
A stalwart member of the congregation would greet the new rector after the Sunday service with the same few words: “Thank you, Father, for such a warm sermon.” After several weeks the rector asked her what exactly she referred to about his sermon. She replied, “Not so hot.”
I hope my sermon today won’t be “warm” in that sense of the word because the Gospel gives us a hot button issue: mercy. And, Jesus, you don’t make it easy on us preachers. Too often you put us in the “hot seat.” We just hope we don’t get burned…or fired!
On a Saturday morning, in Nazareth, the town gathered in the synagogue to listen to Jesus read and teach. It was no big surprise. He was well known in the area; it was his hometown. He was raised there. They wanted to learn from him.
So when he read from the Isaiah scroll, "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."
Everyone understood these words to be the words of Isaiah. It is how that prophet from long ago defined his ministry. Not everyone liked it. In a word, Jesus was calling on his audience to have mercy; mercy on the poor, the captives, the oppressed. He was preaching in a world where women, especially widows and children were marginalized and treated as second class citizens.
I’m sure it left the congregation with a number of emotions. Not everyone liked it.
Likewise, this week has been full of emotions. The nation heard the president’s inaugural address. Not everyone liked it. On the very same day the nation also heard the Episcopal bishop of Washington’s sermon. Not everyone liked it. Christians don’t necessarily need to like a president’s or a bishop’s words. We don’t get that option with Jesus.
Just two weeks ago, we stood together and renewed the baptismal covenant. It is essentially a definition of what gives us the right to call ourselves “Christians” and what defines authentic Christianity. We promised to seek and serve Christ in all persons, to love our neighbor as ourself. (Remember how Jesus answered the lawyer who asked “Who is my neighbor?”)
We also promised to strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being and to cherish the wondrous works of God, and protect the beauty and integrity of all creation. The real rub for us is that actions speak louder than words. How do we walk the walk rather than just talk the talk?
I love the movie “Sister Act” in which the brash nightclub singer played by Whoopi Goldberg has witnessed a murder and is forced to take refuge in a San Francisco convent. After she meets Doris Van Cartier with teased out hair and dressed in gold lame, the reverend mother tells the pastor, Monsignor O’Hara, that she will not let this woman take refuge in the convent.
The monsignor says, “But, Reverend Mother, you took a vow of hospitality for all those in need.” The reverend mother, played by Maggie Smith, replies, “I lied.” Eventually, she has mercy and allows Van Cartier to remain, dressed as Sister Mary Clarence. She also explains to Doris that nuns take three vows: poverty, obedience…and chastity, whereupon Doris exclaims, “I’m outta here!”
Sometimes we are faced with difficult choices. The promises to which we give our assent in the baptismal covenant give testimony to that. But like the mother superior, we don’t get an “out.” Jesus requires both grace and mercy.

The story is told of a Franciscan monk in Australia assigned to be the guide to Mother Teresa when she visited New South Wales. Thrilled and excited at the prospect of being so close to this great woman, he dreamed of how much he would learn from her and what they would talk about. But during her visit, he became frustrated. Although he was constantly near her, the friar never had the opportunity to say one word to Mother Teresa. There were always other people for her to meet.
Finally, her tour was over, and she was due to fly to New Guinea. In desperation, the Franciscan friar spoke to Mother Teresa: If I pay my own fare to New Guinea, can I sit next to you on the plane so I can talk to you and learn from you? Mother Teresa looked at him. “You have enough money to pay airfare to New Guinea?” she asked.
Yes, he replied eagerly. “Then give that money to the poor,” she said. “You'll learn more from that than anything I can tell you.” Mother Teresa understood and knew that they, more than anyone, needed to hear good news, not merely in words but in deeds.
Have Mercy. That’s what Jesus said in his inaugural address. How do we do that? For whom? Who are the poor, the captives, the marginalized in our society? Maybe in our community. Certainly, in our nation.
Who most needs to hear the good news in our time? There are so, so many.
Jesus never said it would be easy. Nothing worth doing rarely is.
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