Broken Kingdom

Propers: The Third Sunday after the Epiphany, A.D. 2017 A

Homily:

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

He starts off with broken people in a broken land.

Galilee is a mess. When the Israelites first came to the Promised Land, three-and-a-half thousand years ago, the region of the Galilee had been parceled out to the tribes of Zebulun and Naphtali. It’s in the mountainous, rocky north of the country, with the Mediterranean to the west and the freshwater Sea of Galilee to the east. The tribe of Dan started out there as well, but they ended up being dispersed amongst the other tribes as an independent judiciary and national police force. A great trading highway, the Via Maris or Way of the Sea, ran through this bottleneck between the mountains and the lake. It was the economic artery connecting Asia to Africa.

Centuries after settlement, in the time of King Solomon, Israel forged an alliance with Hiram, King of Tyre. His Phoenicians were a great sea power, and to keep ties strong, Solomon allowed for them to settle in 20 cities throughout the region of the Galilee: hence the phrase, “Galilee of the Nations.” Those settlers came in peace, but the ones after them did not. Galilee was, in effect, the front door of the nation, the bulwark that every conqueror and foe had to batter down in order to get at the soft underbelly of Samaria, Judea, and Jerusalem.

Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, Seleucids, Romans—one after another they came, breaking up the Galilee, shipping its people out and settling strangers and aliens in their place. Some were kinder than others, but all were conquerors. After centuries of drowning in foreign occupation, an independent Israel briefly had the chance to surface for air between the waves of Greece and Rome. And they called for exiled Jews to come home, to resettle the north, so that it wasn’t quite so full of pagans. And one of the families that came back was a house of Jewish horse warriors from Persia, who claimed descent from Solomon’s father, King David.

They were a rough-and-tumble lot, cowboys with craggy edges, but they had their pride. And they called themselves Natzoreans, the “root” of David, from which the Messiah was prophesied to spring. Yes, it appears that Jesus, the Prince of Peace, hailed from a line of hard-bitten Persian cavalrymen. Knights, if you will. And Jesus grew up in this shattered land, this hard and broken land, mixed up with Greeks and Romans, Arabs, Aramaeans, and heaven-only-knows what all else.

All this is what Isaiah prophesies this morning when he proclaims: “But there will be no gloom for those who were in anguish. In the former time He brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time He will make glorious the Way of the Sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the Nations. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.”

I know that’s a lot of background to explain one brief ancient prophecy. But it is truly astonishing to imagine that the Savior of the world would arise from so turbulent and troubled a place as Galilee, jigsaw of the nations. Recall the skepticism of Nathanael, who scoffed at Philip, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” It would be like Jesus arising today from the bombed-out shell of Aleppo, burdened with the weight of all its tragedy and history and horror. It is an entirely broken place.

Jesus begins His ministry with broken people as well. Simon and Andrew, James and John, are fishermen whose families ring the Sea of Galilee. But these are no country bumpkins. They’ve been south to Jerusalem, and even traveled out to the wastes with a charismatic and prophetic preacher named John the Baptist. John spoke with all the spirit and power of Elijah, proclaiming the imminent arrival of God’s Kingdom, and exhorting all comers to baptize themselves in repentance and preparation to meet the coming King of Kings. He had even pointed out the Messiah to those who would listen: John’s own cousin, Jesus of Nazareth!

There was such energy, such anticipation, such hope surrounding John the Baptist. Jews and Gentiles alike flocked to hear him speak, and to be baptized in the Jordan River. But then John had to go and mouth off to the wrong person, speaking truth to power before Herod Antipas, Tetrarch of Galilee and puppet of Rome. And so John lost his head—which was brought to Herod’s wife literally on a platter. You can imagine how this took the wind of his disciples’ sails.

One can also imagine their dejection, the crushing of their dreams, as these faithful followers trickled back to the Galilee, their visions of the Messiah and His coming Kingdom of justice dashed to pieces against the hard reality of Roman rule. And so they return home, chastened, humbled, mourning; returning to what they know, returning to the families that love them and the nets that provide for them; dreaming all the while of what might have been.

But then, just as all hope seems lost, who should appear but the very Messiah to whom John had pointed! “Follow Me,” He says simply, “and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they drop their nets and follow Him, astounded at this turn of events, their hope not only restored but now magnified tenfold! John’s ministry had not failed. His was only the opening act. Now the banner of the Kingdom would be raised by the King Himself, and nothing, nothing would ever be the same. You can hear their excitement reflected in the Psalm: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” And God’s Kingdom is on the march.

In a broken land, amongst broken people, Christ’s ministry begins. It is here that He chooses to plant His flag, here that He inaugurates His Kingdom. Not among the pure or the strong or the wealthy and successful, but here among the outcasts, the half-breeds: the alien, the immigrant, and the exile. Indeed, God is always found amongst the broken, not because He wills or causes their brokenness, but because the Healer is always found amongst the wounded. The Giver of life is always found raising up the dead.

Let us remember this when we feel broken, scrambled, used up and confused. Let us remember this when we feel forgotten or despairing, when all hope seems lost. It is in broken earth that the farmer casts his seed. It is with broken bread that the Father feeds His children. Christ calls us forth, broken people from broken lands, carrying broken dreams within our broken hearts. These will be His chosen people. These will be His Kingdom come. We are all Galileans here.

“And Jesus went throughout the Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the Good News of the Kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.”

The Kingdom of God is come. And it is come in you.

In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.