'Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.
When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:
"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."'
--Luke 4: 14-21
A few days ago I saw a social media post that has gone somewhat viral, which said: “I’m doing this challenge called January, where I try to just get through every day in the month of January.” In a normal year January can feel strangely long, but the final fortnight of the month has felt like an entire month by itself.
On Tuesday, January 20, the 47th President of the United States – who had also served as the 45th – was sworn into office, and immediately, through a slew of executive orders, set at least half the country on a razor’s edge. Everything from the hilariously dumb, yet brazenly arrogant, move of renaming the Gulf of Mexico to the Gufl of America, to the outright cruelty of denying the very existence of transpeople – particularly those serving in our armed forces – ratcheted up the anxiety and fear of millions of people. For some, the only answer to this was prayer.
The day after the inauguration, the Cathedral Church of St. Peter & St. Paul, commonly called the National Cathedral, invited the new President and others to an interfaith service of prayer for unity in our country. I should mention here that the National Cathedral, despite its name, receives no funding whatsoever from the federal government. It is the cathedral for the Diocese of Washington, and since the administration of FDR has extended its hand as a house of prayer for all people, a unifying force for good and a symbol of God’s glory and love at critical times in the life of the nation, including events related to the office of the President. It is, in a manner of speaking, their chief outreach.
Because it was coordinated by the Cathedral – not the President or Vice President – the Cathedral staff put the liturgy together and the Bishop of the Diocese of Washington, The Rt. Rev. Mariann Edgar Budde, preached. By now, I suspect, everyone has had a chance to see, hear, or read her sermon on that day. If you haven’t, please watch the video below before you continue reading:
Bishop Budde’s sermon was a plea for unity through the divine act of mercy; a preacher in her own pulpit asking the most powerful person in the world to have compassion on those who are living in a state of panic and fear. Her witness was no different from the prophets of the Hebrew Bible or Jesus himself. Yet the response to her sermon did not just go viral, it went full-on nuclear! Right-wing politicians accused her of using her time to bully the President, and one member of the House of Representatives put forth a resolution for Congress to denounce her entirely, saying that hers was a "distorted message" that did not represent Christianity. The President, who himself is a member of and married in (the third time) an Episcopal congregation, responded to the Bishop’s calm, yet firm plea by calling her a “so-called bishop” and saying she was “not very good at her job.” If I’m being honest, I don’t think I would’ve pegged the Episcopal Church as the denomination to which this administration and its sycophants directed all of their rage and mockery, but in a way it makes sense. Because of its history, the Episcopal Church is the denomination tied closest to the presidency, with more Presidents claiming Episcopalian as their religious affiliation than any other. The Episcopal Church has the power and prestige shared by the country’s elites, yet over the last 50 years has gradually shifted its public image to line more with social justice movements and liberation theology. It wears the same clothes as the elites but speaks a different message. Fitting, if not a bit ironic, that it would be an Episcopal Bishop who heroically lit such a candle under the seat of a would-be tyrant and those who kiss his ring.
Someone online made a post saying that Bishop Budde, while admirable in her conviction, was no hero. She was merely a Christian, doing what all Christians should do: speaking up for the voiceless, giving hope to those who have little, and speaking truth to power. In the days after, I wondered how clergy of all denominations and traditions would respond in their pulpits to both Bishop Budde’s sermon and the fallout from it. Fortunately, our Revised Common Lectionary gave us a Gospel text that is perfect for such an occasion.
We find Jesus shortly after his baptism, returning to his hometown of Nazareth. There he goes into the synagogue and interprets a piece of Scripture from the prophet Isaiah. This act of interpretation is not bold in and of itself; in fact, the synagogue had always been the place where Scripture was read and interpreted amongst the rabbis gathered. “How is the prophet speaking to us right now?” was something every rabbi was asked, including Jesus. So, what piece of Scripture was he given to interpret?
