Month: January 2021

One of my favorite television shows these days is “This Is Us” on NBC. I have to watch it by myself because Tracy says it’s too much drama and there’s enough of that in real life! But the show inspired a sermon series a few years ago on all the family drama in the book of Genesis. It was an occasion to offer some theological reflections on the intersections of the scriptures and the show. 

The most recent episode, “Birth Mother” (Season 5, Episode 6, 1/12/21) brought me to another such intersection. Airing the week after we celebrated the Baptism of the Lord Sunday, I was particularly moved by the repeated baptismal imagery and the echoes of the voice from heaven that spoke to Jesus at his baptism, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased” (Luke 3:22 NRSV).

I must say that the best thing for you to do would be to watch the episode itself, which you can find on the NBC app or website. There’s no way I could capture here the sterling quality of the acting or the intensity of the feelings, but here’s a recap, along with some of my reflections.

The episode centers around Randall Pearson’s quest to learn about his birth mother. Randall was adopted as a newborn Black baby boy by the white Pearson family in Pittsburgh after he was left at a fire station. In the first season of the show, Randall, now in his mid 30s, finds his birth father, William, and they develop a beautiful, tender relationship until William dies from cancer. William had told Randall about how his birth mother had died of a drug overdose after giving birth to him, so Randall had pretty much given up on learning much more about her. 

But when Randall, now a Philadelphia city councilman, mentions his birth father by name in a video that goes viral, a Vietnamese man in New Orleans named Hai sees it and reaches out to Randall and delivers the surprising news that his birth mother had lived until just a few years ago. Randall asks Hai if he could come to New Orleans to see where she lived and to learn more about her. The episode opens with Randall and his wife Beth arriving at the house by the lake where she lived.

Around the kitchen table, Hai shares with them the story of her life. Her name was Laurel. She had grown up in the prominent DuBois family in New Orleans. Her father was a banker with a stern disposition. As a little girl, after church one Sunday, she snuck off to visit with her Aunt Mae, a kindred spirit whom she was prohibited by her father from visiting because of a prior disgrace. They go for a swim in the lake by the house. As I recall the scene, young Laurel is lying face up in the water, looking happy, feeling loved, her arms outstretched, her body forming a cross, buoyed up by her aunt. 

One of the things I learned about baptism in seminary is that it is like a diamond, and when you hold it up to the light, it reveals different facets, multiple layers of meaning and significance. This first of the baptismal images in the episode highlights the facet of the love, the unconditional acceptance and grace and presence and support of God throughout our lives. The God whose Spirit is always with us, whether we know it or not. The eternal God who is our refuge and dwelling place, “and underneath are the everlasting arms” (Deuteronomy 33:27 KJV).

Laurel’s older brother Jackson was her only other lifeline growing up, but when he went off to fight in Vietnam, he didn’t come back. Sitting there by the lake with her Aunt Mae, the now teenaged Laurel says “I can’t believe he’s gone. What am I going to do without him?” Aunt Mae responds, “God can take your pain, sweet Laurel, but you have to let it go.” She whimpers back, “I don’t know how.” Aunt Mae looks toward the lake. “There. I go in there and let it ALL out. Go on. Go on.” So Laurel stands up, walks slowly over to the water’s edge, steps in and wades out until it’s just her head above the water. With tears streaking her eyes, she looks up to the heavens and lets out a heart-wrenching wail. 

Baptism can also be cathartic, a cleansing, and this watery ritual apparently becomes a regular outlet for Laurel to release her pain and grief. It also becomes a means of connection to others beyond ourselves, which is another facet of baptism. Later, when she’s in the lake again and screams her cry of release, there’s a young man fishing nearby who hears her cry, jumps in the water and swims over to try to save her, but she protests that she’s not drowning and swims away. She recognizes him later at the local market. He’s there selling his fish. She goes over to him. He introduces himself as “Hai.” She thinks he’s saying hello. He offers to give her a fish, and when she tells him she’s not a good cook, he offers to cook it for her. So over a meal of fish grilled over a fire by the lake (there’s certainly some Gospel imagery there – check out John 21:9), they develop a secret romance. Eventually, she tells him, in his own Vietnamese language, that she loves him, and he tells her he loves her, too.

But it is a forbidden love that her father would have frowned upon, because he had designs for her to marry an up-and-coming young man at the bank named Marshall. When her father informs her that he had given his permission for Marshall to propose to her, she feels trapped and resolves to run away. She tries to convince Hai to run away with her, but with his responsibility to provide for his refuges parents, he simply cannot. So she leaves by herself and makes her way to Pittsburgh, and it is there that she eventually meets up with Randall’s biological father William.

Randall asks Hai why William would have told him that his mother had died the day he was born. Hai said because William thought she had died. That’s why he took the baby and ran away and left him at the fire station. He didn’t know she had survived, that she actually revived after the paramedics had pronounced her dead. They took her to the hospital, where she recovered and then was arrested for drug possession. Instead of receiving lenience for a first offense, she was sentenced to five years in prison. That’s why she hadn’t gone looking for him – she couldn’t. But Hai also told Randall that even though she didn’t talk very much about that time because it was too painful, she did say “there wasn’t a single night that she didn’t dream about you.”

When she was eventually released from prison, she only had enough money for a one-way bus ticket. She thought about going to look for her son, but she felt like she had forfeited her right to be his mother. Hai felt like she was punishing herself. As she overheard the nurses say when she was in the hospital, “what kind of mother gets high after giving birth? Wherever he is, he’s better off!” So Laurel went to the only other place she felt she could go – to her Aunt Mae’s in New Orleans.

There’s a beautiful scene at the center of the episode with Aunt Mae sitting on a bed beside this broken young woman. She sees the needle marks on Laurel’s arms and the pain in her heart. She tells her, “you have nothing to be ashamed of.” “I do,” Laurel responds. “I had a child, Aunt Mae. I had a baby with a man who loved me. A boy. I don’t know where he is.” Then Aunt Mae reveals her own loss of a child after an affair with a married man (the cause of her fall from grace in the family). 

