Even if we've never been to a therapist, or read a book on psychology, we all know what it means to be "in denial." Denial is that psychological self-defense trick that keeps us from acknowledging a painful reality. It may be the painful reality that we drink too much, or that someone we love does. It may the painful reality that we're going to die—nearly all of us deny that. We may be in denial about credit card debt, our feelings of sadness over a loss, global warming, Byron's retirement. (For those of you who are visiting....) Other people, looking on, don't understand why we can't see whatever it is that's so obvious to rest of the world. They're amazed at our unbelief. As Jesus would have said, if he spoke English, and got jokes off the internet: "Da Nile is not just a river in Egypt."
We all have our reasons—often good ones—for denying reality. But almost always, we're afraid. We're afraid that our sadness will overwhelm us, so we insist it was a bad relationship anyway and we're glad it's over. We're afraid to quit smoking or drinking or buying stuff, because it's a comfort. Or we're afraid we won't be able to quit. So we tell ourselves it's OK to drink a little more on weekends, and are there not studies that say moderate drinking is good for your heart? Or we only look at the amount due this month, which is never very much. Or we look at energetic friend in their 90s who is a life-long smoker with few health problems: all those smoking studies must be bunk. And speaking of scientific studies—it was a comfortable 65 degrees on Friday. Global warming is just a theory. We rationalize. We tell our stories. We believe what we want to believe, no matter the evidence before us.
When Jesus came to his hometown, he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. And they said, "where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands!" And then they said, "wait—is not this the carpenter? That guy who does work around the village. He's handy enough with a compass and plane and a measuring line, but he's not learned in Torah, he hasn't studied scripture, he's not versed in wisdom like the scribes. And isn't he the son of Mary? Not so sure about the father...and is he not the brother of James and Judas and Simon, not to mention all those sisters here with us, all perfectly ordinary. No 'deeds of power' in that family." And they took offense at him. So Jesus could do nothing there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief.
We may be amazed at their unbelief, too. Not because they're in denial—we know all about that—but because they're denying something good, not something bad. Mark doesn't say exactly what Jesus taught or did at the did at the synagogue. But people witnessed it first hand, and were astounded. And we know the kinds of deeds he does: just before he returned to Nazareth he banished a legion of unclean spirits from a demoniac and restored him to his right mind. A woman touched his cloak, and she was immediately cured of terrible bleeding she suffered for 12 years. He raised the daughter of Jairus from the dead. Health, life and wisdom: far from being a painful reality, these are things we long for.
So why this refusal to believe the good news before their eyes? What were they afraid of?
Peasants in first century Nazareth lived on the edge. Crops were unpredictable, food scarce. You never knew when you might fall sick. Death was everywhere and demons roamed the countryside, looking to enter unsuspecting people. The Romans taxed any extra you had. Protestors were crushed, their crucified bodies hanging on the sides of busy roads. Israelite puppet kings and their collaborators were no better: King Herod was really crazy. But you could count on family. Relations—up, down and sideways—were your security. Parents and children and brothers and sisters and cousins and ancestors: they took care of each other. Everyone knew who was in charge and where they stood. They knew the rules and obligations. But Jesus had left. He had left his mother and brother and sisters to roam the countryside—and rumor had it he had turned away his family when they sent for him. He was not acting like Mary's son or Simon's brother. He was not behaving like the uneducated carpenter he was. He may have been doing deeds of power, but what about family and the little they could count on? Where would this all lead? No wonder they were afraid. And they refused to believe.
We may seem worlds away from those ancient Nazareans. Most of us don't have day-to-day worries about survival. We live in the heart of empire rather than the edge. We don't depend on family in the same way, and, in a weird reversal, Jesus is now used to justify the most traditional, and narrow, understanding of family. It's perfectly respectable to go to church, and most of us here call ourselves Christians.
But believing, truly believing, in the wisdom and power of Jesus is still risky. Christ promises forgiveness and healing, but to receive it we still need to let go of things that make us feel safe. We may need to repent of the reassurance we take from a large bank account or shopping or lots of furniture. Maybe we need to repent of the comfort that comes from drinking or smoking or some other self-destructive habit. Maybe we need to repent of our collective love of air-conditioning and driving and fast-food. We may need to repent of comfortably low self-esteem, which keeps us from expecting too much of ourselves. And we know how hard repentence is. Jesus may call us out of our denial for healing, but that doesn't make it easy.
The amazing thing in the scripture is not the lack of belief in his hometown. The amazing thing is that some did believe. That some among the villages welcomed disciples who came to their doorsteps. Those disciples without bread or bag or money in their belts or even an extra tunic, expecting to be fed for the duration. The amazing thing is that some answered the call to repent. They turned, and were healed. So even the disciples were able to cast out many demons, and cure many who were sick.