The Spirit of the Lord is Upon Us

Luke 1:1-4; 4:14-21, Isaiah 61:1-2a, 1 Corinthians 12:12-30

Imagine walking into a synagogue, its walls buzzing with anticipation. A young man from a modest background stands up, reads from the prophet Isaiah, and declares, “Today this scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing” (Luke 4:21). The crowd shifts uncomfortably. Isn’t this the “son” of Joseph? Who does he think he is? Yet, at this moment, Jesus proclaims that God’s promise of healing, liberation, and justice is happening now—not later, not in some distant future—now—through him.

This bold declaration wasn’t just hopeful; it was unsettling. It made people in that synagogue deeply uncomfortable, just as it makes many of us uneasy today. Why? Jesus’ mission challenged the comfortable status quo, the power dynamics, and the unjust systems that had grown roots in society. His words weren’t vague or metaphorical. They were personal, political, and transformational.

Take the tax collectors of Jesus’ time. These men were symbols of oppression, working for the Roman Empire to collect taxes from their fellow Jews, often extorting more than what was required. Their wealth came at the expense of their people. Yet Jesus didn’t avoid them. Instead, he confronted their greed by offering them mercy. Consider Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector, who climbed a tree to see Jesus. When Jesus called him down and dined with him, Zacchaeus’ heart was changed. He pledged to repay those he had cheated, demonstrating that mercy leads to justice (Luke 19:1-10). Jesus didn’t simply condemn tax collectors; he invited them to repentance and transformation, unsettling the societal expectation that they were beyond redemption.

The Pharisees, on the other hand, were religious leaders devoted to the law. On the surface, they appeared righteous. But Jesus saw through their rigid legalism to the deeper issue: they had become so focused on rules that they neglected mercy, justice, and love. He called them “hypocrites” because they burdened others with unnecessary rules while ignoring the heart of God’s law (Matthew 23:23). Jesus’ acts of mercy, like healing on the Sabbath or sharing meals with “sinners,” directly challenged their understanding of holiness. His actions made them uncomfortable because they exposed the disconnect between their rigid piety and God’s call to compassion.

Political and religious leaders also felt threatened by Jesus. Leaders like Herod and Pilate wielded power through control and fear, while the high priests upheld systems that benefited from exclusion and division. When Jesus declared “liberty to captives” and “freedom for the oppressed” (Luke 4:18), it wasn’t just a spiritual promise—it was a radical challenge to the systems of inequality and injustice that upheld their authority. Jesus’ mission was dangerous because it sought to elevate the lowly, empower the oppressed, and hold the powerful accountable. He didn’t just preach mercy; he lived it in a way that dismantled oppressive structures.

It’s no wonder that just a few verses later, the crowd tried to throw Jesus off a cliff. His words ruffled feathers. They were direct, unapologetic, and unsettling. The same applies to Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde’s recent call to mercy. Speaking at the National Prayer Service, she urged President Donald Trump to lead with compassion, particularly toward marginalized communities like immigrants and LGBTQ+ individuals. By calling attention to policies that intensified deportations and rolled back protections, she exposed injustices that harm the vulnerable. Her challenge unsettled those who cling to power without accountability, but she was right. Mercy isn’t weakness; it’s strength. Justice isn’t optional; it’s God’s requirement.

What Makes Us Great?

The question of how we live this out can feel overwhelming. Mercy and justice seem vast, and we might think, “I’m just one person—what can I do?” Yet Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 12:12-30 that we are all members of one body, each with a role to play. Together, our small acts of mercy—comforting a grieving friend, welcoming a refugee, or advocating for just policies—build something more significant. Each act contributes to Christ’s mission of healing and hope.

The Eucharist is at the center of our faith. We encounter Christ not only as a Savior but as one who nourishes us to go out and act. When we receive the Eucharist, we aren’t just remembering Jesus; we’re being sent to live as his hands and feet in the world. This is where we find the strength to overcome fear, selfishness, and complacency. The Eucharist transforms us so we can help transform the world.

To make America great, we must not seek greatness in power, wealth, or control. To be truly great, we must be merciful, just, and loving. Jesus didn’t come to make us comfortable; he came to make us holy. Holiness requires us to step out of our comfort zones, challenge unjust systems, and serve others humbly and with compassion. That’s what Bishop Budde did.

Jesus’ words demand a response: Will we live as agents of mercy and justice, or will we cling to the systems that keep us comfortable? If we follow him, it will cost us something—it always does—but it will also transform us and the world around us. The Spirit of the Lord is upon us. Today, this scripture passage is fulfilled—not just in our hearing but in how we live. Will we have the courage to let it be fulfilled in us?

Let us pray

Lord, your Spirit is upon us, calling us to bring good news to the poor, freedom to the oppressed, and healing to the brokenhearted. Strengthen us to live as your witnesses, not in comfort but in courage, not in power but in mercy. Nourish us through your presence in the Eucharist so that we may go forth and be your hands and feet. Amen.