She tells Laurel she needs to go home, that her parents are worried about her. But Laurel says, “I don’t want to go home. I was no good as a daughter, and I’m no good as a mother. My son is going to grow up thinking I didn’t love him. Why couldn’t I be good for him? Why?” And then with urgency in her voice, Aunt Mae pleads with Laurel, “You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” with her hands cupped around Laurel’s face. “If you don’t let the guilt go, it’ll strangle you.”

Now, I don’t know who else may need to hear those words – I know I’ve needed to hear them a time or two in my life – but those are gospel words right there. “If you don’t let the guilt go, it’ll strangle you.” Thank God for the Aunt Maes in our lives who speak healing truth to us when we most need to hear it.

Laurel almost instinctively knows what she needs to do. In the darkness of the night, with a white nightgown on (suggestive of many a baptismal gown), she walks out to the lake, wades in, looks up to the sky with her tear-streaked face, and lets out a wail to the heavens.

Another one of the facets of baptism is that it represents a cleansing, a washing away of the sin in our hearts and in our lives. This was the facet highlighted by John the Baptist in the gospels, who preached a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins (Luke 3:3). This scene suggests the grace of God available to us in baptism that Laurel is accessing in his scene, the water washing away the guilt she is trying to let go so that it won’t strangle her, cleansing her of her sense of shame, setting her soul free to start afresh.

It isn’t long before Laurel goes with her aunt to work the vegetable stand at the local market where she sees Hai again. He’s still there, selling his fish. But by that time, he’s married, with a child on the way. So they just smile and wave. It’s like that for years. Smile and wave. Smile and wave. Even decades later, after Hai’s wife has died and his children had left home and they both have aged, he said it was nice to know she was nearby. She was, he believes, the love of his life. 

Until one day, she wasn’t there anymore. Her veggie stall was empty. He goes to her home and comes to her door. They sit at the kitchen table. She tells him she has cancer, that it’s aggressive, that there’s nothing more they can do. He asks if she’s eaten anything. She says no. So he cooks for her, like he did so long ago. And for the next two years, she defies her doctor’s expectations and they share their love for one another. She tells Hai her life story. We see her lying in her bed, reading her Bible with tears in her eyes. Hai asks her, “what are you thinking about?” “My son. I wish I could have told him how much I loved him.” “You’ll get a chance to.”

Later we see Randall sitting in his hotel room, writing in his journal. I wonder how many pages he had filled with all he had learned that day. Beth is asleep on the bed. He gets up and leaves her a note that he’s gone out for a drive. He goes back to the house. He walks down by the lake. He undresses and wades into the water, naked as the day he was born. He swims out and then hears the sound of laughter. He turns around and there she is, his mother, as she looked later in her life.

“My baby,” she says to him. “My baby.” And she cups his face in her hands, just like Aunt Mae had cupped her face in her hands (and just like Jack, Randall’s adoptive dad, held his children’s faces in his hands when they were anxious or upset). And I can’t help but hear echoes of the voice from heaven at the waters of Jesus’ baptism: “My baby, my beloved child, my only son, my pride and joy, in whom my soul takes such delight” (rather liberally paraphrased). 

“I didn’t even know I was looking for you,” he tells her. “Now I’ve found you and you’re gone.”

“I’m sorry,” she says ever so gently. “I wish I could change everything, but I can’t, and you know that. And all this sadness is weighing you down. You have my eyes. There’s so much pain in them. Aren’t you tired? You need to let the pain go.”

And in his words that echo her own words from long ago, he whimpers, “I don’t know how.”

“Yes you do.”

And with that, he closes his eyes, then looks up to the sky, and wails to the heavens.

And then she says something that sounds like “may-ah you calm.” 

“What is that?”

“Something I’ve been wanting to say for a long time. I love you. I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

And then he sees his birth mother as she looked as a young woman, smiling back at him. 

And then the camera pans up, and it’s just him there in the lake.

The next morning, as they’re in their car on their way back home, Beth looks over at Randall with a smile and says, “you seem different, lighter.”

“I got to know my birth story, Beth. And it’s not just getting left at a fire station. It’s two people, two imperfect people, that loved me.”

One of the deepest and brightest and best facets in the precious jewel of baptism is that it incorporates us into – makes us a part of – a family. A family of imperfect people, to be sure, but people who love us and we can come to know and love, too. A people with a story. It’s a long story, a really long story, but it’s a story which at its most basic level is a love story. The story of God’s love for God’s people. For all people. For the human family.

Randall finally got to know his birth story. 

By the grace of God in the waters of baptism, so can we.

In the past week, there has been numerous headlines grabbing for our attention.  Headlines that were disconcerting.  Among the smaller headlines was the one about how the United States executed the first woman since 1953.  There’s also headlines about a recent rush in the past few months to execute those on death row.  Meanwhile, there are headlines about how our old opponent Iran is gearing up to execute wrestler Mehdi Ali Hosseini on trumped up charges, much to the chagrin of our State Department.  These headlines are a reminder that the reality of the death penalty is still a reality.

Regrettably, Christians are in disagreement on it.  And I feel that disagreement in myself intellectually.

I remember reading an article by Jewish columnist Dennis Prager writing in favor of the death penalty, because it was found in all five books of Moses.  Way back in the beginning, God told Noah after the flood, “And I will require the blood of anyone who takes another person’s life…. And anyone who murders a fellow human must die. If anyone takes a human life, that person’s life will also be taken by human hands. For God made human beings in his own image.” (Genesis 9:5-6 NLT).

In the law of Moses, the Lord creates Cities of Refuge, cities for where a person who accidently killed someone could run for refuge – what we would call in our culture “involuntary manslaughter.”  But the Lord would not allow that system to be abused.  “That way you will prevent the death of innocent people in the land the Lord your God is giving you as your special possession. You will not be held responsible for the death of innocent people. But suppose someone is hostile toward a neighbor and deliberately ambushes and murders him and then flees to one of the cities of refuge. In that case, the elders of the murderer’s hometown must send agents to the city of refuge to bring him back and hand him over to the dead person’s avenger to be put to death.  Do not feel sorry for that murderer! Purge from Israel the guilt of murdering innocent people; then all will go well with you.” (Deuteronomy 19:10-13 NLT).

