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Christ preaching in the synagogue, Visoki Decani Monastery,
Kosovo 14th century.
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Throughout the Gospel of Luke, the Holy Spirit is actively
in pursuit of people. Zechariah was told that he would have a son, who would be
“filled with the Holy Spirit even before his birth (Luke 1:15). A few verses
later, an angel appears to Mary, and tells her that through the power of the
Most High, the Holy Spirit will come upon her, and she will bear a child who
will be the Son of God (Luke 1:35). Six short verses later, Mary’s kinswoman
Elizabeth is filled with the Holy Spirit, and sings a song of praise at the
approach of Mary, the God-bearer. Elizabeth’s unborn child leaps for joy,
animated by that same Spirit, just as had been foretold to his father
Zechariah. After John’s birth, Zechariah is filled with the Holy Spirit, and
overflows with a song of prophecy and power (Luke 1:67). After Jesus’s own
birth, as he is being presented in the Temple, the Holy Spirit guides Simeon
into the Temple to see the baby Jesus, and elicits a song of thanksgiving and
joy (Luke 2: 26-27).
In our gospel today, Jesus himself has been filled with the
Holy Spirit after his baptism and time in the wilderness. That same Spirit
leads him to the synagogue—a place where people think they know him, where they
have categorized him in safe, predictable ways: this is Jesus, the carpenter’s
son, raised in humble circumstances. And, really, are we that much different
from Jesus’s neighbors? We know who Jesus is—or, we think we do. It’s funny—we think Jesus is just like us, and that
makes us feel safe, smug even, sometimes. But Jesus is having none of that.
Rather, Jesus calls us to be just like him. And that’s an enormous difference.
Right now we are roiled by political turmoil both within our
church and without, and perhaps that’s the nature of human society—that very
term “human society” implies that our eyes are upon ourselves rather than
opened to see what God is doing among us in every moment. If the events of recent
weeks have shown us anything, it’s that whenever we think we have Jesus sorted
out into nice, neat categories, we are in danger of distorting his gospel
message. We like the domesticated Jesus. The Jesus sung about in children’s
songs, the ones who loves the little children of the world, the one who’s got
the whole world in his hands, the sweet, silent baby lying in the manger.
But, as the Church especially, that is not the Jesus we really need, and that is not the Jesus
we get, if we pay attention. The Gospel of Luke makes it clear again and again
that the Spirit moves where She will, and fills us with power, coming upon us
and resting upon us not to be filled with certainty but instead with
possibility. That same Spirit which inspired Mary’s rebellious shout of
prophecy and praise in the Magnificat pours forth from Jesus in today’s gospel.
The words of Isaiah, coming from the mouth of Jesus, give us a foretaste here
at the start of his ministry of what he is going to be about—and by extension,
when the Church hears this passage, we are reminded of what WE are to be about.
Called by the Holy Spirit, we have been anointed—set apart and specially
commissioned—to proclaim through our words and our actions to
Bring good news through
our words and deeds to those who are vulnerable and impoverished, both in body
and in spirit;
Announce release and
true freedom—the freedom not found in society but in the Beloved Community
of Jesus-- to all who are captives, both in body and in spirit;
Open the eyes and heal
those who are blind, both in body and in spirit;
Unbind the oppressed and
liberate them from all that marginalizes them, both in body and in spirit;
Proclaim the Jubilee, a
time of spiritual and physical abundance and completion—truly a rebellious act
in a time of defined by real (and, for some of us, imagined) scarcity and want.
Body and spirit, body and spirit—these are unified and
brought to life through the power that Jesus speaks through to us even today as
we listen to this gospel. This is the blueprint, the battle plan, for those of
us who dare to call ourselves children of God. Animated by his willingness to
surrender to the Holy Spirit, Jesus has just dropped a truth bomb before us,
and, just like those in the synagogue, the eyes of each and every one of us
can’t help but be fixed upon Jesus as the meaning sinks in. Here, in the Episcopal
Church, our Presiding Bishop joyfully and repeatedly reminds us that we are
members of the Jesus Movement. But we can’t be part of the Jesus Movement
unless we also see that now is a Jesus Moment. The Spirit seeks to shake us
loose but set us free. We are called to be a Spirit-filled people, with each
moment a revolution—a literal turning and reordering from the power of culture
to the power of the Holy Spirit. This is our Moment. The Spirit of the Lord
is upon us.
(This was first posted at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on January 24, 2016.)
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