N
azareth that Sabbath, awoke to a new day. A faithful Jew, it was Jesus’ custom each Sabbath, to attend synagogue. Nazareth was his place. He had grown up there. People knew him. Joseph’s carpenter shop, where he had spent so many hours as a boy, was still flourishing. It has not been long since that fateful day at mealtime when he announced his departure from the business, from the family, and from Nazareth. But now he had returned and to synagogue with his family, he must go.
His fame had preceded him. “Come Jesus,” cried his friends, “read to us.” The local rabbi placed in his hands the scroll of the prophet Isaiah. All quieted, looking upon their famous son with anticipation. Standing, he unrolled the scroll and found the place where it is written:
“The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
There was a moment’s pause and then Jesus rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fastened on him. Even in the silence that followed, the power of the Spirit was tangible. With quiet purpose, Jesus said simply, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”
There were some who though the power of the Spirit was evident, were nonetheless oblivious to it. They were taken rather with the pleasure of seeing one of their own become famous and then return to the place where he grew up. “You can see he hasn’t changed,” they twittered. “He is still Joseph’s son,” said another. Though all spoke well of him and were titillated at the gracious words that came from his lips, they remembered the times when he was a child, when he was an adolescent, a young man struggling to become a man. They remembered the times when he suffered as he learned the obedience required of a Jewish boy. They did not see him as the Son of God, much less the Son of Man; they saw him as the son of Joseph, a local worker of wood, who had “made good.” Some of them wondered if a part of the “old Jesus” was still with him. “I remember when he wasn’t such a know-it-all,” said some. “I remember when he was one of us,” said others. “He still is one of us!” The whispers about Jesus fame and his roots ran like fire among the hearers. Proud and independent Nazareth. People who spent their childhood in Nazareth were different than the rest. They were special. They were forever imprinted with the narcissistic character of the town. They spoke with their own distinctive accent. Jesus may become famous in other parts of the world. It was natural. He is one of us. But we remember him as he was. We remember . . .
Jesus, aware of their superficiality, said to them, “You wish me to entertain you with miracles.” A statement, not a question. “You would like me to do here in my hometown what you have heard I did elsewhere. Perhaps you will even quote that familiar proverb to me: ‘Physician, heal yourself!’.” You think because you knew me as a child that you know me now. You think I am not so very different from you.
“But I am different from you. I tell you the truth,” he continued, “a prophet is not without honor except in his hometown. You see me not as a prophet, but as a hometown boy, as one of yourselves.”
They did not expect a rebuff. They were shocked. So, this is what we get? Instead of showing us what he can do, we get disrespect! He believes himself superior to us. Who does he think he is? We knew this person when he was nothing more than an urchin scurrying about the alleys of Nazareth. “If you are a prophet, Jesus, then act like one! Show us a miracle. Now!”
“There were many widows in Israel in Elijah’s time,” Jesus went on, “There was no rain for three and a half years and people were starving, yet Elijah was not sent to any of them, except to a widow in Zarephath. And there were many in Israel with leprosy in the time of Elisha the prophet, yet not one of them was cleansed — only Naaman the Syrian. I grew up among you; played with many of you as children. Now you cannot see me for who I am.” Jesus looked at them, not with the contempt they deserved, but with pity, with compassion. “You are all forsaken and diseased. I leave you to remain as you wish to be.”
This did not go down well. Most in the synagogue became furious, unruly and loud. A large man about the same age as Jesus walked up to him and shoved him. While Jesus bore no physical resemblance to the man considered his earthly father, he was anything but frail. He was however, no match for Nathan ben Aminadab, “big Nate,” as they had all called him. Jesus recognized him instantly. When they were younger, Nathan, because of his size and general meanness, enjoyed a reputation as the town bully. He hadn’t changed much. Someone else in the crowd shoved him again and Jesus fell. Unhurt, he stood and tried to leave, but the men in the crowd followed him out of town shouting and yelling as they went.
As Jesus, followed by the mob, proceeded down the road out of town, they passed a familiar place. A small rise away from the road fell away into a dangerously steep hill. When they were all children, Nate and the others would drag the smaller boys to the edge of the hill threatening to hurl them headlong down its steep slopes. On one occasion, they actually succeeded and the child almost died. As they approached the hill, the men physically seized Jesus and dragged him to its edge. Their intention was clear. They had spent their lives together as children; now they wanted to hurt him! But just as they were about to catapult him over the precipice Jesus halted, shook himself and the grappling hands of his captors fell away. All stood back as he walked with impunity right through the crowd and went on his way. No one attempted to touch him. “You know,” big Nate murmured to no one in particular, “he could never do that when he was a kid!”
Leaving Nazareth, Jesus found his way to Capharnaum, by the Sea of Galilee in the region of Naphtali. Zebulon lay to the southwest.
