2018-09-07
Brooke Strong
After reading the Old Testament passage, about David’s warm reception as king, and then our gospel story today – about Jesus’ rejection in his own hometown, wouldn’t you think the two stories would be reversed? Wouldn’t you think David might be the one experiencing some blow-back, after all these were the divided tribes of Israel? And Jesus - after all, it’s Jesus – shouldn’t he be treated with a bit more kindness, particularly in his hometown??
But we have today what Kathryn Matthews calls a “Tale of Two Crowds” – on one hand, David’s ascent to leadership and the people who celebrate him as their king. On the other, folks in Nazareth, who can’t or won’t take Jesus seriously.
David and Jesus are unlikely leaders, by both Biblical and contemporary standards. David was the youngest of eight sons of a man named Jesse. Most of the sons became soldiers in the Israelite army. But David was the youngest, and smallest, and he stayed home to tend his father's flock. A shepherd isn’t exactly a resume builder for the future king of Israel.
Jesus didn’t come from high pedigree either. He was a scandal even among his first-century neighbors – a child born of a poor unwed mother. In a society marked by status, Jesus had three strikes against him – Joseph and Mary were unwed at the time of Mary’s conception, Jesus was born on foreign soil, and Jesus was a carpenter – a tradesman, the lowest of the social classes.
Recently, I stumbled on a series of books called “Twelve Unlikely Heroes” by John MacArthur. MacArthur’s series focuses on the fact that the prophets, disciples, and heroes we’ve come to celebrate in the Bible were all unlikely leaders. They all erred, they made a lot of mistakes, but were used by God anyway.
On the same theme, you might have seen at some point a meme or a picture pop up on your facebook feed with the words “God doesn’t call the qualified, he qualifies the called.” It summarizes our Biblical heroes this way…
Jacob was a cheater. Peter had a temper. David had an affair. Noah got drunk. Jonah ran from God. Paul was a murderer. Gideon was insecure. Miriam was a gossiper. Martha was a worrier. Thomas was a doubter. Sarah was impatient. Elijah was depressed. Moses stuttered. Zaccheus was short. Abraham was old, and Lazarus was dead…
For those who like their heroes to be blameless, sorry – the Bible is not your book. Macarthur writes, “God has this weird way of being attracted to those who have really blown it. It makes no sense to the morality police of this world but it’s true.”
As we begin to see politicians turn their eyes toward the November 2018 elections and campaign ads on tv heat up, I can’t help but wonder if King David were running today, would he be elected? Would he be admonished for youth and lack of experience? After all he had only the resume of a young shepherd, no military training at all! And if that wasn’t enough to swiftboat him, surely once it came out that David had an affair with Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite, whom David then placed at the front lines of battle so that he would be killed and David could move in on his wife, David’s campaign would be over.
Yet we need only to look at the Bible to realize that David was one of the best kings of Israel and Judah. He was renowned for his peaceful reign, author of many of the psalms, and ancestor to Jesus Christ. According to the Bible, the most fallible, the most unlikely, become God’s chosen.
As humans we have a tendency to whitewash our heroes – to place them on a pedestal, and to think of them as blameless. It helps us to have a standard to aim for. But the other end of this is that in comparison, it can make us feel dirty, cheap, unworthy, even unforgivable. But if God can call a small shepherd boy to be king of Israel, what more can God do with us? If God allows God’s only son to be born in the arms of an unwed mother and a tradesman father, rejected by his own hometown, what more can God do with us?
It is clear God has called David to be King of Israel and Judah. In 2 Samuel, The crowd speaks in unison, acknowledging unflinching support of David as well as his Divine ordination -- “Look at us—your own flesh and blood! God has said to you, ‘You will shepherd my people Israel and you’ll be the prince.’”
Compare this with Jesus, whose own divine ordination cannot be in doubt, who returns to his own “flesh and blood” only to find rejection and dismissal.
For context, this gospel story begins right after Jesus has healed a woman from 12 years of bleeding, and then raised a child from the dead. Jesus’ ministry is going well so far. This is still early in Mark’s gospel but already Jesus is starting to make it big; he’s healing people, he’s attracting followers and his message is starting to precede him. He’s riding this wave of success back into his hometown of Nazareth.
But they don’t roll out the red carpet for the home-town hero. There’s no ticker-tape parade– in fact, it’s the opposite. “Who does he think he is?” they say. “He’s just a carpenter- Mary’s boy!” Instead of celebrating his success, the Nazarenes tear him down.
