“Jesus the Disruptor”
By Nathan Uttangi
Sunday, February 16, 2025
Reading: Luke 4:16-30
Brian Keating is an astrophysicist who was part of a team that thought they had discovered proof of the Big Bang’s earliest moments.
In 2014, Keating and his colleagues made headlines across the world. They believed they had found gravitational waves—these ripples from the first moments after the Big Bang. And if true, it would have been one of the biggest discoveries in modern science.
Keating gave interviews. He started preparing for awards—rumours about getting the Nobel Prize. The whole world celebrated their findings.
And then new data came in. The signals they detected. Well, they weren’t actually from the Big Bang. They were from something called space dust: these tiny particles of solid material floating in outer space, often originating from the breakdown of asteroids, comets, and dying stars, often smaller than a grain of sand.
Keating’s perspective was deeply disrupted and shattered suddenly! Everything Keating believed he had proven—everything he had built his career on in that moment—was wrong. It wasn’t just about getting a calculation wrong. It was about realizing he had been absolutely certain about one thing that now was false. And in that moment, he had a choice. He could have ignored this new data, stubbornly holding onto what he wanted to be true. OR he could step into this new, bigger understanding, even though it was uncomfortable.
I mean, have you ever had a moment where everything suddenly changed in your life? Where it changed in a way that just didn’t feel real or where it felt out of sync of what you knew? Where it changed in a way you never would have expected? And we’re not talking about some small, puny everyday shift in perspective, but a moment that rocked your world, that disrupted your life. When the story you thought you knew—the one you had built your whole life around—the one that made the only sense to you—was gone. Turned on its head. And then suddenly that world just didn’t fit anymore? Didn’t make sense? Where what was being offered just wasn’t the thing you ever thought possible? How’d that make you feel? What’d you do with it? Did you willingly lean in? Did you choose to see it in a whole new frame? Or try to hold on to the old story and old way of life hoping that you could keep some semblance of that small picture?
What happens when the Jesus who comforts us, and offers us peace and love; who blesses children and calms the storm greatly disrupts our very own expectations of him? How do we respond when he confronts us? When he says something that doesn’t fit our view of God or our understating of justice? Do we also choose the small, controlled view or allow for Christ to shatter our perspective so we may experience the new?
Well, today those are some of the questions that we will be reflecting on as we explore our passage from Luke, chapter 4. This story is filled with such dramatics, where the beloved Jesus comes back home, is celebrated and chooses to disrupt the very expectations and worldviews of the people of Nazareth! Their love for him quickly turns—trying to throw him off a cliff! Like I said: Drama!
Also, I think the ability to have a crowd go from admiration to attempted murder in the span of one sermon feels like a pretty big achievement and not one I hope to also accomplish today!
A Small Window – The Prophet We Love
At first, everything about this moment feels right.
Jesus, the hometown boy, is back. He’s gained a reputation. People have heard about the miracles in Capernaum, the healings, the power, the presence of God moving through him. And now, he stands before his own people—friends, neighbours, maybe even old teachers who watched him grow up. They’ve all packed into the synagogue waiting to see what he’ll do. There’s this expectation in the air. So, when Jesus is handed the scroll of Isaiah, this is a big moment. This is his chance.
So, he reads this section from Isaiah 61:
“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”
And then, he stops. Rolls up the scroll. Hands it back. And sits down. The room is silent with this awed pause, then Jesus speaks again: "Today this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing." Boom.
Did he just say what we think he said? For a moment, everyone is thrilled. This is our time! This is our Messiah! The people of Nazareth hear it and immediately filter it through their own expectations.
The good news? Yeah! It’s for us—the faithful ones.
Freedom? Yeah. It means God is going to overthrow Rome and give us back our land.
Sight to the blind? Well, the power of God is moving for us, to restore Israel’s glory!
In their small window of understanding, they assume:
God is here to bless us. God is here to free us. God is here for our story.
It reminds me of something psychologists call confirmation bias—where we hear what we expect to hear. We filter out everything that doesn’t fit the story we already believe. And so, sitting in that synagogue, they don’t realize Jesus has just changed everything. And they’re so focused on what this means for them that they don’t even notice what he didn’t say.
