When the big Powerball drawing took place a few weeks ago, I did not buy a ticket. I told myself I didn’t buy a ticket because I wasn’t really sure where they are sold, and it would be an extra stop, and I didn’t have cash. But as I thought more about it, I realized the truth was I did not buy a ticket because I did not want to win. Now, I realize that not playing the Powerball because you’re afraid you might win is like not walking in the rain because you’re afraid you might not get wet. There was an equally likely probability that playing Powerball would result in me winning Powerball as there would be in every single raindrop in a hard summer thunderstorm to somehow managing to miss hitting me, but there you go. That was my total rational for not joining in the Powerball frenzy a couple of weeks ago as the payout reached the record total of one point five billion dollars. I didn’t join in this mass cultural movement, because I was afraid I might win, and I didn’t know what I would do with that much money.
Now, that fear in and of itself might seem a little strange. After all, who wouldn’t want a little bit more money?! But one point five billion is a lot more money; and I wondered about how that kind of a windfall might change me. Would I be a good steward of that kind of wealth? How would my relationships change, would people treat me differently, want things from me? Would my friends become uncomfortable around me? How would it change my work? There is no question that suddenly being in possession of that much money would change everything about my life, the question I didn’t have the answer to was how. Would the good changes outweigh the bad? So, in the end, I decided in the end that the two dollars it cost to buy a Powerball ticket was better spent on coffee, which would provide me immediate gratification in the short run, and way less stress in the long run, and so that is what I did. Sorry Trinity, I gave up our shot at Powerball glory in exchange for a decaf Sumatra at Brownstone. We will have to find another avenue to pay off the roof.
What I was really afraid of in having even the possibility of winning Powerball was not having a lot of money; it was the change that having a lot of money would inevitably cause. And Powerball being a ridiculous example notwithstanding, I think my hesitancy of having even the most remote possibility of being changed in such a drastic way gets to a more universal truth, that change, good or bad, is scary. It is oftentimes more comfortable to stay with what is familiar rather than change. Even when we know the situation we are in is bad, and the change will be for the better, there is the temptation to follow the easier and more comfortable route of staying where we are rather than take the risk of becoming something different. But changing, pushing through the discomfort to a new and different place, is the only way we grow.
So what does Powerball have to do with our Gospel text for this morning? This text is from the very beginning of Jesus Galilean ministry, the first two verses provide a framework for what this ministry will be about. “Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.” Jesus’ Galilean ministry is a ministry of teaching, powered by the Spirit. The location of this will be synagogues, situating it within the proper context of religious education. The result of this ministry is praise, and its extent is for all.
So Jesus and this Spirit-powered, praise-creating, all-welcoming ministry showed up in Nazareth, “where he had been brought up,” and to his “home synagogue,” if you will. This would have been the place he’d worshipped since he was just a little child. Filled with people who’d know him forever, who’d known his parents since before Mary was an unwed mother, since before Joseph was a reluctant stepfather. They’d seen Jesus take his first steps, listened to his first stuttering Hebrew recitations, cheered his first shaky expositions of scripture. And now, here he was home again, the local boy made big. They’d certainly heard the report about him that had begun to spread through all the surrounding country, and they couldn’t wait to welcome him home. When the Sabbath day arrived, worship unfolded like it would on every Sabbath. As was the custom, the reader would stand and accept the scroll given to him by the attendant, find the marked place, and begin to read. But Jesus, upon being handed the scroll, did something different. Instead of reading the section given to him, he unrolled the scroll further, finding a certain passage of scripture. The Gospel doesn’t mention it, but you can hear the scurrying that would have followed this departure. Imagine the look on my face, if Ellis had gone rogue this morning and decided to read a different text then the one I expected him to. David and I choose hymns and liturgy based on knowing the text ahead of time, what a scramble would ensue if we had to rethink everything on the fly.
So Jesus stood up, unrolled to a totally unexpected passage of scripture, and began to read: “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.” The people are already not quite sure what to do with this unexpected break from tradition. And then Jesus calmly handed the scroll back to the attendant, and sat down to preach. Now this again would be all in line with expectation, it was customary to sit down following the reading, and to teach from a seated position. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue fix upon him, relaxing into return to normalcy. And then, Jesus delivered his one-sentence sermon on the text. “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”
Can you imagine the response to that? This is Jesus, Joseph and Mary’s kid. They’d watched him grow up, and here he is claiming to be the one Isaiah had foretold. They’ve known this verse from Isaiah their whole lives, heard countless sermons on that future day when a leader would come with the Spirit of the Lord, who would bring good news to the poor, proclaim release to the captives, delivery of sight to the blind, who would set the oppressed free, and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. They were so familiar with the words of this reading, that the words in some ways had ceased to have meaning, they were just words, promise of a future someday that was well out of their imagining. And, quite frankly, it was easier that way. As great as it would be to have the captives set free, the blind see, the oppressed go free, and the year of the Lord’s favor upon them, they knew that such radical good news would mean that their lives would change. In positive ways, certainly, but maybe also in ways that were hard. Better, easier, to live in hope for such a day, to rest in the promise that such a day was possible, then to actually have to deal with the upheaval of the coming kingdom of God. But then Jesus showed up and told them, “Today this scripture is fulfilling in your hearing.” Today is the day you’ve been waiting for your whole lives. Today good news is upon us, today the captives are free, today is the year of the Lord’s favor. You are in bondage no longer, for today, right here, right now, God is with you.
Sisters and brothers in Christ, in this Epiphany season we celebrate that today, this scripture is fulfilled in our hearing. Today, and every day, when we gather around water and word, when we eat the bread and drink the wine, we experience the kingdom of God in our midst, we are in the year of the Lord’s favor. And this encounter changes us. In this encounter with the good news, we discover that we are free from the captivity of sin and death, we find our eyes open to the world around us, we find the weight of oppression, of all that would seek to hold us captive lifted from us, and we are in the Lord’s favor. Change is hard. There is comfort in captivity, in oppression, in being stuck in the familiarity of our expectations, in not being able to see the brokenness of the world. But these words from Jesus promise us that we do not go alone into this new and unfamiliar world, but Christ goes with us. Christ walks alongside us, proclaiming to us the good news, helping us to shake of chains of fear and unworthiness, and live into the promise of this new life.
So, in conclusion, I still don’t think I’ll buy a Powerball ticket. The coffee at Brownstone is really good, and way more dependable. Though, if you’re into that sort of thing, please play responsibly, there’s no harm in dreaming. But better than dreaming, is the tangible promise that we will all receive in a few minutes, that the risen Christ meets us here and transforms our lives with his grace. Today, and every day, this scripture is fulfilled in your midst, and everything you know, everything you are, will be changed by the encounter. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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