Sunday Eucharist - January 30, 2022

They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way. (Luke 4:29-30)

In case you’re not familiar with who ‘He’ is in the above quote, yes, it’s Jesus.

Of course, we all know that Jesus was killed at the end of His three years of ministry but the first attempt on His life took place right after His first speaking engagement! Indeed, it was a sign of things to come.

The text from Luke chapter 4 follows on from our text of the week before, where Jesus gave a sermon that was only one line long – “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing” (Luke 4:21) – and it’s not immediately obvious whether it was the sermon that so enraged Jesus’ audience or whether it was the discussion that followed, where Jesus indicated that He wasn’t planning on proving His credentials to anybody. Most likely, it was a bit of both, but the thing that really strikes me is how quickly the people turned on Him. One moment we’re told that “all spoke well of him” (Luke 4:22) and moments later they were trying to throw him off a cliff!

I feel I’ve had my own experience of that – being loved and adored by a community for 29 years and then having them try to throw me (and the boxing club) off a cliff. Perhaps it’s not an uncommon experience.

I’ve often reflected on the life of Henry Francis Lyte – a fellow Anglican priest who devoted much of his life to ministry in a fishing village near Devon in the UK where he was parish priest from 1824 to 1847. Despite the centuries between us, I’ve always felt an affinity with Henry Lyte – both because of his love of the Anglo-Catholic tradition and because of his focus on the needs of the young people in his community.

Henry Lyte’s story ended sadly. Despite building up his parish consistently over many years, most of his congregation suddenly up and left him to join the local chapter of the Plymoth Brethren in 1847 because they decided he was too Catholic. Lyte didn’t cope well. He became ill and decided to take a short holiday in Italy, but died before returning the same year.

You may have known nothing of the life of Henry Lyte before now, but I’d be surprised if you haven’t heard the hymn he left us:

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

I’ve long lost count of the number of funerals I’ve taken over the years, and Henry Lyte’s hymn has been sung at most of them. He wrote those words (and the seven other verses that accompany them) as he was just about to head off on that final holiday. Out of his woundedness came a wonderful gift of life!

People are fickle. If we take a stand and share our message publicly, some people will love us and some will hate us, and some will love us one minute and hate us the next. Sadly, such is the human condition. Even so, the good news is that God brings life out of these situations. Those sombre words penned by Henry Lyte in the final months of life have proven to be a greater gift to humanity than his many years of service in his parish. Similarly, with Jesus, of course. While the teachings and healings of Jesus were a wonderful gift to the world, the Christian gospel of hope begins at the cross!

I reflect on my own sense of pain and alienation. Is that something that God can use somehow to become a source of healing for others? It’s hard to see how. Even so, Henry Lyte would have had no idea what a gift he was giving to the world when he penned ‘Abide with me’, just as Jesus’ disciples initially had no idea how the crucifixion was going to end up becoming ‘good news’.

God has a way of bringing light out of our darkest moments.

Dave
http://www.fatherdave.org
http://www.fighting-fathers.com