I realize the Law of Moses gets a bad rap in certain Methodist circles, especially around Conference time.   But I admire this line of reasoning.  It reflects the value of human life – humans are created in God’s own image.  The Law of Moses is concerned that an innocent man may be executed.

The death penalty is used continually through Jewish scriptures.  King Saul had a reputation for killing witches. (1 Samuel 28:9 NLT).  Likewise, King David threatened to kill a man, because he stole a neighbor’s pet lamb (2 Samuel 12:5).  On his deathbed, he gives his son Solomon a hit list of enemies to eliminate, when he becomes king, much like in the last few minutes of The Godfather (1 Kings 2).  Lest we think that it’s only kings who execute people, let’s not forget the prophet Elijah who had 850 pagan priests executed.  (1 Kings 18).

By the time we get to Jesus, the Jewish people seemed to have dialed back on the death penalty.  Referring to the Jewish council, Rabbi Eliezer ben Azariah said, “A Sanhedrin that puts a man to death once in seven years is called a murderous one. Or even once in 70 years.”  Perhaps this was in response to the Romans who seemed to enjoy executing people.  Roman governor Pontius Pilate had taken away the Sanhedrin’s right to execute anyone.  He certainly didn’t hesitate to execute rebels whether they were Jewish or Samaritans.

Probably the only time he did hesitate was on Good Friday when Jesus was on trial.  The Sanhedrin wanted Pontius Pilate to rubberstamp their death penalty decision.  Pilate didn’t appreciate being used to do the dirty work in a religious squabble.  Besides his wife liked this teacher.  He tried to pawn the problem off on Herod Antipas, who declined having already John the Baptist’s execution on his resume.  And several times, Pilate announced that “I find no fault in him.”  This trial should have never had taken place.  The Sanhedrin should had never have sent Jesus to Pilate, and Pilate should have never had ordered his execution.  Jesus serenely tells Pilate, “You would have no power over me at all unless it were given to you from above. So the one who handed me over to you has the greater sin.” (John 19:11 NLT).  The judge had been judged by the accused.  While hanging from the cross, a criminal looks over the crucified Jesus and says to his fellow criminal, “Don’t you fear God even when you have been sentenced to die? We deserve to die for our crimes, but this man hasn’t done anything wrong.” (Luke 23:40-41 NLT).

And I think that criminal on the cross inadvertently described the death penalty in the New Testament period: John the Baptist is beheaded by Herd Antipas after a birthday bash.  Jesus of Nazareth is crucified by Pontius Pilate at Passover.  James the apostle is beheaded by King Herod Agrippa I just before Passover.  Stephen is stoned to death by the Jewish leaders.  James the brother of Jesus is stoned to death by the Jewish leaders in an illegal trial.  Hundreds of Roman Christians are executed in the arena by Emperor Nero.  Peter is crucified in Rome, perhaps upside down.  The Apostle Paul is beheaded.  It was the godly men and women who were being regularly executed.

I would not automatically judge or condemn a nation or a culture that has the death penalty.  Sometimes, circumstances may have to lead to that.  I remember the scene from the movie and book Lonesome Dove, where the retired Texas Rangers caught up with a murderous band of outlaws and discovered one of their own was riding with them.  After disarming them, they promptly hung them, including their friend.  Gus tells his friend, “Ride with an outlaw, die with him,” and then he adds, “I admit it’s a harsh code. But you rode on the other side long enough to know how it works. I’m sorry you crossed the line, though.” I like that dialogue.  It reminds us that we shouldn’t get gleeful that someone is being executed.  

We’re no longer in the wild west, miles away on horseback from the nearest judge and jail.  We have more choices.  And we need to carefully consider those choices.

I personally think that where the anti-death penalty Methodists go wrong is when they appeal to the public when a notorious murderer is being executed for a crime committed decades ago.  The public, like myself, finds sympathy lacking.  I personally have crossed paths, numerous times, with a future convicted rapist and killer and his victim.   He is now serving life in prison without the possibility of parole. And my sympathies do not lie with him.  They lie with two families: the family of the young victim and his family, particularly his siblings.  I believe that justice, though slow in coming, was served without adding any unnecessary grief to his family.

So if I am so sympathetic to the need for justice, why am I not a fan of the death penalty.

One, there’s always a risk of executing the innocent.  Never mind the innocent people executed in the distant past.  In 1948, the modern nation of Israel executed soldier Meir Tobianski as a traitor, only to exonerate him a year later.  Thanks to DNA, we now know that hundreds of innocent people in modern times have been wrongly accused and convicted of heinous crimes.  If one innocent person is executed out of 100 executions, it’s too many.  If one innocent person is executed out of 1,000 executions, it’s still too many.  If one innocent person is executed out of a million executions, it is still too many.  Why?  Because that one human life is invaluable.  Remember how Abraham negotiated with the Lord over the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah?  “Will you sweep away both the righteous and the wicked? Suppose you find fifty righteous people living there in the city—will you still sweep it away and not spare it for their sakes? Surely you wouldn’t do such a thing, destroying the righteous along with the wicked. Why, you would be treating the righteous and the wicked exactly the same! Surely you wouldn’t do that! Should not the Judge of all the earth do what is right?” (Genesis 18:23-25 NLT).

Second, there is too much chance involved with it.  Being on the wrong side of a state border can land you on death row.  Having the wrong governor in office could doom you, especially in an election year. As insult comedian Don Rickles told then Californian governor Ronald Reagan, “If my brother gets the chair, you better be making that phone call!”  While that was a hilarious line at the roast, it contains, like all humor, a sobering truth.  It does matter who the governor is and if you have any connections to him.  It does matter if you can’t afford an attorney that the judge appoints a Ben Matlock or Atticus Finch to defend your case versus Mr. Amateur Attorney.  It does matter if your jury is composed of “12 Angry Men” and whether or not Henry Fonda is one of the jurors.

