Nemo Propheta in Patria

A Sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church

4th September 2022

Luke 4:21-30 

 

Those of you who link with me on Facebook,

may have noticed that in my biography section

I include my personal motto, and my personal vision statement.

The vision statement is fairly straightforward,

and was actually written here at Bloomsbury

when we were writing our church Vision Statement.

I don’t know if you remember the occasion,

but we were asked to consider what our personal Vision might be.

Well, here’s mine:

Thinking carefully.

Feeling deeply.

Living joyfully.

Acting intentionally.

I try to take this seriously in my life and my ministry,

and I commend the task of writing your own vision statement

if you’ve never done this before

But if you read beyond this on my Facebook bio, 

you’ll get to my motto,

which is a bit more obscure,

not least because it’s in Latin:

Nemo Propheta in Patria

Does anyone want to have a guess at what this might mean?

A prophet is not without honour except in his hometown

There’s a very specific story behind this,

and it goes back to my baptism at the age of 14,

at the Vine Baptist Church in Sevenoaks.

I’m sure you’re familiar with the practice 

of giving people a special verse at their Baptism?

It’s not something that we tend to do here at Bloomsbury,

but some Ministers place great store by it,

and my minister at my home church was one of them.

Normally it’s something uplifting, something encouraging

something to sustain the newly baptized person

through the months and years following their baptism

Well, in my case, I got something rather different.

There I was, in the pool,

having made my confession that Jesus is Lord,

and the minister turned to me and said:

‘Simon, remember this: 

A prophet is not without honour except in his hometown’

He didn’t say it in Latin,

but he might as well have done!

My mind just about had time

to articulate a startled ‘What on earth???’

before the waters closed over my head.

Well, in the years since I have pondered this strange verse 

which actually from Mark’s gospel (Mk 6.4)

And when I was ordained, Brian Haymes, formerly of this parish,

who had been my principal at Bristol Baptist College

asked me what passage I would like him to preach on,

and so I gave him this verse…

He preached, as I’m sure you can imagine,

a very fine sermon about what it means to be called

to a ministry as a prophet with honour.

And here we’re not talking about a prophet as someone who sees the future

but rather as someone who sees as God sees 

and who speaks God's truth into a disordered world.

And so Brian challenged me in my ministry

to be a prophet with honour.

And I hope that my personal vision statement

captures something of that desire.

And here’s something I’ve learned:

Sometimes it’s easier to be a prophet 

when the people I’m speaking to don’t know me.

I find that I can stand before a group of strangers, 

and fearlessly proclaim the word of God.

And on the whole I get instant respect!

But when the people know me well…

well…

Do you know the most difficult church for me to preach in?

It’s the Vine Baptist Church in Sevenoaks.

This is the church I started attending before I was born,

It’s where I was dedicated as a baby

it’s where my faith grew and was nurtured,

it’s where I was baptized

it’s where I sensed my own call to ministry,

and it’s where my mother still attends.

Of all the churches in this world

it is the Vine Baptist Church where I feel most ‘at home’,

even though these days 

there are a good number of people in the congregation

who are unknown to me,

and those I do recognize are increasingly in the older age demographic

within the church.

So why, oh why, is it that, when I go there to preach

as I occasionally have been invited to do,

I find myself nervous and anxious in a way I rarely encounter elsewhere!

Why is it that I find myself standing metaphorically naked before them

with all my qualifications, training and experience

lying in tatters around me?

Well, in today’s reading from Luke’s gospel

we encounter this same saying from Jesus.

But Luke rewords it slightly:

Instead of ‘a prophet is not without honour except in his own town’ 

as we find it in Mark,

Luke gives us a slightly starker version of the saying:

‘no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s home town’.

And this, I think, is why 

I find it so hard to return to minister at my home church…

Just as Jesus, preaching in the synagogue at Nazareth,

encountered people saying ‘isn’t this Joseph the carpenter’s son?’

So when I go to Sevenoaks 

I encounter people who remember me as a small child

all too ready to bring to mind and to voice

all those little incidents from my past 

that you, here in Bloomsbury, don’t know anything about

and quite right too!

