Reflection for the Third Sunday of Ordinary Time C or the Third Sunday after Epiphany

Readings: Nehemiah 8: 2-4a, 5-6, 8-10 (RM) or 1-3, 5-6, 8-10 (RCL); Psalm 19; I Corinthians 12: 12-30 (RM) or 12-31a (RCL); Luke 1: 1-4, 4: 14-21 (RM) or 14-21 (RCL).

It was a hot August afternoon in 1974. My family was sitting in the stands of Silver Stadium for a Rochester (New York) Redwings baseball game. At one point the announcer came on and told the crowd that then-President Richard Nixon had just resigned the presidency. The crowd whooped and hollered with joy and relief.

North Americans of a certain age, at least U.S. Americans, have probably grinned to themselves every three years when this reading from Nehemiah comes up, with its reference to the people of Israel gathered “at the Water Gate.” Scripture scholar Gerard S. Sloyan began his commentary on this Sunday’s First Reading this way:

“The framers of the Lectionary for Mass (largely European, one Canadian) cannot have known of any special reasons for omitting verse 3 from public reading when they were at work on their task of selection. At that time, Vatican funds had been invested in the development venture responsible for the Watergate complex on the Potomac. Public disclosure of financial irregularities in the construction resulted in the Holy See’s withdrawing its financial stake. All this occurred well before the ‘third-rate burglary’ into the offices of the Democratic National Committee, as President Nixon tried to dismiss the caper of which he was well aware.”

The Vatican had an investment in the Watergate building in Washington D.C.

Who knew?

So where are we going with this, apart from an excursus into historical irony? Well, it’s about law, for a start, and custom. What does it mean, and why?

If you’ve read too much of Paul and not enough of the Hebrew Bible you might assume that the Law, for a first-century Jew, was like heavy chains to be sloughed off: “It was through the Law that I died to the Law…” What we see in this reading is quite the opposite, and in fact, a much more accurate and sympathetic illustration of the role that religious law played for Jews. The Law was the foundation of their life-giving relationship with the God who had freed them from slavery in Egypt and brought them into a new land. The Law specified who they were in relationship to God, and how to take up their own responsibility to maintain this relationship. The Law was so important that by the time of Jesus multiple interpretations of the Law vied for practice as the norm.

In this story, as the people gathered at the Water Gate wept, perhaps with guilt and remorse that the Law had not been kept, their leaders urged them to be joyful:

“Today is holy… do not be saddened this day, for rejoicing in our God must be your strength.”

They feasted and drank. Maybe they whooped and hollered.

In this Gospel, Jesus, following law and custom, stood to read from the scroll the passage from Isaiah 61 (Luke combines this with verses from Isaiah 58). Then he sat down in the posture of a teacher, all of which followed the custom of synagogue worship. So far this describes the structural outline of what he did, according to Luke, but not the content. The content, read in the context of what Jesus was about to take on, was revolutionary:

“The spirit of God is upon me, because God has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor.”

Jesus took the singular responsibility upon himself by declaring,

“Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing.”

The year “acceptable” to God refers to the Jubilee Year in which debts were forgiven and confiscated land restored to its rightful owners – a matter of the law of justice overriding the formal law. But Luke changes the Isaiah text slightly to “proclaim,” a rightful task for the Anointed One at the start of his public ministry.

A rightful task for us as well. How do we discern ways to remain in a life-giving relationship with God, and take joy in faithfully implementing what we have discerned, in spite of opposition? Even when we feel like we’ve been pushed to the edge of despair?

How much courage would it take for us to proclaim that the law of justice may, just may, override the law as written? And how much spiritual strength and commitment do we need, not only to follow through, but to rejoice in the task? Enough to rejoice with a whoop and a holler? Of course.

© Susan K. Roll

This is a lightly edited version of the Reflection for January 23, 2022.