Mark 6:1-13
Jesus left that place and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, “Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him.
Then Jesus said to them, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their own hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” And he could do no deed of power there, expect that he laid hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief.
Then he went about among the villages, teaching. And he called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and he gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money for their belt; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.
He said to them, “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.
There is a great, strange, quiet little show on MAX called “Somebody Somewhere.” It’s got a serious Schitt’s Creek vibe to it in my opinion, but not many people know about it, from what I can tell. It came to mind as I fumbled around with this week’s Gospel, because “Somebody Somewhere” tells the story of a woman named Sam who returns to her hometown, somewhere in the cornfields of Kansas, to take care of her dying sister. Her family – broken and struggling in so many ordinary ways with sibling rivalry and addiction and aging parents and broken marriages – needs her help, too – whether any of them know it or not.
The short of the long is that Sam connects with an old classmate she doesn’t even remember, but should have known in high school, and the show is the story of their friendship and the underlying buzz of what it means for Sam to be back – as an outsider in her own family and as a stranger in her own hometown.
And, while it’s not at all the main focus of the show, the notion of what a truly inclusive, welcoming, loving Church is, can, or should look like is a noteworthy undercurrent, if you pay attention to that sort of thing. Anyway, four stars. Highly recommend. You’re welcome.
And, it made me wonder, in a very simple way, if the writers and producers of “Somebody Somewhere,” knew something about Jesus and the Gospel of Mark. Because after being out and about in the world, beginning a ministry of healing all kinds of people of all sorts of illnesses, after casting out demons, after calming storms, and after teaching with all manner of new insight and wisdom, Jesus comes home to Capernaum, like somebody, somewhere.
And, instead of a warm welcome and a happy homecoming, Jesus is greeted with questions and contempt. “Where did this guy get all of this?,” they asked. “Isn’t this one of Mary’s kids – the carpenter?” “Who does he think he is, anyway?”
So, we have to wonder what was it that made it so hard for Jesus to go back home? Why was it that no one wanted to believe what he was teaching? Why did they take such offense at all he was preaching and teaching and saying and doing?
Maybe Jesus wasn’t old enough. Maybe he was teaching them too much too fast. Maybe he was trying to pour too much new wine into too many old wineskins. Your guess is as good as mine.
Whatever the case, I’m sure they knew that Jesus was onto something because they had most definitely heard about his ministry: how he’d healed the paralyzed man, stilled the storm, raised Jairus’ daughter, and cured the woman who had been hemorrhaging for years. All of this had to make them wonder – and maybe even hope, in spite of their suspicions – that Jesus knew what he was talking about.
And I imagine it was nice to suspect that Jesus was onto something … from a distance. I imagine they were proud to know that this hometown prophet, this local hero, was theirs. I imagine they liked to say that they knew him when, or maybe that they had worked with him, or that he’d lived around the corner or just up the road, at one time. I imagine it might have been fun to cheer him on from the sidelines.
But then he came home…back to Capernaum…then he started preaching and teaching and healing right there in front of them. Then they couldn’t help but realize that his message was for and about them too.
And forgiveness sounds great until you have to offer it yourself, and mean it.
And faith sounds easy until your own is challenged.
And loving your neighbor sounds nice until you know more about who’s living next door, or until you realize that “neighbor” has nothing to do with proximity - or your address - a lot of the time.
So no wonder it was hard for Jesus to be back home again. What if that’s why he hasn’t tried it since? What if that’s why Capernaum – and the world for that matter – hasn’t seen the whites of his eyes since he left so long ago?
Are we ready for what he would teach or preach or perform for us, now? Just like the family and friends from his hometown, it can be easy for us to claim Jesus as ours … from a distance. Just like his family and friends in Capernaum, it can be comforting to proclaim that he’s one of us and that we’re one of his. Just like his family and friends and neighbors, it’s easy to cheer Jesus on from the sidelines.
But what if he came home today? Would he find us forgiving as much as we ask to be forgiven? Would he find our faith solid and steadfast and sure? Would he find us loving our neighbor – no matter who they are or what they do or where they live?
…
Have you ever had the opportunity to “go home again” like Sam in “Somebody Somewhere” or like Jesus in Mark’s Gospel? Have you ever taken a trip to your old hometown? Have you ever gone back to an old school or to a former Church or to a house where you once lived? I’ve done it many times – and it’s never the same.
Not that it’s always bad. Not that I’ve been driven out by angry friends and family. Not even that I wouldn’t go back and visit again sometime. But it’s never exactly the way I remember it. Rooms always seem smaller, familiar faces are gone or simply not so familiar anymore. And what used to be doesn’t always match up with what has become – of the people or of the places or of me.
I imagine that’s kind of what Jesus found when he returned to Capernaum: rooms – and hearts and minds – that were too small to hold the grace he was trying to share; faces that were once familiar but that had been changed by their doubt and fear, suspicion and sin, maybe; and I wonder if he found that the world from which he had come was nowhere near, or any longer, the place that God had in store for him.
So what does this mean for you and me? What kind of welcome would Jesus find if he showed up on your doorstep, or in your office; at your next staff meeting, doctor’s appointment, or family dinner? Would he see our faith or would he be amazed by our unbelief? Could he tell we were following? Would he find a warm welcome? Or would he shake the dust from his sandals and move on?
Because whether it’s Capernaum or Kansas, we are the hometown that waits for Jesus’ return. So what does all of this mean for us?
I think it means that we make room – in our churches and in our hearts and minds – for whatever and whoever shows up at the door. It means that we allow our faith to be challenged by the breadth and depth – by the size and scope – of God’s grace. It means that we work hard to make this world more like what God had in mind in the first place.
It means that we go out into the world, too, practice forgiveness… that we preach and promise a new word about love and hope and peace so that when Jesus does come home again, he’ll be amazed by something other than our unbelief. He’ll be astonished, for a change, at what we’ve learned and at what we’ve shared and at what we’ve become … so that somebody somewhere – and everybody everywhere – will be welcome to the grace that we share, in his name.
Amen