It is very hard to be a prophet in your home town

And yet, for most of us, most of the time,

this is exactly what we are called to do.

It is only some of us, and even then only sometimes,

who have the calling to go 

and exercise our ministry ‘out there’, or even ‘over there’.

For the rest of us, our calling is to here,

to this community

to this church

to this expression of the body of Christ

It is here, in this place, and through this, fellowship

that we are, each of us, called to ministry

And it is here, in this place, that we too encounter

exactly what Jesus encountered in Nazareth:

Which is, that it’s very hard to be a prophet in your home town.

It’s very hard, for example, for the person 

best known as a teenager in the church

to be accepted and welcomed by that same congregation

into a position of leadership.

It’s very hard for the person who comes into the church ,

at a time of weakness and vulnerability,

to shed all the preconceptions that come with this,

and to enter fully into the life of the church as an equal partner,

with those of use whose difficulties have been less visible.

It’s very hard for those of us

who have grown accustomed to doing things one way

to find the courage to give voice to the inner conviction

that something must change

And yet these, and those like them, are the voices of the prophets,

they are the voices from the margins,

they are the voices which proclaim the word of the Lord to the rest of us,

and which challenge us in the name of the Lord,

to rise up from our sedate sense of security and self-satisfaction.

These voices, and those like them, 

are the voices that the church needs to hear

if it is to retain its prophetic edge,

if it is not to miss the voice of Jesus who comes to us 

to challenge and change us

and to call us into a new way of being.

And this is the tragedy 

of the reception which Jesus encountered in Nazareth.

He came to bring healing and wholeness,

to bring release to those in captivity, 

and good news to the poor.

And yet those in his own town, the people he loved,

those who had nurtured him in his faith,

failed to receive the ministry he came to bring!

Oh, they loved him alright at the start…

‘Here he is, look at him!’ 

‘Local boy made good’

‘Preaching in the synagogue and doing ever such a good job!’

As Luke tells us: 

‘All spoke well of him, and were amazed at the gracious words

that came out of his mouth’ (Lk 4.22)

It’s almost as if, at this early stage of the story, 

Jesus was something of a curiosity for the people of Nazareth.

And there’s something of a hint of patronization 

in the fact that those listening to him 

were ‘amazed’ at his gracious words!

As if this was something unexpected from one of their own…

But the spell doesn’t last long.

Jesus hasn’t come back to Nazareth 

to perform circus tricks to amaze a sceptical crowd.

He’s come to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour,

and that’s a prophet’s task,

not a job for someone seeking affirmation from his old friends.

And so, when those listening to Jesus

started down the ‘isn’t this Joseph’s son’ line

he came straight in with a direct challenge

to their disbelieving and patronising attitude.

Jesus 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 in Capernaum’

And here Jesus cuts right to the heart of the matter

as he tended to do!

Highlighting their attitude for what it really was.

The people in Nazareth didn’t want to listen to Jesus

because of his proclamation 

that the year of the Lord’s favour had arrived,

or because he brought good news to the poor, 

release to captives,

or recovery of sight to the blind…

Not a bit of it!

They wanted to see if the reports of a local boy

doing impressive things in a town 20 miles away, were true!

And they wanted to see whether he would perform the same ticks

for them as well back home in Nazareth.

To their great loss, they could not see past the image

of a local boy made good,

to the true picture of a prophet sent from God,

and so they missed his message.

Recognising this, Jesus quotes them another saying, almost in despair:

‘Truly I tell you’ he says 

‘no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s home town’

But, he doesn’t give up on them at this point either,

rather, he decides to have another go

at communicating his message,

at leading them out of their parochial mindset

and into an appreciation of the universal nature

of the kingdom he had come to announce.

And so he uses his despairing cry about a prophet

not being accepted in his home town,

as a springboard for a couple of stories

about two of the great prophets of Israelite history:

Elijah and Elisha.

Jesus reminds those listening to him

that Elijah was sent away from his home town,

and indeed his home country,

to Zaraphath in Sidon, in the heartland of Baal-worship country,

to bring food to a widow there,

bypassing the widows in Israel 

who were also experiencing famine

He reminds them that Elisha brought healing to Naaman the Syrian,

but not to the many lepers living in Israel.