It evens matters who your president is.  Confederate President Jefferson Davis considered black soldiers to be insurrectionists.  He ordered their white officers hung and the former slaves either reenslaved or hung according to state law.  In contrast, United States President Abraham Lincoln used the death penalty sparingly.  After the Sioux Uprising in Minnesota in 1862, the military commission wanted to hang 303 Sioux Native Americans.  Going against political wisdom, Lincoln studied the records of each Sioux and trimmed the list down to thirty-eight who had killed and raped innocent farmers.  Taking the list to the telegram office, he advised the telegram operator to be very particular with the names: a misspelled name could send the wrong Sioux to his death.  Similarly, when the U.S. Army wanted to shoot a soldier for running during battle or falling asleep on duty, Lincoln would often pardon them.  As he explained to a friend, “Some of my generals complain that I impair discipline by my frequent pardons and reprieves; but it rests me, after a day’s hard work, that I can find some excuse for saving some poor fellow’s life.”

Third, by being against the death penalty as a usual punishment, it serves as a guard rail – a reminder to private citizens to not be taking the law in our own hands.  When we do, the results are tragic, like the 1906 lynching of Ed Johnson, the second black man to be lynched on Walnut Grove Bridge in Chattanooga.  Having praised the western Lonesome Dove, I would highly recommend the 1943 classic western The Ox-Bow Incident starring Henry Fonda about what can go deadly wrong when we rush to judgement.  It also serves as a guardrail in our legal system.  Remember from the Nuremberg trials how the German judges transformed from keepers of the law into Nazi collaborators, eager to sentence Jews to death?  It’s a scary thought, but we shouldn’t take it for granted that it couldn’t happened here in the United States.  Perhaps that’s why the modern state of Israel has only executed two people – one by mistake in 1948 and then in 1962 when Adolf Eichmann, Holocaust organizer, was hanged.

Fourth, I constantly cross paths with family members of a convicted murderer.  Taking away their family member will not restore the other family’s loved one.  By being against the death penalty, we are showing grace to a hurting parent or sibling.

Fifth, as someone who would like to see more adoptions and less abortions, being against the death penalty gives me more moral authority with those who disagree with me.  It also keeps the pro-life idea consistent.  Likewise, as a nation, it gives us more moral authority to confront China and Iran over their abuses and eagerness to execute people.

Sixth, I think life without parole, I cannot emphasize that enough, no parole, is a fitting punishment.  A life for a life.  I think of a certain Gregory Peck movie where he finally catches the villain – a sexual predator and murderer by gunpoint.  The villain tries to taunt him into killing him.  But Gregory Peck’s character doesn’t fall for it.  Instead, he replies, “No. No! That would be letting you off too easy, too fast. Your words, do you remember? Well, I do! No. We’re gonna take good care of you. We’re gonna nurse you back to health. And you’re strong, Cady. You’re gonna live a long life – in a cage! That’s where you belong. And that’s where you’re going. And this time, for life! Bang your head against the walls. Count the years, the months, the hours, until the day you rot!”

And then seventh, whose side do I want to be on?  Do I want to be on the side of Jefferson Davis or Abraham Lincoln?  As a nation, do we want to be aligned with England, France, and Australia, or with Iran, China, and Pakistan?  As a church, do want to be aligned with Herod Antipas, Pontus Pilate, and Emperor Nero or do we want to be identified with John the Baptist, Jesus of Nazareth, and the martyrs?

We too easily forget that all the evils of a Timothy McVeigh, an Osama bin Laden, a Saddam Hussein, a Kim Jun Ill, a Jack the Ripper, a Jefferey Dahmer, a Charles Manson, a Ted Bundy, and a thousand other vicious criminals are no match for God’s grace.  That one criminal may indeed be the lost sheep that the Good Shepherd is looking for.  That murderer may become Moses the Lawgiver, David the Psalmist, or Paul the Apostle.

One final thought.  All of us have met somebody on death row.  Look around you.  And more importantly look in the mirror.  Remember what the Apostle Paul wrote in his legal treatise of Romans: “For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” and “the wages of sin is death.”  The author of Hebrews tells us that “And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.” (Hebrews 9:27 KJV).  All of us are on death row.  We’re all going to die and face judgement.  And like that rascal on the cross, all I can do is look to Jesus, and say “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” 

Every four years, on January 20, the president of the United States delivers an address to the American people on the occasion of the inauguration of a new term in office. Barring any unforeseen (or perhaps we should say all-too-well-foreseen) incidents, this always highly anticipated and auspicious event is set to take place this coming Wednesday outside the United States Capitol Building.

This has gotten me thinking back to inaugural addresses of the past. Some of the most famous lines in American presidential history have come from inaugural addresses. For example, we have these familiar words from Abraham Lincoln, in his second inaugural address from 1865, toward the close of the Civil War that had bitterly divided our nation:

“With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds…”

We also remember the words of Franklin Delano Roosevelt from his first of four inaugural addresses in 1933, in the midst of the economic woes of the Great Depression: “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”

And then there are the unforgettable words of John F. Kennedy from 60 years ago this week, 1961: “Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country.”

I went back this past week and reread Kennedy’s address in its entirety. Some of you may remember 1961. The Cold War was just, shall we say, “heating up” with the Soviet Union, and much of his speech addressed the arms race between our two countries. But if you take some of his words back then to both sides – to both of our countries – and apply them to the tensions we see taking place nowadays within our own country, it’s striking how his words still speak to us:

“So let us begin anew, remembering on both sides that civility is not a sign of weakness, and sincerity is always subject to proof…Let both sides explore what problems unite us instead of belaboring those problems which divide us…Let both sides unite to heed in all corners of the earth the command of Isaiah – to ‘undo the heavy burdens…and let the oppressed go free.’”

Did you catch that? President Kennedy quoted the Bible, from the prophet Isaiah. 

