The Year of the Lord's Favor - Nehemiah 8:1-3,5-6,8-10; Luke 4:14-21
This week, I was delighted to remember that on the third Sunday after the Epiphany, both the lesson from Nehemiah and the passage from Luke’s Gospel contain public acts of scripture reading, a spiritual practice and pastime I dearly love. It find it captivating to read about our biblical ancestors participating in rituals so similar to our own. These two stories depict scenes that are both strange and also deeply familiar to us. They are both heartwarming and challenging.
For some context, in Nehemiah, the Israelites have very recently returned to Jerusalem from their exile. When Persia conquered Babylon, the Persian King Cyrus released the Israelite captives and sent them home. They had been away for 70 years. Most of them had been born in exile and had no memories of life before. So their return home was disorienting. It took time to adjust and ease back into their homeland, their old customs, and their freedom. It took even more time to reestablish their own economy and rebuild their communities and the Temple.
We meet them today in the midst of one of their first big religious ceremonies in the newly rebuilt city of Jerusalem. The date is specified in the text, and this is important because it would later become Rosh Hashanah, Jewish New Year. Everyone is gathered around Ezra, the priest, who unrolls a grand scroll filled with Hebrew Scriptures. He reads their story of faith out loud for hours and hours, and they do not seem to tire of it. Finally, when he is finished, Ezra declares an extended period of celebration, with special instructions to take care of those less fortunate.
This scene reminds me of our first few weeks of regathering back in March, 2021, after over a year in our own kind of exile. We too were disoriented, and it took us a while to get our bearings back. Then, on Easter last year, we had six services plus a vigil the night before! That’s a lot of scripture read aloud in this space. But we didn’t seem to tire of the liturgy either. The good news had never felt so good. Like the Israelites who returned to Jerusalem, when we returned to our spiritual home, our first act was to celebrate together by telling our story and worshiping our Lord.
The story from Luke’s gospel contains another familiar worship experience. Jesus has begun to make a name for himself as a spiritual leader in the area. For the first time since his public ministry began, he’s back at his childhood synagogue for worship. He reads aloud from Isaiah. I’m sure he practiced, as all good lectors do. And then he interpreted the passage for them. Now this might be a niche activity to relate to, but let me assure you: moving home after beginning public, ordained ministry and standing in a pulpit in front of your dad, your high school drama teacher, the neighbor who used to drive you to handbell practice, and all your old choir camp counselors is a big deal.
Even so, Jesus proclaimed his message boldly, rolled that scroll back up and headed back to his seat. The folks gathered around him were initially impressed, and this is where our story ends for today. But as we’ll learn in next week’s Gospel passage, the people who listened to Jesus read did not respond with praise and celebration like Ezra’s community did. In fact, they essentially ran him out of town on a rail.
One of the most remarkable things about the juxtaposition of these two passages is that not only do they both include the public reading of scripture, they proclaim almost identical messages. Nehemiah and Ezra and the Levites declare that “this day is holy to our Lord.” Jesus reads from Isaiah who foretells the coming of the one who will “proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” Both stories announce to their listeners, both ancient and present-day, that the time is upon us. God is here, at work among us right now. Things are about to change. Good news has come to those who need it this very day.
Equally remarkable to me is how differently the Old Testament and New Testament communities react to this proclamation. Those present for Ezra’s reading shout out praises and affirmations head home to celebrate with their friends and families, and share their abundance with those in need. Those present for Jesus’ hometown debut grumble and argue and, as we’ll soon learn, quite literally try to push Jesus off a cliff.
What is happening here? How can two faith communities within the same ancient tradition respond so differently to the saving word of God? The Israelites in Jerusalem have been through something unimaginable to us, and for them, Ezra’s words are like water in the desert. The promise that God is making their world new fills them with hope they haven’t felt in a long time.
When we finally get news that Covid numbers in our area are decreasing, I suspect we’ll have some praises of our own to shout. But more often than not, I’m afraid that our lives mimic the Galileans in the synagogue. These folks, particularly the religious and community leaders, were comfortable. They were satisfied with their lot, terrified of rocking the sociopolitical boat, and resistant to change.
Even putting aside our anger and frustration that the pandemic disrupted our treasured routines, I think our instinct is often to resist when confronted with change. Last year, an article was published warning that the average Sunday attendance in Episcopal churches in the United States has been plummeting in the 21st century, and it suggests that our tradition is dying. The article disturbed a lot of people, many of whom probably wanted to push the author off of a cliff.
This news that things are changing in the Church was not met with praise and thanksgiving for new hope, but with anger and frustration that our familiar routines might go away. And while it is normal to mourn the loss of something we’ve loved, one of the challenges of this season after Epiphany, this season of revelation, is that we are called to trust that on the other side of Christ coming into the world and shaking things up, we will be renewed in ways we didn’t even know were possible.
Maybe church won’t look the same in 20 years. Maybe our lives won’t go back to the way they were before the pandemic. Whether we are feeling hopeless and frustrated or living our best lives now: The time is upon us. God is here, at work among us right now. Things are about to change. Good news has come to those who need it this very day, and the truth is, we all need it.
This is an important message as we participate in our annual meeting today. We heard from Kate and others about where Christ Church is and what plans we have for the future. We cannot know how our economy will shape our vision in the coming years. We cannot know what the Church will look like even in the not so distant future. But we are looking ahead faithfully, because we trust that with Christ at the helm, it’s going to be wonderful, even if it looks different than we once imagined.
I pray that before too long, we will be gathered as a faith community, singing “amen” in full chorus as we celebrate leaving the pandemic behind us. But I also pray that wherever we find ourselves on the road, when we are confronted with Christ shaking things up, we will find grace and strength to respond with the hope of our ancestors. Amen.