The point Jesus was making is clear:

Just because a prophet lives somewhere

doesn’t mean that those who live there too

have a monopoly on the word of God.

Just because you grew up somewhere, 

or have made your home somewhere,

doesn’t mean that they own you.

This directly challenges the attitudes of those in Nazareth

who thought they owned Jesus 

because they knew his father the carpenter.

But it also does something more than this:

It doesn’t just challenge their attitude towards Jesus,

it also exposes their flawed attitude towards God

You see, just as those in Nazareth thought that they owned Jesus,

so also many in Israel though that they owned God.

And by drawing a comparison,

between the way his own ministry was received in Nazareth,

and the way Elijah and Elisha went beyond Israel and into Gentile territory

to perform the works of the Lord,

Jesus was making a very sharp point:

He was saying to those listening to him,

You do not own me,

and neither do you own God!

My ministry is bigger than Nazareth,

and God’s calling goes far beyond Israel.

And this was not a message 

that the Jews of Nazareth wanted to hear.

They didn’t want their nice, safe, secure worldview to be shattered,

they wanted to own Jesus, their local boy-made-good,

and they wanted to own God, 

the God of their ancestors Abraham, Isaac and Jacob

What they could not deal with was a local boy,

a carpenter’s son, for goodness sake!

coming into their synagogue, and shattering their worldview

by stating that their God was the God of the gentiles as well…

And so, of course, Jesus’ saying about a prophet

not being accepted in his home town,

is proved true.

And the people in the synagogue are filled with rage,

and they take Jesus from the place of worship

up to the local cliff so that they might hurl him to his death.

At which point Jesus leaves them to their self-righteous anger

and their murderous intent;

he passes through their midst and goes on his way

to seek others who will grasp the radical nature

of his proclamation of the year of the Lord’s favour

And so what about us?

How do we respond,

when Jesus challenges our preconceptions to the core?

How do we respond,

when he says to us, ever so directly,

that we don’t own him

and neither do we own God?

How do we respond,

to the prophets among us who make us feel uncomfortable,

who threaten our neatly ordered world?

How willing are we to be the prophets?

to put our own futures on the line,

to proclaim the justice and righteousness of God’s kingdom.

How willing are we

to risk our reputations, both individually and as a church,

in order to bring good news to the poor,

recovery of sight to the blind

and release to those in captivity?

How willing are we 

to do battle with those who claim to own God,

and to show by our words and actions

that in the name of Jesus Christ, 

God is bigger than we can possibly imagine,

and that he recognises no boundaries,

whether they be boundaries of politics, 

ethnicity, 

gender,

sexuality,

social status, 

or economic privilege

How willing are we to be the prophets of our time, here in this place,

challenging the world in the name of Christ Jesus.

and proclaiming the message of the one who said,

Today, here and now, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing

The year of the Lord’s favour has arrived.

Striving for Justice

A sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church 

14 August 2022

Parable of the Unjust Judge by John Everett Millais (1863)

Luke 18:1-8
Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. 
² He said, "In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people.  ³ In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, 'Grant me justice against my opponent.' 
⁴ For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, 'Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone,  ⁵ yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.'" 
⁶ And the Lord said, "Listen to what the unjust judge says.  ⁷ And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? 
⁸ I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them.
And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?"
 
Genesis 32:24-29
Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. 
²⁵ When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. 
²⁶ Then he said, "Let me go, for the day is breaking." But Jacob said, "I will not let you go, unless you bless me." 
²⁷ So he said to him, "What is your name?" And he said, "Jacob." 
²⁸ Then the man said, "You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed." 
²⁹ Then Jacob asked him, "Please tell me your name." But he said, "Why is it that you ask my name?" And there he blessed him.
 
Striving for justice
 
Let me tell you the story of Abdul Durrant; [1]
            a Black British Muslim man who in 2001 was working nights
            as a cleaner at HSBC’s headquarters in Canary Wharf.
 
