“A prophet is not without honour except in that prophet’s hometown, and among the prophet’s own kin and in their own house...” Jesus tell us.
Wow. I’m glad I’m not a prophet. Or else it might be a tad awkward for us if Jesus is right about what hometown friends do to prophets.
I’ve been back where I grew up here in St. Catharines for the better part of a month, and I can’t say I’ve experienced the angry stares and angrier words that Jesus endured when he stepped foot back in his hometown in Galilee.
As most of you know, in the bible, a “prophet” isn’t just someone who can predict the future, although that could be part of the prophet’s job. A prophet is someone who speaks for God.
A prophet is someone with a special authority to speak God’s renewing Word to a specific people in a specific time and specific place.
A prophet is a poet, spinning visions of a new world.
A prophet sings songs of changed lives, of people turning from a life of woundedness to a life of healing.
A prophet tells stories of sin condemned and forgiveness received. A prophet exposes injustice and speaks out on behalf of the oppressed.
A prophet sees a world of possibility - God’s possibility - where others merely see suffering and pain.
I think the frosty reception at home must have stuck like a stone in Jesus’ sandal because he gives his followers...(whole thing here)