It can’t happen here?
Sometimes I have to remind myself that Jesus spent 30 years living a somewhat regular life. We have a few stories surrounding his birth, a single story from when he was a teenager, and then a whole lot from age 30 onward. Today’s scripture passage gives some insight into that prior life. We’re reminded that Jesus lived in a small town, and chose to continue living there presumably working as a carpenter for years after he became a man of marrying age. We don’t believe Jesus himself ever married, but many people his age that he knew probably did so when they were teenagers. It’s no surprise they wed when they were so young by our standards, because most people couldn’t expect to live much past age 40. They probably wanted to get on with things before too many years passed by.
Then there was Jesus, for decades toiling away in Joseph’s workshop making doors and tables, maybe spending a lot of time quietly contemplating things, maybe wrestling on a local team, maybe visiting places outdoors where he felt close to his heavenly papa, maybe worshiping in the synagogue, maybe having drinks with his friends, maybe tending a garden. Nonetheless, we can largely only speculate, but we know Jesus spent many years living life as a person before his ministry began.
And perhaps not a visibly exceptional person, if you look at today’s scripture passage. Biblical scholar Pheme Perkins writes that “his status as a local craftsman would have been considerably lower than that of a member of the educated class, who could devote himself to learning the Law.” (Perkins, 448) Jesus was more blue collar, and when he rolled into town with his similarly blue collar buddies and started teaching in the synagogue, the reaction from the small-town folks in Nazareth shouldn’t surprise us. He was a carpenter, not a scholar, right? Perkins goes on to say that “reading the episode against the backdrop of honor and shame in peasant villages provides some insight into the hostile reception.” (Perkins, 448) To them, until recently, Jesus seemed to have been in a “failure to launch” situation, living with his mom instead of getting his own place. That’s understandable, though. There are indications that Joseph, Jesus’s stepfather, died prior to today’s story, and that as Mary’s eldest son Jesus stuck around to take care of her. After all, widows were in a vulnerable position in that culture.
When we read the gospel, we know how the story ends. We know who Jesus was going into it. Those who lived life in his vicinity before he began his ministry didn’t have that luxury, but for us it’s tempting to scoff at the ignorance of some of the characters. The ones who asked, “Where’d he learn this stuff? They don’t teach it at Nazareth High. Who does he think he is? He’s just one of Mary’s several children.”
For them, the idea that something extraordinary could happen there, among common people, in the town they knew so well, was just too hard to believe.
“I was eight years old and running with a dime in my hand / Into the bus stop to pick up a paper for my old man.” (Springsteen) In the song “My Hometown,” Bruce Springsteen taps into the mixed sentiments many might have for the small towns in which they grew up. It presents as a nostalgic look back in time, but the verses reveal some of the challenges that existed alongside the good elements. Its complexity is similar to that from the album’s title track, “Born in the U.S.A.,” which is hardly a patriotic anthem (though, sadly, it is sometimes used that way).
Everyone has a unique life experience, but I wonder if any of you also grew up in or near a small town and can relate to mine. For instance, even if you’re born there, you’re not considered a native until your family has resided there for multiple generations. Your high school class was so small that your classmates felt like siblings, so people typically dated folks from other schools. Everybody truly did know everyone, for good and for bad, and news traveled fast, even in the days before text messaging and social media. Change is slow to arrive in small towns, so anything new or novel received lots of attention.
Things in tiny Fayette, Ohio, weren’t always exciting, but I have great memories of being there. From the house of my best friends, we could walk to the Sohio station, where you could buy the cheapest can of Pepsi in town. If you crossed the street from there with the aid of the village’s single stoplight, you’d reach Phil’s Variety Store, which offered an array of candy and comic books. Across from there was the Pizza Place and its affordable bagels and juke box. You’d need more than a dime in your hand to take advantage of all of these opportunities, but a few dollars went a long way.
If you continued across town toward the school, you’d first reach the library, where the drinking fountain had (and still has) the best-tasting water I’ve ever sipped. The librarians there had known us since we were preschoolers, and they observed our birthdays every year by adding our latest school picture to a display.
Despite these luxuries, for some of us the limits of the town felt restrictive as we became older. I couldn’t wait to get my license so I could drive to attractions in larger towns, whether the bowling alley in Archbold or the drive-in theater in Wauseon. That desire to get away grew, and I was ready to move three hours away to Oxford when college began.
That said, the intervening years have offered me opportunity to gain perspective and appreciation for Fayette. When I was 17 I couldn’t wait to get out of town; now I seek opportunities to go back, which are especially rewarding if I run into a former classmate or someone else who knew me when I was young.
