Let us pray: O God, give us the wisdom to hear your word and your call to action inspired by that word. May your word be intermingled with these ones I speak now, and may we be reminded and encouraged as parts of the body of Christ to sort out who we are and what we must do with love as our guiding principle. Amen.

It is a curious set of lections that we were given to hear today. The call of Jeremiah, Paul's famous passage on love, and the fickle crowd of local worshippers at synagogue in Nazareth. In past weeks in this season of Epiphany, the connections among the selection of readings has been much more clear. But today, it is not really that clear what the three readings, along with the psalm have to do with each other. I think that's why I came up with the title for this reflection. It's not so much about a situation described by one or more the readings – although I will make that connection in a moment – but more my dilemma about what to reflect upon.

Well, I, the preacher, might have felt like I was between a rock and a hard place about what to say this morning, but I think that is also an apt description for at least two of the passages that Karen just read. First we have the story of the call of Jeremiah. It's the kind of story that takes on more significance if you know what follows. Being called by God is a hard thing to resist. One might even say that resistance is futile. Jeremiah tried – suggesting he wasn't old enough and therefore wise enough to be a successful prophet. And if you read ahead in Jeremiah's story, it might become even more easy to understand why Jeremiah was showing some reluctance to heed this call.

Jeremiah was given a hard task – a gloom and doom prophet some might say – warning the people about how their inattention to following the way of God would lead to their destruction – at least as destruction was interpreted as Babylonian exile.

It's not easy being a gloom and doom kind of prophet – even if it is the right thing to say under the circumstances. People don't like hearing how they've messed up. They don't like to hear that their actions will inevitably lead to disaster. And as a result they often want to take it out on the messenger. That's why the expression – don't shoot the messenger came to be. No doubt Jeremiah – if he was even a smidgen aware of what God was asking him to do – felt like he was between a rock and a hard place. He knew what it would take to get the people to take ownership of their actions, and he knew that as the messenger there would be hard stuff directed his way. So, in the midst of all that, we must hear the words of reassurance that Jeremiah echoes for us – the comforting words of the passage that he tells us were the reassurance that God would be with him in this difficult task. We know that Jeremiah accepted the call – resistance is futile, but it is made bearable by the promise of God's presence throughout.

There are echoes of this in the gospel passage. Jesus was literally between a rock and a hard place as the mood of the worshippers changed in almost an instant from adoring, mesmerized, gravitas to angry, murderous mob. They chased him out of the synagogue to the brow of a hill, where he might imminently have fallen to his death among the rocks strewn on the other side. We are not told what changed in the mood of the crowd, that he was allowed to leave this tense situation, just that he did.

Once again, the messenger was in danger of being killed.

Some commentaries have suggested that it was the critique of the faith community that led to the dangerous situation for Jesus. He quoted Isaiah, a passage that told of radical inclusion. It's easy and inspiring to hear of radical inclusion when we consider ourselves a part of the excluded public. It is wonderful to imagine what it would be like to be accepted unconditionally for who we are. I suspect that most of us at one time or another has felt the pangs of exclusion. Certainly some people feel it more deeply and intently than others, but it is something with which we are all acquainted at some level or another. And so it is good to hear of release for the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, raising up of the persecuted and oppressed – especially when we count ourselves one way or another in those categories. But when the point comes home, and we recognize deep down, perhaps with contrition, hurt, or remorse that can so easily express itself in anger and defensiveness that we are not among the oppressed, persecuted or downtrodden, but rather are the oppressors and persecutors. Well, I suspect that we know about that as well – hopefully in small ways, and in ways that resolved themselves in something other than a lashing out and violent reaction – so that it became a teachable moment, rather than a regretted and regretful consequence.

Was that what happened on the brow of a hill outside Nazareth? Was it a teachable moment – when the crowd suddenly realized what the consequence of effectively stoning this uppity (in their minds at least) local boy would be? Or were they suddenly enveloped by an epiphany that this Jesus, the local boy was right, as they let the words and the power they held over them sink into their psyches.

Paul told the Corinthians about a different and better way. Faith, hope and love – and the greatest of these is love.

Love that never gives up.

Love that cares more for others than for self.

Love that doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.

Love that doesn’t strut,

Doesn’t have a swelled head,

Doesn’t force itself on others,

Isn’t always “me first,”

Doesn’t fly off the handle,

Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,

Doesn’t revel when others grovel,

Love that takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,

Puts up with anything,

Trusts God always,

Always looks for the best,

Never looks back,

But keeps going to the end.

And the greatest of these is love. Amen