Every evening cleaned the offices of the Chairman who earned £2 million a year,
            whilst he himself earned only £4.50 per hour.
 
Having connected with others to buy shares,
            Abdul came not as a cleaner, but as a shareholder to the company’s AGM
and nervously stood up in front of all the investors and executives
            to say to the Chairman
 
“We work in the same office, but we live in different worlds.
            Let me tell you what it’s like to work on £4.50 an hour and bring up six children.”
 
Within 18 months, HSBC and other major banks signed up to pay a Living Wage.
 
The organisation that connected Abdul with others,
            to enable them to become shareholders and speak with the Chairman,
                        was, of course, London Citizens,
            which we are part of as a church here at Bloomsbury.
 
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,
            the community organising method they use to bring about social transformation
is the most effective way I’ve come across
            of taking action to build justice in our city and our country.
 
Through them, the voices of the poor are amplified,
            the powerful voices of oppression are called to account,
and our fervent prayers for justice
            begin to take shape in the world around us.
 
Which brings me to our parable for this morning from Luke’s gospel,
            the story of a poor widow’s plight
                        as she is pitted against the indifference
            of a powerful representative
                        of an even more powerful institution.
 
This is a simple parable, with only two characters,
            there is the widow,
                        who we are told is a victim of injustice,
            and there is the judge,
                        who we are told neither feared God nor had respect for people.
 
The judge is a representative of the first century Jewish legal system,
            which was specifically charged under the Hebrew Bible’s law code,
                        with the care of the vulnerable within Jewish society,
                        including widows and orphans (cf. Deut 10.18; 14.29 etc).
 
But it quickly becomes clear
            that he is not exercising his power and responsibility as he should.
 
There are two schools of thought in interpreting this parable,
            which tend to occupy the pens of the various commentators on it.
 
One school of thought says that this judge
            is to be seen as a kind of inverted representation of God.
And that whilst we might not see God as capricious or indifferent,
            nonetheless, the point is made that if we persist in prayer as the widow did,
            then surely God will eventually hear us, and answer our prayers.
 
Needless to say, this is a problematic reading,
            because it raises for us all sorts of questions as to why it might be
                        that God would answer our prayers on the tenth,
                                    or hundredth, time of asking,
                        but not on the first.
 
            What is it that has changed in the intervening time?
                        Is it that God needs badgering into action?
 
            Is it possible that God is in fact far more unpredictable or fickle
                        than many of us would like to believe?
 
But then there is a second school of thought about this parable,
            which draws attention to the Jewish rhetorical technique
            of arguing from the lesser to the greater.
 
Such arguments were common within Judaism,
            and can be found in many other places elsewhere in the Bible,
                        (cf. Mt 7.11; 10.25; 12.12; Lk 12.24, 28; Rom 11.12, 24; 2 Cor 3.8; Heb 9.14)
            usually introduced by the phrase ‘how much more’.
 
So, for example, in Matthew 7:11  we find Jesus saying:
            If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children,
            how much more will your Father in heaven
            give good things to those who ask him!
 
By this reading of our parable, the unjust judge isn’t God,
            or even an inverted representation of God.
 
Rather, the point is made by suggesting an argument from the lesser to the greater:
            If even an unjust judge grants justice eventually,
                        how much more does God long to grant the prayers
                        of those who cry to him day and night.
 
But the lesson remains uncomfortably similar to the first reading,
            which is that we should continue to persist in prayer
                        and hopefully God will eventually get round to answering us,
                        even if at the moment God seems to be ignoring us.
 
After all, we tell ourselves,
            surely God is much more motivated to do so
            than the unjust judge in the parable.
 
But, you know, I find this second reading almost as problematic as the first,
            because it still takes us no closer
                        to an understanding of why it might be
            that God, who of course is nothing like the judge,
                        is still doing such a good impression of him
                        by ignoring our prayers!
 
So, I want to suggest a different way of reading this parable,
            and I think it’s a way of approaching it which might get us a bit closer
            to the persistent and faithful struggle embodied by the widow,
                        to see the world transformed
                        in the name of the in-breaking kingdom of heaven.
 