There’s another president who quoted Isaiah in one of his inaugural addresses, at least fictionally. President Josiah Bartlet from the television series The West Wing (one of my favorite shows of all time) is working on his second inaugural address, and he sees his Chief of Staff Leo McGarry and exclaims, “set free the oppressed, break every yoke, clothe the naked, and your light shall break forth like the dawn, and the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.” And Leo says, “Ten minutes ago, you promised you would go easy on the Moses references.” To which Bartlet responds, “That was Isaiah.”

The prophet Isaiah seems to be a go-to biblical author to quote in inaugural addresses. The practice dates at least as far back as Jesus.

The Gospel of Luke gives us what many consider to be Jesus’ inaugural address (Luke 4:16-30). It’s his first recorded sermon in the gospel, and what an occasion it must have been. Here he was, in his hometown of Nazareth, where he had been brought up, with people he knew well, who knew him well, too. He’s there in the synagogue on the Sabbath, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where these words were written:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, 

because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.

He 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.”

Then he rolled the scroll back up, handed it back to the assistant, sat down, and with the eyes of everyone there in the synagogue that day fixed upon him, he delivered his one sentence inaugural address: 

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Today, this scripture – this scripture which is a mashup of Isaiah 58:67 and 61:1-2, which speaks of the Spirit of the Lord, the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of God – upon him, which we all witnessed last week as we remembered his baptism – and has anointed him – that’s where we get the word for Messiah, for Christ – anointed him, christened him – to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free – that is, to minister to all of those who have been marginalized – looked over, laid aside and left out in society – and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor – in other words, that nothing less than the Kingdom of God has come to you – today, that scripture from Isaiah, from 500 years or more before Jesus appeared in the synagogue that day – today that scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.

What Jesus is saying here is that the long-awaited, the long-expected Messiah, the anointed one of God, has come at long last, and is standing in their midst, in him. It’s no wonder that everyone there that day was amazed at what they’d just heard and began to say, how about that! Joseph’s son, the Messiah!

Now, I have to say – it seems like it must be said in these days in which we’re living – that Jesus is the only one who can say what he said. He’s the only one who is qualified to quote Isaiah the way he did. He’s the only one who can legitimately claim to be the Messiah, the anointed one of God. No matter what the signs and slogans at the insurrection attempt at the United States Capitol building may have said, no president, no politician, no political party or platform, no nation even – no one but Jesus – can claim to be the Messiah, the anointed one of God. Only Jesus can say that. And before we may claim to be Democrats or Republicans or Independents or whatever, before we are Americans even, we are called to be Christians, followers of the Christ, the one anointed by the Spirit of God, Jesus.

Now Jesus probably would have been fine if he’d just left it there. But he doesn’t. For some reason, he keeps going, and he goes on the offensive. He takes the people to task. He tells them that they will doubtless quote to him the old proverb, “Doctor, cure yourself.” In other words, take care of your own people first, before anyone else. And he says, no doubt they’ll ask him to do for them what they’ve heard he’d done for others in Capernaum. They want a little home field advantage. They want him to do a little home cooking for the hometown crowd. But he won’t have any of it. “A prophet’s never accepted in their hometown,” he says, a little too prophetically, because that’s what’s about to happen.

Speaking of prophets, Jesus then dredges out a couple of stories about two old prophets from the scriptures – Elijah and Elisha. He reminds them that there were lots of widows in need in Israel in the days of Elijah when there was drought and famine all over the land, but Elijah wasn’t sent to any of them, but instead to a widow in Zarephath in Sidon. That’s Canaanite country! That’s like saying there were a lot of folks lined up to receive their COVID vaccine here in Tennessee, but Dr. Fauci only shipped them to Alabama! And Jesus goes on to say there were a lot of lepers in Israel during the time of Elisha, but none of them were healed except for Naaman, the military commander of the enemy Syrians.

Well, that did it. It says when they heard that, everyone in the synagogue was filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of town, led him to the top of the hill and were about to throw him off the cliff when somehow, he passed right through their midst and went on his way.

Now I don’t know quite what to make of this scene. It’s never much fun when your preaching fills the folks in the pews with rage, but I have to say it seems like Jesus brought it on himself. He certainly seems to have instigated it, even incited this mob riot, that he’s the one responsible. After all, he could have just stopped while he was ahead, with everyone speaking well of him. He could have even dropped a miracle or two for the homefolks; would that have been so bad? He didn’t have to rile them up with all this talk about the prophets of old who helped other people instead of their own. Why did he do that? What was he trying to accomplish?

It’s hard to say. I’ll confess that sometimes there are things I wish Jesus didn’t say and things I wish Jesus didn’t do. Because it can be so hard to make sense of it. But I wonder if Jesus was trying to get through to the people in the synagogue that day what his being the Spirit-anointed Messiah of God would really mean. It would mean that he really would be ministering to those who were on the margins of comfortable, respectable society – the poor, the oppressed, the sick and the blind and the lame and the imprisoned – the least, the last and the lost. And however much we may like it when folks talk that kind of talk, it can start to make us uncomfortable when they actually start to walk that kind of walk. And Jesus walked the walk.

For example, we like it when President Kennedy says things in his inaugural address like, “If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich.” We nod our heads. But when we begin to talk about what that kind of help for the poor might really look like, what it might really involve, we begin to worry about what it might require of us, and we come up with categories like “the deserving poor.”

Or when President George W. Bush in his first inaugural address 20 years ago said, “In the quiet of American conscience, we know that deep, persistent poverty is unworthy of our nation’s promise…Many in our country do not know the pain of poverty, but we can listen to those who do.” And again, we nod our heads. We like that. But then, if we actually do take the time to listen, if we really listen to the stories of those who do know the deep and persistent pain of poverty, we may not like what we hear, because we may find ourselves, in some way and to some degree, implicated in that pain. And that can make us uncomfortable. It can be upsetting. But what Jesus is saying here is that poor lives matter to him. It’s not that rich lives don’t, but poor ones do, too!

