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Luke 12: 49–56
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May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be
acceptable in thy sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
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What comes to mind when you think of the Gospel of Luke? Which
events, which scenes do you remember? I think, first of all, of
all the angels that come in the opening chapters of Luke’s
gospel – giving good news to Zechariah and Elisabeth, first of
all, telling them they were soon to become parents of John the Baptist,
prophet and herald of the Most High. And then, of course, I think
of the angel Gabriel visiting Mary in Nazareth, declaring that by the
power of the Holy Spirit she would soon give birth to the Son of
God. Then finally, I think of the holy night Jesus was born in
Bethlehem, as the heavens split wide open and angels sang, “Peace
on earth; good will to those whom God loves.” So yes,
definitely, when I think of the Gospel of Luke, I think of the
long–promised Kingdom of God just about to break in on us.
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And yet . . . there were warning notes
as well — of a more disruptive side of Jesus’
ministry. When Mary sang Magnificat, she didn’t
just tell how people of low degree would be exalted; she also told
how the high and mighty would be put down. For not everyone,
evidently, would welcome the Kingdom of God. When heavenly light
illuminated their lives, it also shined on their sin, causing some of
them to retreat to the shadows. Then too, when Jesus, still a
baby, was presented in the Temple – old Simeon prophesied that
this child would provoke strong reactions in everyone he
met. Some of those reactions would move people towards
God – but many others would cause people to move away from
Him. And finally, when the adult Jesus was baptized by John in
the Jordan River, John told everyone that though he baptized with
water, the One coming after him would baptize with the Holy Spirit
and fire. And though no one was sure what that meant, it hardly
sounded comfortable.
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But it was only when Jesus began to preach and minister all over Israel
that the disruption he had come to bring became clearer. In his
very first sermon, the one he gave in his hometown of Nazareth, he
announced he had come to bring salvation to outsiders –
lowly outsiders, vulnerable outsiders, people who knew full well they
were somehow broken and needy. Not only that, he reminded the
hometown crowd that their beloved prophets, Elijah and Elisha, had
also ministered to outsiders – people who knew full well they
needed healing. In other words, he was warning these insiders,
these comfortable self–righteous ones that he hadn’t come
for them alone. And the hometown folk listening to him caught
the insult. And in response, Luke tells us, they tried to throw
him over a nearby cliff.
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But it wasn’t just in his hometown of Nazareth that Jesus
delivered this message. Wherever he preaches, wherever he teaches
or performs miracles the humble people, the vulnerable ones love
him. They value his ministry because they know that something in
their lives is broken – something needs to change. But the
establishment types want no such thing; they just want Jesus to
disappear. So by the time we encounter him this morning, on his
way to his own death in Jerusalem, Jesus is stressed – not so
much for himself, as for all those who are refusing to change, refusing
the healing and wholeness he has come to offer
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But he loves them and he won’t give up on them. So he
tries, one more time. “Do you think I’ve come to
bring peace to a sick system?” he asks them. “No
way!! I have come to correct systems of injustice,
to disrupt unhealthy patterns of living, to end cycles of
despair – and not just in the society at large. Sure,
it’s uncomfortable – to acknowledge your own brokenness,
your own need — but that’s why I’ve come. I
have come to burn that kind of chaff out of every human heart that
wants healing.”
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He knows, of course, that some people still won’t get
it. Even in close–knit families, fathers will be fighting
against sons and sons against fathers. Mothers will be fighting
against their daughters and daughters with their mothers. But
that’s okay, he tells them – because some things are worth
fighting for. And the Kingdom of God is one of them. So he
won’t stop trying, he won’t stop pleading with them.
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“Can’t you see it,” he asks them, “like a fierce
thunderstorm approaching? Can’t you see the Kingdom of
God, right here in your midst?”
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Well, even then, some of them wouldn’t – or maybe
couldn’t – see what he was talking about. So you know
what he did? He didn’t give up on them. He
marched straight into Jerusalem, straight into the confrontation he
knew was coming with the whole religious–political
establishment. Straight towards his own breaking, his own
crucifixion. If they would not acknowledge their own brokenness,
their own need, then he would be broken for
them . . . so they could be healed.
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And that’s what we do here — every Sunday morning. We
remember that Jesus was willing to be broken — so all of us could
be healed, could be made whole again in his sight. That’s
why we come here – to worship Him, to invite him into our own
broken hearts, our own broken lives. When I stand up here at the
altar and break that large wafer apart – I can look between the
two pieces and see a community fractured and broken who have come here
to be put back together again. Every week, humbly acknowledging
our need to be put back together again.
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And every week it happens. When we share our broken Lord’s
life in the pieces of that wafer, we also share in his
resurrection. As we acknowledge our need, he comes into our lives
with forgiveness and grace to rewrite our story. And brings us
healing.
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Alleluia! Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us!
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And all God’s people said, Therefore, let us keep the
feast. Alleluia!
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Amen
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