It is actually a combination of Isaiah 58: 6 and Isaiah 61: 1-2. Both of these are from the post-exilic period, meaning that the prophet wrote them after the empire of Babylon had been defeated by the Persians and the Jews in exile were permitted to return home. The first bit (Isaiah 58: 6) is the prophet’s charge: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.” The second part (Isaiah 61: 1-2) names exactly what that good news is: release to the captives, sight to the blind, freedom for the oppressed, and the year of the Lord’s favor. The bold thing Jesus did was to declare to the people in that synagogue that this Scripture was being fulfilled in their very presence. Spoiler alert: this does not go over well, and the people of Nazareth, his own friends and neighbors, try to kill him afterwards.
Why would such an interpretation be so threatening to people? I suspect it is because the Scripture is speaking of a key element of the Jewish Levitical law: the Jubilee. According to Leviticus 25: 8-13, every 49 years – “unto seven times seven” – all debts were to be forgiven, all property, including land, given back to the original owner, and all prisoners set free. The people would return to the wilderness where they first met God, and the means and cares of the world were to be let go. The Jubilee was inexplicably tied to the Sabbath, to rest and return. It wasn’t just about observing the fourth Commandment. Sabbath formed the theological core of what it meant to be in relationship with this God. It’s about rest, restoration, and a return to God.
Was the Jubilee ever actually enacted in the kingdoms of Israel or Judah? We can’t say for sure, though David Graeber in his text The First 5000 Years does mention that ancient Near Eastern societies regularly declared noncommercial debts void, typically at the coronation of a new king. Nevertheless, it seems clear to me that this is what Jesus means by saying that the Scripture from Isaiah was being fulfilled at that moment. Jesus, the physical embodiment of God, was declaring a Jubilee, that debts were to be forgiven, that property was to be returned, and that mercy was to be shown, especially to the so-called “least of these.” Then, as now, not many folks were eager to embrace such a message, especially if they were not among the “least of these.” Bishop Budde’s plea to the 47th President was nothing short of a cry for Jubilee, for release, for forgiveness, for mercy. The people of Nazareth tried to kill Jesus after he made such a proclamation. Should we really be surprised that the religious and political right so strongly besmirched Bishop Budde? This is the cost of discipleship.
In addition to Bishop Budde’s call for mercy, Pope Francis declared 2025 a Jubilee year of hope for Roman Catholics. It’s not the same as the biblical Jubilee, but the Pope’s declaration – though mostly symbolic – does invite all followers of Jesus to ponder exactly what it is that we are called to do in this moment. Our capitalist system is not going to eagerly embrace returning land, forgiving debts, or releasing all the prisoners, regardless of how much we wish that it would. But that doesn’t mean that we don’t keep praying, working, and preaching toward that goal.
What Bishop Budde did was model for each of us what our Christian responsibility really is. I have grown weary to the point of righteous anger at so-called Christians who suggest that Jesus’ words were not commandments for all of us to follow but instead self-righteous statements reminding others that he is the only one who could ever do these things, so we must simply trust him and stop trying. Some of our evangelical brethren would say that we are performing “works” or trying to earn our way into heaven by daring to live into Jesus’ own words, namely his commands to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, forgive our enemies, and declare the ever-present reality of the Kingdom of God. They go so far as to say that asking for mercy is “woke” (a word they cannot even define). To be kind to others, to work toward justice for all people, has gone from being benchmarks of the Christian faith to radical leftist talking points. How horrifyingly sad!
Bishop Budde named people who are frightened and scared, namely LGBTQ young people and immigrants. These are but a fraction of the people being systematically denied the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, on which our nation is allegedly founded. Make no mistake, every person has skin in this game, even those of us who believe our privilege will save us. We dare not give up on one another. As Benjamin Franklin is said to have quipped: “We shall either hang together or hang separately.”
The prayers of the Church are the very prayers of Jesus’ own Body to God the Father, as Paul reminds us in I Corinthians. It is the solemn duty of the Church to proclaim the very Good News that Jesus proclaimed, to call for mercy, to restore all people to God in Christ, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. If this is to be a Jubilee, then may the Church be the Church, the only institution in this country capable of speaking truth to power and establishing effective, radical change. If not us, who? If not now, when?
