Luke 4:14-21
Epiphany 3 / Year C
The film The
Black Robe tells the story of how in 1634 a Jesuit missionary carries the
gospel to native people in the interior regions of what now is Canada. In one scene the missionary tries to persuade
a Huron chief to let him teach the tribe how to read and write. The chief sees no benefit to this practice of
scratching marks on paper until the Jesuit gives him a demonstration. “Whisper to me something I do not know,” the
priest says. The chief thinks for a
moment and replies, “My women’s mother died in the snow last winter.”
The Jesuit writes a sentence on a piece of paper and
walks a few yards over to his colleague.
Not one word is spoken. The
colleague takes a glance at the note and says to the chief, “I am sorry to
learn that your mother-in-law died in a snowstorm.” The chief jumps back in alarm. For the first time he has encountered the
magical power of writing, which allows knowledge to travel in silence and to
dart through space and time.
The earliest known use of symbols to convey meaning is
found in paintings on cave walls dating back over 100,000 years. What we would consider writing appears to
have developed independently in four different locations – Mesopotamia, Egypt,
China, and Southern Mexico – beginning around 3,500 BC. Centuries ago the uneducated thought those
who could read were akin to gods. It was
held to be a mysterious gift, on par perhaps with being able to predict the
future. It required special gifts – or
so it was believed.
Our readings this morning focus on the reading of the
written word, and not just any word… God’s word. Reverence for Scripture has been a prominent
feature of Judaism down through the ages.
We sense this reverence in the reading from Nehemiah. The story recounts an episode taking place in
Jerusalem shortly after the return from exile.
The people gather in the square near the Water Gate and ask Ezra the
priest to read the law. There is a
liturgical procession during which Ezra reads and the people respond. Working in small groups, the Levites then
teach the people about the meaning of the text they have just heard.
Three motifs stand out in this story highlighting the
significance of the Torah in the life of God’s people. First, there is a community focus to the
event. The reading is not simply relegated to scholars, spiritual leaders, or those
in the upper echelon of society. All the
people are present – men, women, and children.
Second, the story emphasizes the importance of understanding what is
read. The long reading is divided up
into smaller, more manageable parts. It
is then interpreted so people can understand what they have heard. And did you catch how they misinterpret the
meaning at first; thinking it indicates God is unhappy with them? “Not so,” says Ezra, “We will celebrate, for
the joy of the Lord is our strength.” Finally,
the story demonstrates the need to act on what has been read. Understanding is not enough. St. James wrote, “You must not be hearers of
the word only, you must also be doers of the word.”
After contemplating God’s unfathomable glory revealed
through the majesty of the heavens, the poet of the 19th Psalm
reflects on the wonder that is God’s law.
It is perfect, pure, and clean.
It provides refreshment, light, and wisdom. God’s word, the poet says, is more valuable
than gold and sweeter than honey. The
poet reacts to God’s written word with an awe and wonder much like Huron tribal
chief’s reaction to the missionary.
In our Gospel reading from Luke we hear again the
story of Jesus reading from the Scriptures in his hometown synagogue. The community is gathered. Jesus will first read the text and then offer
an interpretation. He is the son of a
carpenter, a local boy. Although it
appears he has received no formal training he has been absorbing teaching all
of his life. He has stolen away with the
priests in the Temple. He has become
acquainted the message of John the Baptist.
But most of all, he has found the Kingdom of God in the simple,
ordinary, everyday events of life – a sower scattering seed, a woman looking
for a lost coin, a son being reconciled with his father.
Jesus reads the appointed lesson from the prophet
Isaiah. After the reading is concluded he
offers commentary: “Today,” Jesus says, “What the prophet hoped for so many
years ago, what you have just heard with your ears, has been fulfilled in me.”
Our Old Testament reading for this morning is loosely
set at the dawn of one era and the sunset of another. The Hebrew people are beginning to use
parchment - written records - as a way of keeping their stories and traditions
intact. But most of the people do not
read or write so they spend hours listening to those who can.
We live at the sunset of that age and the dawn of
another. Words are giving way to images;
listening to viewing. More and more
reading, writing, and listening are work.
Countless seminars and books are available to help today’s public
speaker capture and keep the attention of the audience. And a growing number of seminars and business
gurus are offering classes on the art and skill of listening.
All of this has powerful implications for the
Episcopal Church and congregations like ours.
We seek to communicate the gospel to an age where the skills necessary
to receive our kind of proclamation are increasingly out of step with the
times.
It strikes me the Liturgy of the Word is not primarily
about being entertained. It is about a
community of people gathering together to hear again the sacred stories and
writings of our tradition. We cannot sit
back passively and wait for them to capture our attention. We must view this as a time of activity, a
time of work, a time demanding gifts and skills which very little else in our
cultures asks us to use. If we want to
be transformed by the reading and interpretation of the word, then we must
approach this time both with reverence and with discipline. Then, and only then, will it be able to grab
us and possess us.
It is our great privilege to hear the
Scriptures read this morning. It is our
calling to listen for God’s voice speaking to us through them. It is our great responsibility to endeavor to
understand what they mean for us in our time.
It is our great calling to apply what we sense and what we learn to who
we are and to what we do.
