“Not Just Words on a Page”
Third Sunday after Epiphany
January 23, 2022
Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10
Luke 4:14-21
Debie Thomas gives some context to the Nehemiah passage in her commentary at Journey with Jesus. You see, 70 years before, the noble class from the region of Judah had been taken from their homes and exiled in Babylon. They made their homes there, established their religion, and were able to continue worshiping Yahweh. When Cyrus, King of Persia, conquered Babylon, he allowed the people in exile to return home, led in part by Ezra.
But it wasn’t an easy transition. Many people from Judah had been allowed to stay in Judah during the exile. The land was redistributed, and they farmed and cared for the land in service to Babylon. Ten years after the initial exile, the Temple was destroyed and the artifacts stolen by the king of Babylon. There was little left when the exiles returned. And what was left belonged to someone else.
In addition, they feared the nations surrounding them. They were vulnerable. The people of Samaria to the north were a particular threat. So, under Ezra’s guidance, they began building the walls up around Jerusalem again. But word got back to Cyrus. This was not part of the deal for returning the people, and he had the walls destroyed—again. Now, there were still many Jews who remained in Babylon—or what had become Persia. They had established their lives and communities there. One of those people was Nehemiah. He served in the court of Artexerxes—one of the kings who came after Cyrus.
Nehemiah had heard of this renewed destruction of Jerusalem and begged to be allowed to go and re-establish the city and the Temple. His wish was granted, and he worked against many challenges to rebuild the walls. Once the walls and gates were complete, Ezra gathered the people of Judah—now the only Israelites left—and read to them from the Torah.
You see, until the exile, the books of Moses were primarily an oral tradition—stories told among families. Some were written, but not in their completion. While in exile, the people recognized the need to collect these stories and establish themselves and their beliefs over against the beliefs and gods of Babylon. Many of the stories in Genesis are in direct contrast to stories in Babylon. And these writings, having been gathered and curated, were read for the first time in their general completion to all the people of the Judah—both nobles and farmers.
Imagine hearing the stories of Genesis, told in one complete telling, over the course of a day—and then a week. Becoming angry at Cain, worried for Noah, inspired by Abraham’s hospitality, excited by Jacob’s wrestle with God, incensed by Joseph’s brothers, tearful at the horrors of the Hebrew slaves, on the edge of your seat with them trapped at the edge of the Red Sea, disappointed—and a bit ashamed—of the golden calf even as Moses descends the mountain with God’s Law in hand. They wept. They cheered. They confessed. As they heard the story of their history—the raw, unvarnished shame and the covenantal grace of God’s love—they were moved to tears. They worshipped with unrestraint. The reading was the beginning of a new opportunity to follow God in faithfulness.
The Torah was not the only thing penned while in exile. Prophets wrote and spoke, as well. Prophets who chastised the people for their unfaithfulness which led to their present circumstance. Prophets who spoke encouragement while in exile. Prophets who told of a new hope—a new nation—a new kingdom once again established from the line of David. Prophets who comforted the people with words of healing. Prophets like Isaiah.
And five hundred years later, Jesus would open that scroll and read from Isaiah, saying, “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.” Imagine hearing these words while in exile—hearing words of release, and freedom, and sight.
Words of restoration—because that’s what the year of the Lord’s favor referred to—the Jubilee. A year in which all things were put back the way they started. Debts would be erased. Prison sentences washed away. Those in service for a debt would be freed. Land would return to the original inhabitants. A fresh start every 50 years. There’s no sign that Israel ever enacted this, but God’s seal was still on it. God’s instructions were there. God’s promise was there.
Imagine, then, hearing these words from Jesus. His friends and family in Nazareth had heard about what he was doing in Capernaum—healing the sick, curing the blind, casting out demons. As they hear these words from Isaiah, they must have been thinking about their own situation—those imprisoned in their own bodies or minds; their people oppressed by yet another empire; all of the fear and turmoil they were living in. Most of us can only imagine. Even in our upside-down economy, increasing inflation, unjust systems, and COVID running rampant, most of our issues in this first-world country don’t hold a candle to what the people of Israel were living through.
So, to hear these words from a man they knew first-hand, a man who was definitely pushing against corruption and disease, a man from their own hometown, a man who could truly change the world—no wonder all were praising him. The verse right after our reading says, “All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth.”
But we’ll hear the rest of the story next week. We’ll hear their praise turn to anger when the power of the Spirit turns words of hope into words of hope for someone else—when the ones who were certain God would put them first heard something far different than what was expected.
Because, my friends, that’s part of what the Spirit’s power does. It pushes us beyond what we expect. It challenges what we think we deserve. It drives us toward something we can’t imagine—which is good news…but not always good news directed where you want it.
This text comes on the heels, first of Jesus’ baptism in which he receives the Spirit. A baptism that forms our own understanding of being named and claimed by God’s love—one in which we, too, receive the Holy Spirit. A baptism not unlike the ones we will witness today. But his baptism and the indwelling of the Spirit didn’t simply move Jesus into an easy life of sharing lovely thoughts.
No, the spirit drove him into the wilderness where he was famished and then tested by the satan—the accuser. His identity was tested; his allegiance to God was tested. And he made it quite clear that he serves only God the Creator. He does not serve his own comfort; he does not serve his own pride; he does not serve his own people. He serves God, alone. And filled with the power of the Spirit that gave him the strength to endure that testing, he goes to Galilee, to Nazareth, where the testing takes on a whole new approach.
He reads these words from Isaiah—familiar words. Words that people had perhaps memorized. Words that maybe had lost their meaning and their history. Words that had become rote. Words that no longer made people weep and cheer and bow in worship. But Jesus was not tempted to allow them to just lay flat on the page. He brought them to life. He gave them meaning. And he challenged those who heard it by what came next. Stay tuned next week as the reading and the sermon continues.
Pastor Tobi White
Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church
Lincoln, NE
