“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)
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