The fact that the Nazarenes say “Mary’s boy” instead of “Joseph’s boy” is a taunt at Jesus’ questionable fatherhood. In a patriarchal society folks always acknowledged one’s father first, so this is akin to saying “bastard child”. “He’s just a carpenter” points to Jesus’ low-social status; obviously as a manual worker he wouldn’t possibly have the learning or ability to preach to us! Jesus’ rejection is less personal, as it was related to class order – “don’t get ahead of yourself. Remember your place.”
Homecomings are difficult. You most likely have your own stories of difficult family reunions, or times you’ve felt like you outgrew what was once your safety. Jesus says, "A prophet is without honor only in his hometown, among his relatives, and in his own home.” A nice way of saying families are tough, and getting older is tougher. It’s no surprise this is the only home-coming Mark reports in his gospel.
Nonetheless, Jesus doesn’t do the miracle he was intending to do. The story says “He could not perform any mighty works there, except to lay his hands on a few of the sick and heal them.” I’m not sure what Jesus was intending to do, but it must have been something cool, since it is no small thing when healing the sick is mentioned as an afterthought. It’s like saying, “I didn’t do anything yesterday, except run a couple marathons and mow the lawn.” Even on his days off, Jesus’ healing mercies cannot be contained.
Interestingly, Jesus decides to change his plans about performing miracles because of the crowd’s lack of faith. Miracles aren’t just a show of power; they’re not like a firework that’s held in the backpocket and let out whenever there’s a crowd. A miracle is not just an event but is an interpreted event. It requires not just eyes, but eyes of faith to see it. What miracles are we missing, by forgetting to look for them? What, by simply opening our eyes, acknowledging God’s constant activity in the world, will be able to see?
But Jesus doesn’t waste much time feeling sorry for himself after he is rejected by his hometown. Instead he turns his energies to his supporters, his community, his crowd of followers, and commissions them on their own paths of ministry.
Yet Jesus gives surprisingly little instruction before the apostles are sent out. There is little information in the way of advice or direction. If I were an apostle then, I would be desperate for more information – “wait, you want me to leave you and do what, exactly? Where should I go? What do I say? What do I eat? Where do I sleep? What do I do if I’m rejected?”
Back in April, I made the difficult decision of leaving the position of Co-Director Children’s Ministries and Director of Family Ministries to begin an internship in chaplaincy at the Louis Stokes VA in Cleveland. My feelings at the time were much like the disciples must have felt – leaving the space of the comfortable to do something entirely unfamiliar, being called on a different path.
The first few weeks were scary ones – in addition to the Cleveland VA being notoriously difficult to navigate, perhaps not unlike our own Bell Street -- I had stumbled into a culture I know very little about. Military nor hospital culture have never been high on my list of things I want to learn more about, but suddenly I found myself immersed headfirst in each. The internship is largely trial by fire – I was assigned two floors - the ICU and a medical floor that saw a general mix of cancer, amputees, and overdose detox. I am generally shy by nature and can take a little while to warm up to new situations, but on my second day, there I was - feeling entirely inadequate and hopelessly unequipped, in a job that consists of walking into others’ hospital rooms – their sacred and vulnerable space – and saying, “I’m here. You are important. What you’re experiencing matters.”
The learning component of the internship could fill another whole sermon, but suffice it to say the challenge brought me to a place of intense growth, and the growth brought me to a place of love and respect for the field I wandered into. Chaplaincy is the art of just being. It is a ministry of presence, of literally showing up with nothing – no diagnostics, no therapies, no radiation, no IV’s or beeping sounds or running around to get the O2 monitor set just right – just us, knowing that God sits with us while we sit in the dark.
I wonder if the disciples felt as overwhelmed as I first felt when they were first sent out. The Bible records neither Jesus’ direct instructions, nor the disciples’ reaction. By not giving direct instructions, Jesus asks the apostles to trust themselves – their own memories, and experiences. The disciples have already been through a lot. They’ve already seen Jesus perform miracles, raise a child from the dead, and most importantly – they’ve seen Jesus be rejected, by both the Jewish authorities, and his own friends and neighbors. Jesus seems to say, remember what I’ve done, now go and do similar. You’re going to get hurt, “Shake the dust off your feet and keep moving,” the gospel records. And just bring you. “Pack light. Take nothing for your journey except a staff.” Translated another way by Eugene Peterson in The Message, “Don’t think you need a lot of extra equipment for this. You are the equipment.”
In other words, this is about the role each of us is invited to play in sensing, experiencing, and making known God's will and work in the world. We may not know where we’re going. We may not even know what we’re doing. Or we might think we’re not worthy, or not talented enough. But we are commissioned – to go and live wide, explore deeply, break boundaries, and share in the love and gifts of God in the world. And remember that God doesn’t call the qualified. God qualifies the called.