Commentary on Luke 4:21-30

Abraham Smith

In her national bestseller book, The American Age of Unreason, the Updated Edition, Susan Jacoby traces the history of anti-intellectualism in the U.S. with its roots in religious fundamentalism, a bankrupt educational system, and the rise of an infotainment era. Trapped within a whole “culture of distraction,” the country, she argues, is riddled by persons who reject science, thrive on “junk thought,” and lack the critical skills necessary to make intelligent contributions to the larger public square.¹

In the history of humankind, though, a culture of distraction is not a totally new phenomenon. Even Jesus was not immune to being riddled by distractions. One might expect the distractions that Jesus faced in the wilderness. We have all had to face the inner struggles not to make leadership just about our individual selves—our private sources of satisfaction, our private pursuits of status or standing, and our private safety nets of security and sustainability. Yet, across the Lukan landscape of the earliest days of Jesus’ adult ministry (Luke 3:23—4:44), other distractions presented themselves even in polite places—like Nazareth—where prayers were offered, scriptures explained, and the good news was proclaimed.

In what manner did Jesus contend with a culture of distractions in Nazareth? First, he contended against a preoccupation with popularity. The Nazareth scene reminds us of the precariousness of popularity. Popularity, like some grocery store purchases, may come with expiration dates. In Luke 4:20, the narrator says, “the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him” and then in 4:22, “all spoke well of him.” Yet, in 4:28, the same Lukan narrator says, “all in the synagogue were filled with rage.” In just under eight verses, the Nazareth crowd turned amazement into anger and high regard into horrific rage.

Yet, for Jesus, whose life was endorsed by Scripture and led by the Spirit (Luke 4:17-20), the quest to be popular was never a source of his validation. A good question for us to consider then, is this: “How much of our lives are influenced not by what is right but by what is popular?” What guides our pursuits? Is it the video views, the social media clicks, or the sizes of a crowd? Is it the chase for what is popular—what’s fashionable, what’s trendy, what even sells?

Second, Jesus contended against a preoccupation with pedigree. The crowd that gathered in Nazareth pegged Jesus to his family’s background. “Is not this Joseph’s son?” they asked (Luke 4:22). This is a question that speculates whether someone born into a peasant class can make a difference. And so, despite all of his laudable titles and roles (“he will be great” [1:32-33]; he “will be holy” [1:35]; he is called “Son of God” [1:35] and “Lord” [1:43]; and a “Savior, who is Christ the Lord” [2:8-11]), the reality is that his parents were poor, his place of birth a stall, his cradle a feeding trough, and his first welcoming party some lowly shepherds. Even the self-description he used for his mailing address in this Gospel had obscurity written all over it: “Foxes have holes and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head” (9:58).

Pedigree, though, should never be the source of one’s validation. Validation lies in what we do, not how we begin. It lies in the lives we touch, the systems we change, the wounds we heal. As the protagonist Pip in Charles Dickens’ Great Expectation came to learn, it lies in our character.

Finally, Jesus contended against a preoccupation with a provincial perspective. Many can readily see how the Nazareth scene celebrates a liberating gospel. Surely, the obvious focus on liberation shows up in the repetition of the Greek word aphiēmi (to release, to set free, even to forgive), a word that appears in the blended texts of Isaiah 58:6 and 61:1 from which Jesus stood up to read in the synagogue. To be sure, the idea of release or liberation is a theme that saturates the whole of Luke’s own account of the life and significance of Jesus of Nazareth (Luke 4:18; see also 1:77; 3:3b; 5:20,21,23,24; 24:46-47). To be sure as well, Luke shows us how the backwater village of Nazareth, a community chafing under the formative forces of disinheritance, dislocation, and dispossession, were hungry to hear a liberating gospel. They had heard about Rome’s gospel (Rome’s own story of good news), but that gospel was motivated by greed, guile, and a quest for glory. So, when Jesus stood up to read about freedom from Isaiah (4:16-20) and when he sat down after declaring that the Isaianic text had been fulfilled on that same day (4:21), those who had gathered together finally heard what they had longed to hear—a word for those whose souls were crushed by uncaring systems and the structures that deny dignity, diminish hopes, and demean what it means to be human. It was a liberating Gospel.

Yet, Luke also wanted to liberate the Gospel. Proclaim release to the captives (4:18)—yes. Set free those who are oppressed (4:18)—yes. Yet, the Gospel itself must be set free. Let God’s gospel go!

So, Jesus refused to hijack the gospel with a provincial story. Jesus refused to make the good news from Isaiah just about one group of hurt persons chained by societal structures and psychological restraints. With an inclusive vision far beyond the parameters of the Galilean fishing villages of his ministry, Jesus mentioned the widow of Zarephath and Naaman, the military commander from Syria (Luke 4:24-27). It is with little wonder as well that Jesus also said to a Capernaum crowd, “I must proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God to the other cities also, for I was sent for this purpose” (4:43). Jesus refused to honor a nativist impulse. Like him, moreover, we must let God’s gospel go.