I’ve got to hand it to Jane and the Worship Team, the selection of Hospitality as the theme for Epiphany this year is certainly on the nose. Especially this week. Could there be a clearer contrast between the Christian—indeed, the universal spiritual significance placed on hospitality and the first wave of executive orders that blared like an air raid siren this week from the incoming administration? On the one hand, the admittedly aspirational work of hospitality, where we affirm the dignity of all creation through giving more care, more love, more prayer to the one at the margin than the one at the center. On the other hand, a litany of what will inevitably turn out to be illegal attempts to use political office to retaliate against political opponents and dismantle all science and regulation that is inconvenient for oligarchs. The message is pretty clear: this administration will attempt to make the federal government as inhospitable as possible to those who weren’t born with the privileges of whiteness, maleness, straightness, and wealth.

And so, it was a surprise, although it shouldn’t have been, when a progressive Christian voice, the Right Rev. Marianne Budde, Bishop of the Episcopal diocese of Washington, spoke directly into this contrast during an ecumenical service attended by the president and vice president, a cadre of tech billionaires, and the administration’s cabinet picks at the Washington Cathedral the day after the inauguration. If you haven’t seen Rev. Budde’s sermon I encourage you to listen to the entire piece. It’s deeply theological and therefore also deeply political. It’s an important model for people of faith in how to respond to this historical moment with righteousness and courage—and peace. She spoke about unity not in a sentimental sense; rather, she named what is necessary for people to live together across disagreement. She named dignity, honesty, and humility as the key characteristics. She ended with the part that grabbed the country’s attention, directly asking the president for mercy on those fearing for their lives at the prospect of the next four years, naming LGBTQ+ youth and those crossing our southern border.

Like Bishop Budde, in today’s Luke reading Jesus spoke what turned out to be deeply uncomfortable words to the assembled congregation.

This passage in Jesus’ home synagogue announces the start of his ministry in Luke’s telling, directly after God’s Spirit alighted on Jesus while in prayer after his baptism, and after Satan tempted him with offers of political power and fame. The text doesn’t give specifics about what happened between the temptations and this sermon, but it does say that stories had gotten back home; stories of powerful preaching and healing. We can assume that the congregation was ready to respond positively to their hometown guy.

And they do! Jesus stands to read the scripture and teach, but from there he departs from the norm in a few ways. First, he selects his own text; second, he combines and modifies the Isaiah texts that he reads; and third, he performs a mic drop by sitting down after the reading and flatly stating that he had just fulfilled the prophet’s words in their presence.

Here’s where the lectionary reading ends, giving the impression of a very neat and tidy wrap-up of what Jesus’ ministry will entail: taking up Isaiah’s mantle to do justice at the margins. No doubt, for progressive Christians like First Church and Bishop Budde this is undeniably true of Jesus’ ministry. Problem is, it’s also not the end of the passage. Here’s the rest: All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, “Is this not Joseph’s son?”  

Here’s where things take a turn.

He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’” And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in his hometown.” But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months and there was a severe famine over all the land, yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. There were also many with a skin disease in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian. When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way. (Luke 4:22–30)

The synagogue in Nazareth turns on Jesus in an instant when Jesus tells them through Biblical teachings that they will not be the object of his ministry. They will not receive the healings, the blessings that Jesus will bring into the world, this son of their own town who they welcomed home and allowed to stand and read in their synagogue. They offered Jesus hospitality, welcomed him home and received his preaching. Until Jesus implied that the only reason they welcomed him was so that they would be the beneficiaries of his gifts. And then, it wasn’t enough for them to hurry him out of town; they also wanted to hurry him off a cliff.

For me, this passage illustrates the shadow side of working to provide hospitality. It is so hard for our dualistic, survival-focused brains to avoid thinking that everything we do is a transaction: I do this for you, you do this for me. And so we think about the benefits to us when we offer hospitality. We will be doing God’s work, we will grow the church, we will feel more secure with our relationship to the world and God and that helps us feel good about ourselves. Hospitality benefits us.

But Jesus reminds the congregation in Nazareth that God’s mercy isn’t transactional. Opening your doors to a healer doesn’t mean that you will be healed. Loving God doesn’t mean that all the widows and lepers in your community will be healed. God is working out a purpose, but it isn’t driven by what we want or what we think is fair or just. Frankly, only God knows what drives God’s purpose.

This passage reminds us that when God’s Spirit is upon us, we deliver God’s grace not to those who expect it, or to those to whom we feel obligated; Spirit moves through us guided by compassion to the margins. To the foreigners and the despised.

Sound familiar? Bishop Budde delivered the same message to those ascending to the highest power in our world. She reminded them of God’s commonwealth, of how a person does not receive or amass dignity but is invested with it equally as a beloved child of God. She reminded these rich, white men that none of their power means anything if fear and contempt divide society. She reminded them that acts of mercy—the putting aside of power, not the exercise of power—is power’s true measure. And, maybe most instructively, she delivered these reminders in peace.

Friends, like Bishop Budde, may we cleanse our hospitality and our rhetoric of transactionality. May God’s Spirit call us away from self-interest and towards action rooted in the gift of human compassion. May we offer hospitality and humbly accept the feedback when others reveal when it takes on self-serving aspects. May we be practitioners of peace that this world so desperately needs. Amen.