The way I read this parable, the unjust judge is not God
            he’s not even an inverted pastiche of God.
 
Rather, the judge represents
            the oppressive forces of power at work in the world.
 
This unjust judge who, we are told, has no fear of God nor respect for anyone,
            represents those systems and structures
                        which have lost sight of their God-given intent,
            and have become instead indifferent
                        to the plight of the poor and the vulnerable.
 
These structures could be governments,
            indifferent to the plight of those at the bottom end of society,
                        seeking to restrict benefits and cut services
                        in the interest of political expediency or ideological pragmatism.
 
They could be businesses or international financial markets,
            indifferent to the exploitative or oppressive effects
                        that their endless quest for profit has
                        upon those who find themselves standing in the way of the bottom line.
 
They could be those systems specifically charged with protecting the vulnerable
                        such as the police, the army, or the justice systems,
            when those systems become indifferent to the causes
                        that they have been established to champion.
 
            From institutional racism to military dictatorships,
                        it is all too easy for power to breed corruption.
 
And this, of course, is why Jesus used the image of a judge in his parable:
            he is a representative of the very profession
            that should have stood up for the impoverished widow.
 
But beyond these large institutions and their tendency to systemic indifference,
            the unjust judge could be you, and he could be me.
 
This is especially true those of us who have money and power.
            Because we too face choices
                        as to what we will do with that which is ours to hold.
 
            We too must make choices about who to vote for,
                        or where to invest our money:
                        which pension scheme or hedge fund to endorse.
 
            And it begs a question of us:
                        will we make our choices based on what’s best for us and ours?
            Or will we hear the voice of the widow at the door,
                        crying out for justice, crying to us for righteousness?
 
In Jesus’ parable, the widow’s continual
            and perseverant approach to the indifferent judge,
is effective in the end,
            because her weakness and vulnerability ultimately call him to account,
            leaving him little option but to act to bring her justice.
 
In many ways this is the path of nonviolent resistance.
            It has echoes of Ghandi, of Martin Luther King, of Rosa Parkes.
 
With the disempowered presenting themselves again and again,
            bearing testimony in their own bodies to the injustices they have suffered,
            holding the world to account that the world might be transformed.
 
Do you know the wonderful song ‘The Mothers of the Disappeared’
            by the Irish rock group U2, from their 1987 album The Joshua Tree?
 
It was inspired by lead singer Bono's experiences in Nicaragua and El Salvador
            and it gives voice to the pain of the Madres de Plaza de Mayo,
                        a group of women whose children had been "disappeared"
                        by the Argentine and Chilean dictatorships.
 
These women simply never stopped asking the authorities,
            what had happened to their children.
 
Through persistence and pain they eventually got some answers,
            with many of their children confirmed dead,
            but others found to have been adopted out or otherwise re-housed.
 
Some people have now been brought to justice,
            and still the mothers keep asking the questions.

And so we’re back to Jesus’ parable of the persistent widow,
            which, according to Luke’s introduction of it (v.1), is actually about two things.

Firstly, it is about the need to pray always,
            but secondly it is about not losing heart.
 
This parable is not just about praying for justice,
            or about interceding for the poor.
 
It’s about taking action,
            it’s about standing alongside the widow of Jesus’ story.
It’s about joining our voices with hers,
            in persistently challenging the forces that oppress and misuse power.
 
The lesson of this parable isn’t just that 'even a bad judge will give in occasionally'
            it's rather that 'even a poor widow
                        can effectively challenge the powers that be
                        in the cause of justice and righteousness'
 
And it raises for us the uncomfortable question of whether, in fact,
            it may be that the only effective challenge to oppressive and exploitative powers
                        can come from the voice of the poor,
because it’s only when the powers are brought face-to-face
            with the dehumanising effects of their actions
            that they can be held to account and enabled to change.
 
Those of us who would challenge the powers-that-be in the name of justice
            but seek to do so from our own positions of comfort and security
                        may find that we are already colluding
                        with he very systems we are seeking to stand against.
 
