Luke 4:14-21

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. When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: '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." And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."

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When I hear about the people described in today's letter to the newly formed church in Corinth - one body, Jews and Greeks, slaves and free, all made to drink of one Spirit, I can't help but think of the Episcopal community we are creating just up the road in Bentonville. Right now we meet in small groups, in people's homes, coffee shops, community centers, restaurants and bars, and when it was warmer, in city parks. But soon, in just a few weeks, on the last Sunday in Epiphany, we will come together in the Little Theater at Washington Junior High to the celebrate the Eucharist, for the very first time as one body. We can hardly wait - the excitement is almost overwhelming. Paul's letter would seem so familiar to us because of the diversity of our emerging congregation: rich and poor, conservative and liberal (both politically and theologically), brown and white, gay and straight, Baptist and Catholic, unchurched and steeped in religious tradition. It is really a giant social experiment. Can people that are so different really come together as one body in Christ? Our Anglican tradition, the diversity of our world wide, 60 million member strong Anglican church, tells us we can. That we can... because we are all made to drink of one Spirit. We can look, and act, and believe differently because we are of one body. But it's not just because on February 18th that All Saints' Episcopal Church will begin to share the body and blood of Christ in Holy Communion that makes me optimistic that this experiment will work. No, my optimism springs from the sense of community that has begun to form within our small group meetings.

The format for these meetings varies. It may consist of a Bible study, exploration of a theological question, a look at spiritual formation, or maybe even just worship planning sessions. But mostly, what we do, is listen to each other's stories. And the stories we hear... Stories of people who have been grievously wounded by the church. Stories that portray this Body of Christ at its worst. I recall a young woman telling us of her experience of being 15 years old and pregnant. She and her parents were members of small country church with a strong fundamentalist tradition. At a meeting with her parents and the pastor, she was convinced by the pastor of the necessity to come before the congregation, confess her sin, and ask for forgiveness. At a Sunday evening prayer meeting, at the end of a hot summer day, this young mother-to-be slowly walked from the back pew to the front of the congregation, the clapboard church's aging wooden floor creaking underneath each labored footstep and with a voice that was so timid that the congregation had to lean forward to hear, she told the story of her pregnancy, said that she had sinned, and with the pastor's coaching, ask for the congregation's forgiveness. It might not have been so bad, if after going through this humiliation that the congregation could have then embraced her, loved her through this difficult time. But instead, the next story she had to tell was of a time in the church a few months later. She had given birth to a very small, frail, baby girl and she brought her with her to church, fearing that the infant's tiny voice might not be heard in the nursery amid more vigorous babies and toddlers. Unfortunately, her baby girl chose a moment in the preacher's sermon to begin to whimper. The preacher stopped his oration and looked up and said to the young mother, "Would you, please, take that baby to the nursery." Once more amid the deathly silence of the assembled church, the young mother's footsteps elicited the groans of the old pine floor as she walked through the congregation, passed through the door, and never returned. She has carried the scars of her confession and her child's ejection from the church, "the body of Christ" for more than a decade.

I've lost count of how many times I have heard of the rejection from family and church that resulted when a young man or woman revealed to their family that they were gay. We learn of alcoholism and divorce. We share in the grief of group members who have lost loved ones. We hear stories of people whose spiritual journey has led them down a path that has caused them to reject fundamentalism, and they are afraid to admit to their families and friends that they believe that God's love might extend to all God's creation. All these people want someone to listen to them. And listening, really listening, is what we practice in our small groups. It is our commitment to listen to one another and the quality of the relationship that results from the willingness to listen that gives me hope that we will hang together as one body in Christ.

If you haven't figured it out yet, I love to preach. I'm what's known as a "confessional" preacher, one who shares of himself and tells lots of personal stories. And I'm very thankful for the opportunity you have given me to preside and preach here at Grace Church during the month of January. This is the sixth of the nine sermons I will preach here this month. I am enjoying it immensely. However, there is one thing missing. You see, preaching, at its best, isn't just a one way process. It's not just me preaching to you. You aren't just passive listeners. You are very attentive. I realized that the very first time I preached here and a precious 3 year old girl, sitting on the front row, did not take her eyes from me for the entire sermon. The problem is, I don't know your stories. I've learned a few, but I haven't been here long enough to really know you. You see, the best preaching is done after the preacher has fulfilled his obligation of listening to the congregation. The best preaching is done by preachers who listen to the stories, the narratives, of dozens and dozens of parishioners and then talks back to them, anonymously, through sermons. Amens, or the appreciative nods that Episcopalians are more likely to offer, are in the best congregations, not really saying to the preacher, "I hear your", but "You've heard me." It is my hope for Grace Church, that you find that soon. That you will have a priest and a preacher who has listened to you and knows your stories.

In the mean time I urge you to listen to one another. And put together forums, relational meetings, where you have an opportunity to get to know each other on a deep personal level. No less an authority that Dietrich Bonhoffer said, "The first service that one owes to others in the fellowship consists in listening to them...those who cannot listen long and patiently will always be talking past others, and finally no longer even notice... the death of the spiritual life..."

And what is the result of the creation of this relational fellowship? I think that something quite beautiful flows from it. It's an equipping for ministry. We learn to listen to each other within community, and then we learn to listen to the world. I always find it interesting, the juxtaposition of the Epistle and the Gospel. The Epistle today is about community formation, how the different parts and personalities in the body of Christ relate to each other. The Gospel reading, however, shows us Jesus at the beginning of his ministry. In Luke, he has been baptized, spent 40 days in the wilderness, was tempted by the devil, and then began teaching in the synagogue. And what did he first teach? The message Jesus usually teaches - good news for the poor, release of the captive, sight for the blind, and freedom for the oppressed.

I'm suggesting to you that, this is the sequence we are to follow in living out the Christian life. Find nurture in community, in the body of Christ, and then go out preaching, or more specifically providing good news for the poor. I'm not sure why we are so quick to spiritualize Jesus' words. Why we want to think of the good news for the poor as directed only at the poor "in spirit". Perhaps if most of the world didn't live in abject physical poverty, then we might focus our attention on the "poor in spirit". But Jesus is clearly talking about the real poor, those without adequate food and shelter. Jesus isn't calling on his listener's to "proclaim the year of the Lord's favor" in metaphysical terms. The year of the Lord's favor refers to the Jewish tradition of a "year of jubilee". On the jubilee, in compliance with Jewish law, all debts were forgiven, slaves and prisoners released, and all property returned to its original family. All wealth that had been accumulated would be redistributed. Imagine how the Gates, the Trumps, ...the Walton's would react to such a requirement. If we want to take a literal interpretation of the Bible, this might be an interesting place to start.

When is this year of the Lord's favor to come? Maybe its time for a year of jubilee. And if not, what is the good news that we, the body of Christ, have to offer the poor?