A Different Kind of Love: A Sermon for 4 Epiphany
The Rev’d Richard G. Proctor, OA
CtK Episcopal Church
4 Epiphany: 1/30/22
The theme of love runs through all of our readings this morning, not just Paul’s letter to the Corinthians. The sort of love we encounter in Jeremiah and Luke are less explicit than what Paul says about love, but I think they are related. Just as soon as Jeremiah might have been feeling special for having been known, formed, and chosen by God Almighty, he was told that he was appointed over nations and kingdoms, “to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant.” What part of plucking up, pulling down, destroying, or overthrowing is patient and kind? Perhaps Jeremiah’s calling was more about hoping and enduring all things.
And if we fast-forward to the Gospel of Luke, we also get a snapshot of a divine love that appears to be very different from what Paul describes. Jesus and others are still gathered in his hometown synagogue in Nazareth, where he grew up. As we heard last week, Jesus must have been scheduled to be the lay reader, because he picked up the scroll and began reading from the book of Isaiah: “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.” One could argue that for Isaiah, and for Jesus, this is what love looks like. To me, the only thing more scandalous than this prophecy from Isaiah is that Jesus had the audacity to claim that “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” But oddly enough, this claim by Jesus didn’t upset the gathered community. Quite the contrary - Luke tells us that “all spoke well of [Jesus] and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth.” They were a little bit surprised, as they were heard asking, “Is not this Joseph’s son?” But they didn’t appear to be scandalized by Jesus’ proclamation of good news to the poor.
But what happens next with Jesus and the crowd at the synagogue is telling. For some reason, just when Jesus had the crowd amazed and speaking well of him, he hits them with this: “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’” And then he follows that with, “Truly I tell you…” (And just as a side note, whenever you hear “Truly I tell you” in the Bible, most likely whoever is being truly spoken to isn’t going to like what is truly being said.) And this case was no exception. “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown.” And then he goes on to say that Elijah was sent to the widow at Zarephath in Sidon, not the widows in Israel. And in the time of Elisha, out of all the lepers in Israel, the only one who was cleansed was Namaan the Syrian. Needless to say, with this number, the dance floor cleared. And Jesus lost his hometown crowd just as quickly as he won them over: “When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff.” I wonder if Jesus, when he “passed through the midst of them and went on his way” remembered the Lord’s word to Jeremiah: “for you shall go to all whom I send you, and you shall speak whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you.”
What happened here? It sounds like Jesus was taking a page from Jeremiah’s playbook and heeding the Lord’s call to pluck up, pull down, destroy, and overthrow. Or at least stir things up in his hometown synagogue. Prophetic as they may have been, were these harsh words spoken by Jesus spoken out of love? Quite frankly, it doesn’t sound like it to me. Indeed, Jesus was known for his propensity of showing “tough love” as much or more than patient love or kind love. But the sort of love that is purely scandalous is the sort of love we encounter in scripture, particularly in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. Think about it. The whole notion of God becoming incarnate to live and die with and for us, and then rise from the dead is pure scandal.
So, when we encounter a text like 1 Corinthians 13, we tend to forget the scandalous nature of it because we so often limit it to the context of those whom we already love. That’s why we read it at weddings. And that is not a bad thing. Believe me, as a parent of young children, it is hard to be patient and kind to those whom we love. But the true scandal comes in when we are called to love the widow at Zarephath in Sidon or the Syrian leper. Or when we are called to love the HIV-positive prostitute or the undocumented immigrant. Jesus spoke of a scandalous love that extended beyond the house of Israel, and it enraged those in the synagogue so much that they tried to kill Jesus, a member of their very own synagogue and community.
Several years ago, Emily and I went to see “Mountaintop” – a play that takes an imaginative look at the last night of Martin Luther King’s life. It was set in Memphis at the Hotel Lorraine, and the entire play consists of a long conversation that King has with a room service maid. At this point in his journey, King had broadened his focus to opposing the war in Vietnam and advocating for the poor. He was in the midst of planning another march on Washington – this time his dream was a multi-racial, multi-cultural gathering of Americans committed to demanding an end to poverty in the United States. A little more than two weeks before he was assassinated, King delivered a speech in Memphis where he reminded the listeners that Jesus tells a parable about a man named Dives who ends up going to Hell. Jesus tells us that the reason that Dives went to Hell was because he didn’t see the poor. King went on the say:
But there is nothing in that parable that says that Dives went to Hell because he was rich. Jesus never made a universal indictment against all wealth. It is true that one day a rich young ruler came before him talking about eternal life. And he advised him to sell all. But in that instance Jesus was prescribing individual surgery, and not setting forth a universal diagnosis.
Dives went to Hell because he passed by Lazarus every day, but he never really saw him. Dives went to Hell because he allowed Lazarus to become invisible. Dives went to Hell because he allowed the means by which he lived to outdistance the ends for which he lived. Dives went to Hell because he maximized the minimum, and minimized the maximum. Dives finally went to Hell because he wanted to be a conscientious objector in the war against poverty.
And if this makes you as uncomfortable as it makes me, King continued with his tough love for his country when he said,
And I come by here to say that America too is going to Hell, if we don't use her wealth. If America does not use her vast resources of wealth to end poverty, to make it possible for all of God's children to have the basic necessities of life, she too will go to Hell.
The Civil Rights Movement didn’t get King killed. It was the war on poverty, and speeches like this that got him killed. King began invoking Holy Scripture and parables told by Jesus in his fight on behalf of the poor. And then, King began making prophecies of his own, like the startling one we just heard. And this is when the many folks got really uncomfortable. Two weeks after this prophecy about the fate of America, King was “driven out of the town and hurled off the cliff – shot on the balcony of the Hotel Lorraine. Unlike Jesus, King was unable to “pass through the midst of them and be on his way.” King’s time had come.
In this play that depicted the last night of King’s life, the room service maid tells King that the difference between the two of them was that he had been able to find a way to love his enemies. She admitted that she was unable to do that – that she’d just assume resort to violent protest to bring about change in America. I was struck by how she was able to see the love in King’s actions, because though he was nonviolent, his recent speech in Memphis sure didn’t sound patient or kind. But this room service maid was struck by how King was able to love the very country that he was condemning.
Jesus loved the folks gathered at his synagogue – the very folks that tried to throw him off a cliff. Jesus loved Israel – Pharisees, scribes, chief priests and all. And Jesus loves each and every one of us. But Jesus’ love for the synagogue, for Israel, and for us isn’t a sentimental love. It is not simply about being tolerant or inclusive. And it is not cheap grace. Jesus’ love “rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. [And Jesus’] love never ends.”
Paul tells us that this “love is patient and kind.” But Jesus’ love can also be tough love, and difficult for us to embrace, imitate, and follow. But with God as my witness, oftentimes it is the tough love that has brought about the greatest transformation in me. I will never be as prophetic, faithful, or courageous as the Apostle Paul or Martin Luther King, Jr. Thanks be to God I don’t have to be for God to still love me. But that doesn’t mean that God still doesn’t command me to “put an end to my childish ways” and abide in God’s transformative love. I am grateful that this God who calls me this sort of radical love is a God who is also patient and kind. Because it is only by God’s grace that I stand a chance.