This is why we who would see the world different
            need to find ways of embracing and including within our own communities
            those with whom we would challenge the oppressive structures of the world
                        which keep all people, from the poorest to the most powerful,
                        hostages to fortune and authority.
 
We who would have compassion for the poor
            may find it helpful to remember that the word ‘compassion’
            is the bringing together of two Latin words:
                        com, meaning with, and passus, meaning to suffer.
            Compassion for the poor therefore involves suffering with the poor.
 
I’m reminded of the disability rights adage,
            ‘nothing about us without us’,
which is applicable I believe in any context, where the disadvantaged
            are finding people taking action on their behalf.
 
Any challenge to the indifferent powers of exploitation
            that does not include the voice of those who are being exploited
            will lack the power of the persistent widow.
 
But if our communities of transformation include those who are otherwise dis-voiced,
            then the cry we offer in challenge to the oppressive powers
            will be a voice of persistence informed by compassion.
 
It’s interesting to hear what the judge says as he grants the widow justice.
 
He says (v.5),
yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice,
so that she may not wear me out by continually coming
 
The Greek word here for ‘wear me out’ is a word that actually means
            to beat black-and-blue, a bit like a boxer at the end of a long round,
and it carries a connotation of ‘shame’, not just exhaustion.
 
As a defeated boxer might be said to have been shamed by his opponent,
            so the judge is ‘shamed’ by the widow.
 
When we join our voices with the voices of the oppressed,
            when we learn the language of the poor,
            and speak with them against the oppressive powers of indifference,
then God is active in the shaming of the powers-that-be
            into taking actions that bring justice and blessing to those in need.
 
In our wrestling with God in scripture,
            the stories of our faith can become for us the persistent widow,
shaming us with their honesty,
            and persisting in their challenge that we should be different.
 
As Jacob was left beaten and limping by his encounter with God,
            so we too may find ourselves black and blue after a night with the word of God.
 
But from the encounter comes the blessing,
            as we are enabled by the persistence of God
                        to disentangle ourselves from the seductions of complacency
                        and the temptations of indifference.
 
Sometimes I despair at the intransigence
            of the powers-that-be which rule our world.
 
Can they ever be brought to account?
            Can they ever be changed?
 
Well yes, says Jesus, they can;
            and it begins with those who have compassion,
            and it begins with those who are downtrodden and beaten up.
 
It is an upside down revolution,
            where the world is changed not through popular uprising
but through the telling, and living, of the stories of oppression:
            repeatedly, continually, faithfully.
 
It is a revolution which begins when people wrestle with God and with scripture,
            bringing the darkness into the light, even at great cost to themselves.
 
It is the church in solidarity with the poor
            against the indifference of the machine.
 
It is the faithful few who will not be told to be silent.
 
And so Jesus ends with a question:
            ‘And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?’
 
This is a hard task, it is a task that it would be easy to talk away from,
            especially when faced with the indifference and hostility
                        of the powers of oppression.
 
And yet, and yet…
            we are called to keep the faith,
to persevere and not to count the cost.
 
As Paul put it in his letter to Galatians,
            ‘Let us not grow weary in doing what is right,
                        for we will reap at harvest time, if we do not give up.
            So then, whenever we have an opportunity,
                        let us work for the good of all.’ (Gal 6.9-10).
 
To return to the story of Abdul and the chairman of HSBC,
 
twenty years on the Living Wage campaign
            has seen almost 300,000 workers get a pay-rise
and has put £1.5bn back into the pockets of low-paid workers.[2]
 
And so I challenge you to become involved through Bloomsbury
            in the work of London Citizens.
 
Whether you are someone who is powerless, or someone who is powerful,
            I would love for you to do some training,
so that together we can join in challenging
            the systemic powers of injustice in our world.
 
If you are interested in being a part of this,
            please speak to me and I’d love to arrange a time to sit down with you
            and we can see how together we can bring about change for good.
 
 
[1] This story is taken from https://www.livingwage.org.uk/news/we-cannot-be-anti-poverty-organisation-without-also-being-anti-racist-organisation
[2] https://www.livingwage.org.uk/news/we-cannot-be-anti-poverty-organisation-without-also-being-anti-racist-organisation