Religion scholar Diana Butler Bass ponders the crowd’s outrage after Jesus’ first sermon in Nazareth (Luke 4:18–30)—and the courage required to resist it:
A preacher gets up, quotes scripture, and reminds the gathered congregation that God loves the outcast—those in fear for their lives—the poor, prisoners, the disabled, and the oppressed.
In response, an outraged mob tries to kill the preacher….
Jesus spoke directly to the congregation saying that God loved widows and those stricken with leprosy—implying that his neighbors had not treated widows and lepers justly. They praised God’s words about justice but were not acting on God’s command to enact mercy toward outcasts.
That’s when they “all” got angry and turned into a mob. At least, the majority of them didn’t want to hear this. They flew into a rage.
When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way. [Luke 4:28–30]
… What do you do when the mob turns ugly? When widows and lepers, when LGBTQ people and immigrants, are afraid and treated cruelly—and when a brave prophet calls out the self-righteous? What do you do when there’s a lynch mob or a cross-burning?
I suspect the unnamed heroes of this story stepped outside of the “all,” not willing to be part of the totality, and made a way for the intended victim to pass safely. Did they spot one another in the angry throng? A furtive glance, seeing another hesitant face across the room? Maybe they moved toward one another, hoping to keep each other safe. Did a few others notice the two and the small band then began to multiply? The “all” was furious; the few didn’t understand how it had come to this.
It was frightening for them; it must have been hard to go against their family, friends, and neighbors. As they followed the mob to the bluff, they must have worried that if they spoke up they could be thrown off, too. But instead of submitting to the tyranny of the “all,” maybe they formed a little alternative community in solidarity with each other. When Jesus was herded to the cliff, perhaps it was they who saw an opening—made an opening—and helped him escape. He passed through the midst of them and went on his way.
That is, indeed, a miracle. The bystanders find the courage to do something.
If Jesus needed that, so do we…. We must form squads of love and make a path through together … no matter how fearsome the mob.
And that’s the overlooked miracle of Luke 4: Only a community—even one that goes unnoticed in the crowd—the band that refuses to join the rabble—can keep us from going completely over the edge.
Reference:
Diana Butler Bass, “Sunday Musings,” The Cottage (Substack newsletter), January 25, 2025. Used with permission.
Image credit and inspiration: Paul Tyreman, Untitled (detail), 2018, photo, United Kingdom, Unsplash. Click here to enlarge image. We walk forward on our own pathway through the sand and stones, aligned and inspired by Spirit.
Story from Our Community:
I’m a gay Catholic. I only go to mass rarely now, but when I do, I often receive communion as an act of defiance against the institution with a long history of persecuting those who don’t live within its narrow boundaries. If the church knew about me, it would lock its doors to keep me from taking the sacrament. But as far as I see it, Jesus gave us the sacrament long before a church existed. I go to receive Jesus. Everything else pales in comparison.
—Gary G.