There’s something special about the people who knew you back when. No matter what you’ve achieved, no matter what your job title is or how much money you make, the people from your home town still see you as the kid who used to buy baseball cards at the Super Valu and sat the bench during most basketball games. They possess a perspective those you meet later in life don’t, so when they offer an approving comment, it carries weight. Their long view can give you an appreciation for your life’s path, and the importance those earliest steps played in it.
Jesus was no ordinary hometown boy, though, and today’s story illustrates how the inflexibility of some of those in his village was detrimental. In the gospel of Mark, the stories leading to today’s highlight people who recognized Jesus for who he was. They include a man possessed by demons; Jairus, a synagogue leader whose daughter was near death; and a woman suffering from hemorrhages. In every instance, Jesus is able to provide healing. Unfortunately, that proved challenging in Nazareth. As Pheme Perkins writes, “since the miracles in the previous chapter emphasize the importance of faith in those who approach Jesus for healing, the conclusion that Jesus is unable to work many miracles in Nazareth is hardly surprising.” (Perkins, 449)
The people of Nazareth thought it couldn’t happen there. Maybe it was their small-town sensibilities, maybe it was too hard to believe this man they’d known since he was four was divine, maybe it was a more general doubt. Regardless, the gospel says “Jesus was amazed at their unbelief” and “he could do no deed of power there” aside from curing some of the ill people he encountered. Our God in human form was limited due to the lack of faith that greeted his ministry.
Today’s scripture provides a reminder of the importance of faith, which the author of Hebrews describes as the assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of things not seen. The people of Nazareth couldn’t overcome their everyday experiences and expectations to make room for the idea that something different was happening, and that someone exceptional had emerged from their community. For them, as it is for us now, it was hard to believe that their larger hopes were being realized, and that some unseen force could exercise power in a small town like theirs.
In his book Ritual at World’s End, my friend Cláudio Carvalhaes writes about the need for us to create “new rituals to deal with our times.” (Carvalhaes, 11) As part of his desire to deepen his relationship with the earth, he became acquainted with a tree that stands alongside Conodoguinet Creek that he passes during his frequent walks there. He named her “Wonder,” and he checks in with her regularly.
As someone who values his walks along a creek but sometimes needs a reminder to be more mindful along the way, I decided to befriend a tree as well. I was drawn to a tulip poplar along Fishing Creek, and I try to pause and recenter there when I pass by.
I decided to call her “Faith.” I was in the early days of figuring out what Intertwined would be, and sorely in need of some faith as I pursued what by all accounts — including my own — is a foolish idea. What business do I have starting a non-conventional faith community from scratch in an area not quick to adopt new ideas, where so many existing faith communities are struggling to stay relevant? Who is going to want to bring their own seats, sit outside on Sunday afternoons, and spend time reading and praying without the comfort of climate control? Who is going to want to join a faith-informed pursuit of ecological justice in the shadow of a capitol dome that houses mammon-informed politicians and lobbyists?
Slowly, quietly, and often in unexpected fashion, those questions have been answered during the past year. Intertwined has evolved and grown as the Spirit has led, receiving support from a variety of people and organizations who believe in our mission, and next month we’ll celebrate the anniversary of our first gathering.
Sometimes things — especially the most important things — are slow to change. Sometimes they’re so slow to change that it feels like they’re not changing at all. But to paraphrase Martin Luther King, Jr., the arc of moral history is long, but it bends toward justice. And that bending occurs more easily when we create space for it.
How do we create space? By being open to the potential of what can happen, even in our own hometowns. By recognizing the influence we can have to affect change, however unlikely a candidate we might seem. By being open to the potential of those around us. By embracing the power that people pursuing the greater good have when they act together. And, especially, by being assured in our hopes and convicted in an unseen power that is drawing us all toward reconciliation.
Can it happen here? Can some manifestation of God’s kin-dom of love and justice come to pass by way of our hands, feet, and hearts?
I’ll ask another question as a response: Could the Son of God come in the form of a man, working a blue-collar job, supporting a widowed mother, and living in a small town in an occupied land?
Yes, and thanks be to God for that.
Amen.
Works Referenced
Carvalhaes, Cláudio. Ritual at World’s End: Essays on Eco-Liturgical Liberation Theology. York, Pennsylvania: Barber’s Son Press, 2021.
Gafney, Wilda C. A Women’s Lectionary for the Whole Church, Year W. New York City: Church Publishing, 2021.
Perkins, Pheme. “The Gospel of Mark.” In New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume VII. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2015.
Smith, Mitzi J. & Yung Suk Kim. Toward Decentering the New Testament: A Reintroduction. Eugene, Oregon: Cascade Books, 2018, Kindle edition.
Springsteen, Bruce. 1985. “My Hometown.” Track 7 on Born in the U.S.A., the Hit Factory.