Jesus is joining Isaiah in saying poor lives matter, blind eyes matter, oppressed lives matter, addicted lives matter, immigrant lives matter, imprisoned and incarcerated lives matter. Did you know that the United States has 5% of the world’s population, but we imprison nearly a quarter of the world’s incarcerated population? Don’t we think those lives matter to Jesus?

On this week in which we are commemorating the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., I’m mindful of our race relations in our nation, especially after all that we have witnessed since MLK Day last year – the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd and so many others both to violence and to this virus. And we hear the cry go out in the streets, “Black Lives Matter,” and we white folks get our backs all up and say, “All Lives Matter.” It’s like we’re worried if we say Black lives matter then that means that our lives don’t anymore or as much. So we say All Lives Matter! Well, of course, all lives matter. But all lives don’t matter unless and until all Black lives matter as well. 

In calling up these stories of the old prophets Elijah and Elisha and the non-Jewish Gentile people they were sent to, Jesus is reminding his hometown crowd that Gentile lives matter. It’s not that Jewish lives don’t matter, but Gentile lives do, too. Now the folks in the synagogue in Nazareth certainly would have known that already. But still it can be hard for them to hear it. Sometimes the hardest truths to take to heart are the ones we already know.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that as much as I’d like to think I wouldn’t have been sitting in the synagogue on the sabbath that day and stewing in my seat as Jesus went on about all the widows over there and all the lepers over there, I have to confess that probably would have been me. And if you’re honest with yourself, you might have to admit it probably would have been you, too. 

And so it seems we have a decision to make. With Jesus, we always have a decision to make. What are we going to do about what Jesus is talking about here? How are we going to respond to his inaugural address? Are we going to join the mob, the riot, and storm the hill at the top of the town and try to throw him off the cliff and be done with him and all his talk?

Or will we notice how, in the midst of all the anger and violence raging all around him, somehow he slips right through it all and goes on his way to do what the Spirit of God has anointed him to do – to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind?

And if we see him go on his way, will we go and follow him? Will we follow him as he centers his ministry among the marginalized, the least, the last, the left out and the lost? Will we carry on the work that he has begun among us, knowing that, as President Kennedy put it years ago, “here on earth God’s work must truly be our own”? 

Because if we’ve been baptized into the body of Christ, then the very same Spirit of the Lord that descended upon him and anointed him for his ministry in this world has also anointed each one of us, and has called and commissioned each one of us to go and to carry on the work of the kingdom of God that Jesus inaugurated in our midst, no matter the cost.

He was the wealthiest man in the country.  He was a best-selling author, a builder of magnificent buildings, a lover of beautiful women, pop culture icon, and became the leader of the country known for his law-and-order.  Foreign leaders were in awe of him.  But at the end of his time in office, he left a country that was bitterly divided.

His name was King Solomon.

King Solomon is a fascinating character.  His father was the famous King David.  His mother was the famous/infamous Bathsheba.  When his father died, Solomon inherited the throne.  When God asked him to “make a wish,” Solomon asked for a heart of understanding.  He wanted to understand his people.

Solomon’s resume is impressive. 

Wealth?  Tennessee Ernie Ford sang about sixteen tons of coal and being deeper in debt.  King Solomon received 25 tons of gold, each year.  It was like old joke about the Golden Rule.  King Solomon had the gold, and so had made the rules.

Best-selling author?  He cowrote the book of Proverbs.  That book is chalk full of practical advice.  The man was so brilliant, he had 31 chapters, one for each day of the month.

Beautiful women?  Oh man, or rather oh woman.  He was a magnet for women.  Especially if they had a foreign accent.  300 concubines.  700 wives.  700 mother-in-laws.  (Ok.  So the last one makes me wonder about the whole “wisest man on earth” reputation).

Pop culture icon?  Look at Song of Solomon, a steamy play about him as a young lover.  He was the Romeo of the Jewish version of Romeo and Juliet.  Look at Ecclesiastes, a dramatic monologue about him as an aged ruler.  He was the King Lear in that book.

Builder of magnificent buildings?  He built places as a hobby.  This man knew the art of the deal.  He worked with foreign kings for supplies to build the magnificent Temple that his father David wanted to build.

Law-and-order?  He was like Judge Judy.  In one famous case, two prostitutes showed up in the courtroom over a custody battle.  Prostitute #1, the claimant, said that Prostitute #2’s child died in his sleep, then Prostitute #2 switched kids in the middle of the night.  Prostitute #2, the defendant, said that was a lie.  Well, they didn’t have DNA testing back then, so King Solomon ordered his bailiff to take the sword and cut the surviving child into two pieces – one for each prostitute.  Prostitute #2 said, “Fine.  Go for it.”  But Prostitute #1 screamed, “Not my baby!  Let her have him.”  Judgement in favor of the claimant.  Court is now dismissed.

Domestic Affairs/Foreign Policy? No wars on his watch.  Good ole Dad David had taken care of that.  And when Dad was dying, he gave Solomon a hit-list.  It was the like the last 5 minutes of The Godfather.  Solomon quickly executed anyone who might cause him trouble.  He married the daughter of the Pharaoh in Egypt as well as other local royalties.  When the Queen of Sheba heard about Solomon, she was unimpressed.  She thought, that Solomon, he’s just a typical man: he thinks he knows it all.  But when she sat in his court, she was blown away by his wisdom.

With all that going for him, you would think that Solomon would have ended his reign on a high note.  But he didn’t.  Instead, shortly after he died, the country had a civil war and the nation split into two – Israel and Judea.  What went wrong?

Short answer: He forgot about God.

And the book of Ecclesiastes captures the elderly Solomon looking at this life.  He looks ahead and sees impending death and a nation divided.  He looks in the past, and he sees how he tried to find purpose in money, buildings, wisdom, women, pleasure…………and it was all vanity, meaningless, like chasing the wind.

In his eagerness to build alliances with other nations, Solomon married foreign women who worshipped pagan gods.  Perhaps out of a sense of fairness, he built shrines to their gods.  We’re not talking about a Baptist guy and a pretty Catholic girl getting married and becoming Methodists.  We’re talking about how the man who talked to God as a young boy is now in his old age bowing to and worshiping an idol that his craftsman made in the shop – or was delivered by Euphrates Prime.  It was a divine deal breaker.

