all overwhelmed. We’re all not sure how to get off the cliff. But, we’re not paying attention to how anyone else feels. We’re too caught up in our own fear.

For the angry mob of Nazarenes, that fear manifests in the absolutely insane idea that the “year of the Lord’s favor” could be for anyone but them. They’ve heard these words in Isaiah before. It’s what they’ve been hoping for since long before the Hebrew Scriptures were written. And then this kid Jesus who they’ve known since he was a little baby, whom they’ve watched grow into an adult, has the nerve to say that all of their hopes won’t be realized. No, instead, those people over there in Capernaum will get them. For Jesus, that fear manifests in the risk of saying something these people that he’s known since his childhood aren’t ready for. But for us? What has us so upset? Where does our fear manifest itself?

In some ways, I think we’re a lot like the Nazarenes. We’re not listening any better than they are. We think the good news is our good news, even if we’re not poor, imprisoned or even oppressed. We’re not keen on the idea that the good news is for anyone else if it can’t first be for us. It’s the healthcare question, right? I can have my insurance, but I don’t want my coverage to be sacrificed by the possibility of someone else having insurance. Isn’t that exactly why the Nazarenes are upset? Jesus goes elsewhere when he should have been there for them. He proclaims that the “year of the Lord’s favor” begins “today.” And then, almost in the same breath, he leaves.

This isn’t about equal distribution. This isn’t about compromise. It’s about the good news that you need right now. It’s the good news that I need right now. It’s the fact that none of us is ready for Jesus to take off for Capernaum or any other place. And then, well, something like Haiti happens. Where in the world is the good news there? We can’t pass through the midst of this reality. It’s everywhere we turn. We’re perched off that cliff wondering how we’ll make a way where there is no way. Or at least, that’s how it feels. But, is there really no way off the cliff? Sure, it feels like that but is there really no way off the cliff?

I had to hear it from someone else. In Leisurely Lectionary on Wednesday morning, the question was asked: Where are the disciples? Or actually, with this group, it was probably more likely to be: Where the hell are the disciples? This is what I had to hear to imagine a way off the cliff. Then, in this question, I realized the way out. I realized in this question asked by this wonderful group of budding Biblical scholars. They were right.

Jesus hasn’t called the disciples yet. He doesn’t call them until the next chapter. Before he finally gets around to calling them, he’s going to travel to Capernaum, rebuke a demon, heal a woman and retreat to a deserted place. He does all of this alone without the companionship of his disciples. And so, he’s alone here off the cliff. There’s no one there to support him. There’s no one there to help. Or is there? Is Jesus really alone off that cliff? No matter what he may have said or done, is he really all by himself without anywhere to turn?

I don’t think so. I had to hear it from someone else, but once I heard this question about the disciples, it clicked. Even if they are angry, even if their fists are clenched and their backs are tight, even if they might be ready to hurl him off the cliff, these are same people that Jesus has known since he was a child. They’ve known Jesus since he was a little baby. These people in this angry mob have watched Jesus grow into an adult. So, no, he’s not alone.

And yet, too often, that’s exactly how we feel. We feel that we’re all alone in this world. We feel there is nowhere for us to turn. We feel that no one will understand. And yet, even in the worst disaster imaginable, there will always be someone that will pull us out of the rubble. It doesn’t have to be someone that has known us since childhood. It’s just another human that sees something – something so unique that this Gospel can’t explain it. We can only explain it by making it sound like Jesus floats through the midst of them before he disappears, but it’s that something. It’s that something that makes you cry when you see another person pulled out of the rubble of the earthquake. It’s that something in you that seeks to understand the motivations of a terrorist. It’s that something that breaks your heart when health insurance isn’t something to which all Americans have equal access. It’s that something that doesn’t leave any of us off the cliff. And that, my friends, is the good news. That is the good news promised to each of us. We might not know how to describe it, but we only need to look into each other’s eyes to see it.