Binding Up the Brokenhearted
Rev. Mark Schaefer
Kay Spiritual Life Center
January 24, 2010
Isaiah 61:1-4: Luke 14:14-21

Isaiah 61:1-4 • The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me, because the LORD has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the LORD‘S favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to provide for those who mourn in Zion— to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. They will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, to display his glory. They shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations.

Luke 4:14-21 • Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.
When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord‘s favor.”
And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

I. BEGINNING

The lectionary cycle has given us a series of firsts: we began with Jesus‘ baptism and the beginning of his public ministry. We followed that with the story of Jesus‘ first miracle, turning the water into wine at the wedding in Cana. And now we come to Jesus‘ first major sermon back in his home synagogue in Nazareth.

Luke presents a well-crafted version of this narrative and even places the story at the beginning of Jesus‘ ministry, rather than later on as Matthew and Mark do. We understand that Jesus had begun teaching in the synagogues of Galilee and comes to the synagogue in his hometown of Nazareth. He stands up to read the scriptures and is handed the scroll of the prophet Isaiah. And he finds in it the passage from chapter 61: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor…” When he finishes reading, he announces, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Now, it‘s next week‘s lection in which we read about the crowd‘s reaction to that particular comment. But we needn‘t wait to figure out the impact that his words would have had. First, the passage begins, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me…” The Hebrew word for anointed is mashiach from which we get “messiah”. “…to bring good news to the poor…” The Greek word at the root of that phrase is euangelisasthai, from which comes the word “evangelize” and the Greek word evangelion: “Gospel”. In the very first verse, Jesus proclaims himself God‘s anointed by the Spirit to proclaim the Gospel. A first century Christian audience reading Luke‘s gospel could not have missed that symbolism and meaning.

II. THE TEXT

But they would also not have missed the clear connection to the passage from Isaiah, which is given here by Luke in somewhat abridged form. But listen again to Isaiah‘s words from the passage we read earlier:

The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me, because the LORD has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the LORD‘S favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to provide for those who mourn in Zion— to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. They will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, to display his glory. They shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations.

These words were likely written in a time after the return of the Israelites from Exile in Babylon. A time of initial euphoria but one that quickly faded as the realities of trying to establish a new life in a devastated land took hold.

The city of Jerusalem was not being rebuilt as quickly as had been hoped. There were tensions between the Jews who returned from Exile and those who had been left in the land, mostly impoverished peasants. There were tensions with the Samaritans up north, whom the returning Jews viewed with suspicion. All the dreaming, all the hoping, all the longing that the people had known in exile was now replaced by frustration and despair.

And so it is that the unknown author of these words announces a time of God‘s favor, when the ruins shall be built up, the ancient devastations raised, the ruined cities repaired. When the prisoner and the captive shall find release, when the mourner shall be comforted. When the oppressed hear good news.

It is a tremendous vision of restoration and renewal. A vision of inversion so perfect for an understanding of the Kingdom of God. The world turned on end. It is no wonder that Jesus uses this passage to define his own ministry. No wonder that Luke should place it in a position of prominence in his gospel. What a fantastic vision for Jesus‘ mission and ministry: the restoration of all that is broken.

But amidst all that, there is one verse from Isaiah that looms the largest. As I read through this passage, one phrase leapt out of all them: “to bind up the brokenhearted…” It‘s not something you expect to find. And, to tell you the truth, it‘s not something we‘re really clear on: how exactly do you do that? I think I might have some idea of how one proclaims release to the captive. I can understand how one might set the prisoner free. Even repair the ruined cities, raise up the former devastations. But bind up the brokenhearted… that‘s something altogether different.

III. THE BROKENHEARTED

Brokenhearted is something each of us has been at some point in our lives. It is a particular emotion, far more powerful than simply disappointment or even rejection. For at the root of brokenheartedness is the sorrow of dashed hopes. Brokenheartedness is not simply sadness—it is a grief for a hoped for reality that has come to nothing. Whether it is a hoped for political reality, a sought after opportunity, an anticipated community, or a romantic relationship now in tatters, the pain of a broken heart is profound.

When I reflect on this idea, I find my thoughts going back to more than a decade ago. I was in my late twenties and my then fiancée had just ended our engagement. Though it had come after a month or more of a time apart, its reasons still were mysterious, and it still felt sudden, tragic, unexpected. And devastating. I remember the feeling that it left me with: a sense of staring off into a void, a waste, an unknown emptiness.