Without God, he lost his wisdom.  Without wisdom, he couldn’t see that his extravagant lifestyle was hurting his people.  He couldn’t see that his son was a little brat who couldn’t hold the kingdom together.

He should have gone down in the history books as a greater king than David, but he didn’t.  He self-destructed.

That was some 3,000 years ago, but the principle still holds true today.  As a leader or as a citizen, you can “have it all” and have nothing.  Wealth, wisdom, good looks, pretty spouse, a nice mansion, and a steady career are all nice.  But if you forget your Creator, you missed the whole point of being alive.

So in our own lives, let’s not make the mistake of making an idol of any modern day Solomons.  Even with all their wealth and power, they need God, desperately.  And secondly, let’s not be a mini-Solomon, and think that just because we got a roof over our heads, a shiny object in the driveway, and a few dollars in the piggy bank, that we don’t need God either.

But let us be humble enough to ask God to give us a heart of understanding toward our fellow human being.

He was a media sensation with technology.  He exchanged insults with world leaders.  His words caused controversy and were blamed for bloodshed.  Some saw him as a national hero.  Others as a danger to society.

His name was Martin Luther.

I’m a great admirer of Martin Luther.  He was a great man whom God used in great ways.  But often great men (and women!) have great flaws.  Martin Luther was no exception.

One of Martin Luther’s many strengths was that he recognized the use of technology.  Especially the “text message” by Mr. Berg.  No, I’m not talking about Twitter and Facebook and Mark Zuckerberg.  I’m referring to the printing press by Mr. Johannes Gutenberg.  Without that marvelous inventions, Luther’s ideas (and himself) may have died in Wittenberg.

But Luther did use and abuse the printing press.  Let’s take a look at a few examples.

Insults with world leaders: I’m not mad at Luther at this one.  I rather enjoy it in a mischievous way.  King Henry VIII, another larger-than-life figure, attacked Luther in his 1521 writing, “The Defence of the Seven Sacraments.”  After defending the seven sacraments of the Roman Catholic Church, Henry VIII wrote, “Do not listen to the Insults and Detractions against the Vicar of Christ which the Fury of the little Monk spews up against the Pope.”  For this, the Pope gave King Henry VIII the title “Defender the of the Faith.” The “little Monk” Luther, however, fired back with a reply, addressed “From Martin Luther minister at Wittenberg by the grace of God” to “Henry, King of England by the disgrace of God.”  

Also in 1521, when the Reformation first started, Luther was basically in a witness protection program.  He was hidden away in a castle where he continued his studies.  Meanwhile, the Reformation in Wittenberg was being led by some unstable characters.  And it turned violent.  Priests were being dragged away from the altars.  Statues of the saints, crucifixes, and stained-glass windows were being smashed.  Altars were being destroyed.  Not even the church organ was spared.  That December, the city council appealed to Luther to return to speak reason to the people.  He took to the pulpit and chastised them.  “Such haste and violence betray a lack of confidence in God,” he argued.  He pointed out that he merely preached the gospel, and did not use violence to enforce it.  He was successful in calming the waters.

That was Luther at his best: explaining the Word of God in a way that the common person could understand it.  In doing so, he ended the violence.

1525 was a printing disaster for Luther.  The peasants in Germany were demanding better conditions.  They saw in Luther a potential ally.  When they heard Luther preach on the “Freedom of the Christian” and the “Priesthood of the Believers,” they easily transferred those spiritual themes to their political and economic needs.  Luther was sympathetic, but realistic.  On April 19^th he published “Admonition for Peace”, urging the peasants not to resort to violence against their German princes

But things turned personal and violent when Luther’s religious rival Thomas Müntzer encouraged the peasants to rebel and attacked Luther personally, calling him Dr. Liar, Dr. Pussycat, Dr. Easychair, and “the new pope of Wittenberg.”

In response to the violence, on May 5^th Luther published “Against the Robbing and Murdering Hordes of Peasants.”  In this brief pamphlet, he wrote, “Thus rebellion brings with it a land full of murder and bloodshed, makes widows and orphans, and turns everything upside down, like the greatest disaster. Therefore let everyone who can, smite, slay and stab, secretly or openly, remembering that nothing can be more poisonous, hurtful or devilish than a rebel. It is just as when one must kill a mad dog; if you do not strike him, he will strike you, and a whole land with you.”

The princes of Germany were very happy to have Luther’s blessing to “smite, slay and stab.”  And the timing of Luther’s pamphlet could not have worse.  It came out just before the major defeats of the peasants.  To do some damage control, on June 13^th, Luther quickly published the “Open Letter Concerning the Hard Book Against the Peasants.”  While defending his earlier works, Luther admonished the German princes, “But the furious, raving, senseless tyrants, who even after the battle cannot get their fill of blood, and in all their lives ask scarcely a question about Christ, — these I did not undertake to instruct. To these bloody dogs it is all one whether they slay the guilty or the innocent, whether it please God or the devil. They have the sword, but only that they may vent their lust and self-will. I leave them to the guidance of their master, the devil, who is, indeed, leading them.”

I wished Luther had learned his lesson about being careful with his word choices.  But Luther never did anything half-heartedly.  In 1545, he published “Against the Papacy at Rome Founded by the Devil.”  While I sympathize with Luther’s disagreements with the Roman church, I, like John Wesley, recognize that there’s more that connects Methodists and Catholics than divide us.  Even more problematic was his 1543 “Against the Jews.”  Angered at reports that Jews were trying to convert Christians, an elderly Luther recommended that they should be expelled from Germany.  Barring that, Luther argued that their synagogues and prayer books be burned, and their rabbis forbidden to teach on the pain of death.  Blessedly, those words were ignored during his lifetime.  But like a virus, it became dormant, and much later used for Nazi propaganda.

