4th Sunday after the Epiphany Year C 2019

The 4th Sunday after the Epiphany-Year C February 3, 2019 Last weekend, I got to make a quick trip to Jacksonville to see the musical Les Miserables. This was probably my 5th time to see Les Miserables because it is truly my favorite, and I discover new ideas and emotions every time I see it. One of the most intriguing characters for me in Les Mis is Inspector Javert, a policeman who spends years pursuing the main character Jean Valjean trying to bring him to justice. Javert is cold and relentless in his pursuit of Valjean, who served 19 years in prison for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his sister’s family and then broke parole. But what the audience knows from the very prelude of the show is that Valjean has had a conversion experience and becomes transformed in the way that he is in the world. Because of mercy that is shown him by someone else, Valjean becomes someone who embodies mercy and forgiveness—both asking and giving it, and he gives his life to taking care of an orphan child in the attempt to fulfill his vow and his debt to her mother. Valjean also has become transformed in his very person, changing his name and becoming the town mayor and a successful businessman. It isn’t until Valjean has the opportunity to kill Javert, but Valjean lets Javert go that Javert falters in his understanding of Valjean and the way of the world. Javert’s highest pursuit has always been bringing Valjean to justice, but when Valjean shows him mercy, Javert cannot reconcile this transformation in his worldview and he actually commits suicide. Last week, I preached about how the purpose of the church is to provide space within which people can be transformed. And I heard several stories over the course of the week (from you and from random people I encountered out in the world) about transformation. This week’s gospel, which is a continuation of last week’s gospel, has invited me to shift the focus somewhat and to ask the question “what happens when we don’t allow space for transformation—in our lives, in our church, in our world?” Jesus has returned to his hometown; he has gone to synagogue where he has read the scroll of the prophet 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.’ 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." Which is where our reading picks up for today. At first the people marvel, but then things quickly turn ugly when Jesus starts speaking some hard truths to the people who have known him the best, the longest. And they rise up as an angry mob and prepare to throw him over the cliff in the anger. I don’t know about y’all, but I get it. I have been both the victim and the perpetrator of unwillingness to allow space for others to be transformed. When I was in discernment about becoming a priest, my rector put together a committee of people who had known me most of my life: our family physician, my high school guidance counselor, my long-time Sunday school teacher. It was mostly a good experience, but one of the women kept getting frustrated with me that I didn’t or wouldn’t answer the questions the way that she thought I should. She was unable to be with me in the space where I was, after having been transformed by time away at college and working with people in poverty in the inner city. The committee submitted their report, and it wasn’t until I met with the bishop that I learned that while the rest of the committee approved my moving forward in the process, that one woman had refused to recommend me for the priesthood. I was shocked and dismayed, and the kindly bishop smiled and said to me, “Oh, don’t worry. I dated her in college, and I know all about her. She won’t hold you back from becoming a priest.” Not too long ago, I was complaining to my husband that someone we had known in seminary, who had not been a very nice person in seminary, had moved up in the hierarchy of the church. And I was saying all sorts of nasty snide comments about this person. David looked at me lovingly and said, “You know, I’ve changed a lot since seminary. Maybe this person has too.” This week’s gospel reading reminds us of the inclusive nature of God’s embrace and how God often uses the unexpected, the outsider, the outcast to bring about the fulfillment of God’s purposes, to bring about transformation. Your invitation this week is to consider in what ways you are unwilling to encounter transformation—in your life, in particular relationships, in this church, in the world. [We see this unwillingness to encounter transformation in the other running rampant in our political parties and our national discourse right now.] I invite you to ask yourself in your time with God this week and as you are going about your days—do I allow space to be transformed by God? Do I allow space in this relationship for this other person to be transformed by God? What opportunities might I be losing or squandering by not allowing space for transformation? And when the opportunities present themselves, as they will, may you be open and undefended and curious.