Visions of a ceremony a year hence, travel abroad on a honeymoon, getting our first place together, children, the future… all of it… gone. In my younger, more melodramatic college days I had written a poem with the phrase “my heart breaks into a million tear drenched pieces that fall like slow melancholy petals…”—something I would only begin to understand in that moment years later.

I have known heart break. I have been brokenhearted. I wish I could say that was my last experience with heartbreak.

But I find my thoughts going back to something else as well. To a phone call I received the day after the break-up from my good friend Lloyd, inviting me over that evening. So, after work, I went over and Lloyd and I headed up to the roof deck of his building. There we sat on the deck chairs with a six-pack of (I‘m guessing) Dutch beer and proceeded to talk. We talked about philosophy, sports, politics, religion, art, music, you name it. I am sure Star Trek was somewhere in the conversation as well. We talked about everything. Everything except my breakup. And it was healing for me. I felt bound up by that.

Now, one might wonder how on earth a conversation that entirely avoided the issue of my engagement‘s ending began the process of healing for heartbreak. And to be fair, while we didn‘t talk about it directly, men often understand that in reality it‘s all we were really talking about. But what was the secret? What trick did Lloyd use to help me begin to heal? What did he say?

What bound up my broken heart was Lloyd‘s simple act of solidarity. With our conversations, with his invitation, with his hospitality he announced in as strong a way as possible that he was present. That he was there with me in my sorrow. He gave me a sense of stability. A sense of continuity. He offered me no platitudes. No quick fixes. No easy answers. He was simply there.

IV. MISSION AND SOLIDARITY

What an amazing and powerful reminder of how it is we are called to be in mission with one another. How often are we confronted by someone‘s pain, someone‘s heartbreak, and we strive to solve the problem. We struggle to figure out what to say and stammer trying to sound intelligent and thoughtful. We try to imagine how we can help the person to see that it‘s not really that bad, or that they‘re looking at the situation all wrong. We try desperately to be the one who sets the situation right. When what is most required is our solidarity, our presence.

Every year, our campus ministry community goes on an alternative spring break trip to the Cherokee Nation in North Carolina. There is a temptation among many to think that we‘re going to go down to Cherokee and we‘re going to help make people‘s lives better. We are going to swoop in from our places of economic and cultural privilege and we‘re going to solve the problem of systemic discrimination and racial genocide that have dominated the past four centuries. No, we‘re not. And we do not even try.

When we go down to Cherokee, we do work service, to be sure. We work on campsites, or homes, or daycare centers. We distribute potatoes during a potato drop. We clean up parkland by the Oconaluftee river. We do as much as a group of fifteen or so college students can do. But what we do first and foremost is stand in solidarity.

We travel to be in mission not to solve the problems of others, but to listen to stories, to learn from experiences, to say to those who have been long afflicted simply that we are here. We are present. We stand in solidarity with the brokenhearted and bind them up. It is a powerful witness and one that is more appreciated than we are inclined to think.

V. END

And yet it should not be surprising because it is this same witness that is at the heart of Jesus‘ mission and ministry. For what does Jesus‘ life and ministry represent for us but the ultimate expression of God‘s solidarity with us? What is the Incarnation of the Word of God, what is the anointing of Jesus with the Spirit, if not God‘s declaration of solidarity with afflicted, hurting, heartbroken humanity?

For brokenheartedness is a key theological condition for us humans. We behold the world and it is not as it should be. It is not as we had expected, not as we had hoped. And the pain and the longing for a better world is felt so keenly when we feel our hopes dashed. There is an existential brokenheartedness that we feel deep in our souls.

But it is in that declaration of God‘s radical solidarity with us that we have the glimpses of our Good News. We can have faith that the oppressed will receive good news, that the prisoners will be set free, that the ruined places will be rebuilt, that the devastations can be raised up. That the brokenhearted will be bound up. We can have faith because we know that we are not alone in our sorrow, not alone in our brokenheartedness, but that God stands with us, living our life, even dying our death, and being raised to our resurrection. This declaration of solidarity is the good news. It is the source of our hope, the vindication of the promises longed for.

And it fills us with a strength and a purpose. For we too are called, we too are anointed by the Spirit, to stand in solidarity with all who suffer. To stand beside those who undergo injustice and pain. Beside those afflicted by events of nature and the violence of humanity. Beside all who mourn. In faith and confidence we stand in solidarity with all.

And in so doing, we preach good news to the poor, we set at liberty those who are bound, we proclaim the year of God‘s favor, we raise up the ruins of many generations. In so doing, we can bind up the brokenhearted.