I much more prefer Luther’s 1523 pamphlet “That Jesus was Born a Jew” in which he wrote, “If we really want to help them, we must be guided in our dealings with them not by papal law but by the law of Christian love. We must receive them cordially, and permit them to trade and work with us, that they may have occasion and opportunity to associate with us, hear our Christian teaching, and witness our Christian life.”

Luther was a blessing to the world with well-known writings such as the “95 Theses”, “The Freedom of the Christian”, “The Babylonian Captivity of the Church”, his Bible translations, and the hymn “A Mighty Fortress is Our God.”  And the letters he wrote to the members of his congregation are like gems.  But he also wrote and published ideas that caused great harm to others, even though he may not have intended to.

I think John Wesley said it best in 1749 when he wrote, “Doubtless he was a man highly favoured of God, and a blessed instrument in his hand.  But O! what pity that he had no faithful friend! None that would, at all hazards, rebuke him plainly and sharply, for his rough, untractable spirit, and bitter zeal for opinions, so greatly obstructive of the work of God!”

Today, all of us have a printing press.  And like Luther, we can use it for good or ill.  May God grant us the wisdom and grace to know what to publish and when.

Have you ever embarrassed yourself by crossing paths with someone and not realizing who they were?  Especially, if it was someone important?  It has happened to all of us, but on one occasion it happened in epic proportions.

One time, I was on YouTube and stumbled across clips of the old TV show What’s My Line.  That was a TV show were four panelists would ask questions to a guest to determine the guest’s occupation. Then at the end of the show, the four panelists would place on blindfolds, the host would ask the mysterious guest to sign in, the mysterious guest would sign his/her on a chalkboard (remember those?), and then take a seat next to host.

These clips were fun to watch.  Louis Armstrong would barely speak, because his voice was so distinctive.  Charlton Heston, to my surprise, spoke in his normal “voice of God” voice.  Apparently, the panelists hadn’t seen The Ten Commandments yet, because it took them forever to guess his identity.  When John Wayne appeared, the applause from the audience was so thunderous that the panelists immediately knew that a superstar was on stage.

The one that struck that me the most was when the mysterious guest, still offscreen started to sign in.  Naturally, he began with his first name which started with the letter “W.”  Now my last name starts with a W, and I write my W, the way Zorro writes his Z.  We both use straight lines.  But this mysterious guest had a very distinctive W, very artistic.  Then he went to write his last name, which started with the letter “D.”  Like the W, it was very artistic.  And as he wrote it, the audience began cheering wildly.

The first three panelists determined that the mysterious guest had something to do with Hollywood, both onscreen and offscreen.  The fourth panelist, though, had picked up on something.  He commented that it seemed that the applause from the audience had gotten very loud AFTER the panelist had signed in.  He took that to mean that the mysterious guests may not have been recognizable to the audience, but the audience recognized his name.

With no guesses yet, the panelists took another try at it.  Once again, the first three panelists asked questions.  And once again, the fourth panelist had his finger on the pulse.  He asked, “Are you somebody who is beloved by children all across the world?”  The audience cheered loudly.  Then he asked, “Are you Walt Disney?”

At first, I was surprised.  How could the audience not have instantly recognized Walt Disney? But then I had to some time-traveling.  You see, I grew up on the Disney Channel seeing reruns of his Disneyland TV series (back before the Disney Channel was the preteen channel) and seeing Walt Disney’s face on the back of VHS tapes (rectangular objects that you had to rewind).  But this show aired on November 11, 1956.  Disney had only been hosting his TV show for two years at this point.  And Disney never appeared in his movies or cartoon shorts.   Even though he created such beloved characters such as Mickey, Donald, Goofy, Pluto, Seven Dwarfs, Bambi, and Dumbo, the audience didn’t recognize the creator.

I later learned that Walt Disney would walk around Disneyland in disguise to make notes.  And occasionally, an observant fan would recognize him and ask him for autograph.  Imagine being an employee of Disneyland and not recognizing the creator and namesake?  That would be like working at KFC and ignoring the old man fussing about the terrible gravy – only to learn that it was Colonel Sanders.  Or working at Wal-Mart and blowing off the old man asking why there’s only two cashier working – only to learn that it was Sam Walton.

Here’s the epic one: Being a creature who is part of the creation and not recognizing the Creator.  But that’s exactly what happened some 2,000 years ago.  The author of the Gospel John put it like this, “He came into the very world he created, but the world didn’t recognize him. He came to his own people, and even they rejected him” (John 1:10-11 NLT).

Jesus came into the world that he created.  But the world didn’t recognize him.  He entered our world as an unplanned pregnancy and was born as a homeless baby in Bethlehem.  As a toddler, he was a fugitive in Judea and a refugee in Egypt.  He grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in Nazareth where he was a carpenter, an essential worker.  As a man, he became a homeless preacher, who had “nowhere to lay his head.”  In Jerusalem, he became a convicted criminal and then a man on death row, the one whom the prophet Isaiah referred to as “the Man of Sorrows.”

To say that he was “rejected” is understating it.  The word rejected is what we used to when we get turned down for a job opening or for a date on Saturday night.  Jesus did not get simply rejected.  He got executed.

But even with that, there were a handful who received him and believed him, and they became the sons and daughters of God.  People like his Mother Mary; his disciples Peter, Andrew, James, John; his friends Mary, Martha, and Lazarus; and people like the woman at the well, Zacchaeus, Mary Magdalene, the man born blind, and Nicodemus.

Our society hasn’t changed all that much.  We still don’t value the unborn child, the homeless, the refugee, or the essential worker.  We don’t like to pause to think that perhaps the justice system may have placed an innocent man in prison, or worse, on death row.  Yet, Jesus was all of these at one point throughout his life.  Perhaps that is why he said, “Whatsoever you do to the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you do also to me.”

So my challenge for you in the year 2021 is to be mindful to the “least of these.”  In every human being you meet, you see someone created in the image of the Creator.  That alone bestows upon them value and dignity.  Show them love, just as God showed us his great love.  And remember, that it’s not even a matter of them deserving it.  “But God demonstrated his love for us in this – while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”  Loving people.  Isn’t that what were created for to begin with?