Have you ever stood too close to a painting? Like, if you walk up to Van Gogh’s The Starry Night and press your nose to the canvas, all you see are messy, chaotic half brushstrokes. It doesn’t fully make sense. It’s only when you step back that you see the masterpiece that it is.
The people of Nazareth? They’re too close to the story. They only really see their suffering, their longing, their nation’s pain. They assume this moment is actually just about them.
You see, at this point in history, Israel was under Roman occupation. They were an oppressed people, longing for a deliverer like Moses, who would break their chains. The popular belief was that the Messiah would be a military king—a conqueror who would drive out the Romans and restore Israel’s political power. So, when Jesus later declares that Isaiah’s prophecy is fulfilled in him, they assume this means the revolution is about to begin. But Jesus is not that kind of Messiah. He isn’t here to crush their enemies; he’s here to bring salvation to all.
If we’re really honest with ourselves, we all do this, too, right? We all have this natural tendency to reduce God’s story to our small size. To make it fit our own perspective! Our own world! Our own understanding. We can shrink grace until it’s only for people who look and think like us. We can shrink faith into something safe and comfortable. And we inevitably can shrink the Kingdom of God into something manageable—something we can control.
Yet, even in that smallness, Jesus still shows up. Even in our limited view, he meets us where we are. He doesn’t reject the people from Nazareth for their small mindedness—but he refuses to leave them there. And I believe Jesus does the same with us! He doesn’t just want us to sit in our smallness and small view of him but to further explore what he might be saying. What he might be needing us to step into. Because the Kingdom is bigger than they or we can ever imagine.
As I say that I find myself curious to know, maybe: Where have we shrunk God down to fit inside our comfort zone? Where have we assumed that God’s blessings are only for us—but not for others? Where have we filtered out the parts of Jesus' message that make us uncomfortable?
A Wider Window – The Prophet Who Offends
At first, the people of Nazareth are hanging on Jesus’ every word. They love what they’re hearing. This is their moment. Their small window makes sense to them—this is about Israel’s restoration, their redemption, their time. Jesus is speaking their language, their prophecy, their future. And then, without warning, Jesus widens the window. And when he does everything suddenly changes. The air shifts. Something doesn’t feel right!
I imagine that in this silent room, we see one man furrow his brow; another whispers to their neighbour, "Did he forget something?"
Because in Isaiah 61, the passage doesn’t stop where Jesus stopped.
It actually goes on to say: “…and the day of vengeance of our God.”
He left out such a crucial part that his Jewish people were expecting to hear. He removes the vengeance. He removes the part about God destroying their enemies. He removes the part they were most looking forward to. And suddenly, the people aren’t sure what’s happening anymore. They’re confused and bewildered!
Why would he do that? Why would Jesus take justice off the table?
Jesus knows they’re waiting for him to prove himself—to do for them what they’ve heard he did in Capernaum. They want miracles. Signs. Power. They want proof that he is their Messiah. But he doesn’t give them what they expect. Instead, he widens the window even more and this time, this time it’s unbearable. He brings up two stories from their own Scriptures—stories they would rather forget.
The first is Elijah & the Widow in Zarephath from 1 Kings 17. There was a severe famine in Israel. People were starving. There were many widows in Israel who needed help. But where does Elijah go? Not to an Israelite widow. He goes to a Gentile widow in Zarephath—outside Israel’s borders. And God provides for her. Not Israel’s widows. A foreign woman!
Then Jesus tells another story—this time about Elisha, another great prophet. In this moment, there were many lepers in Israel. But who does God heal? Not an Israelite. A Syrian general. A military leader. An enemy of Israel! And God chooses to heal him. Not the faithful Israelites who had suffered. But Naaman—the oppressor.
You could hear a pin drop in that synagogue, yet again! Because Jesus had quite literally just said: God’s mercy is not just for you.
God’s grace is for your enemies. And that? Well, that was offensive! That was disruptive to their beliefs, their world, their expectations! That was not the story they wanted. That was not the Messiah they were expecting!
Imagine you’ve lived your whole life by the light of a single candle. That candle is precious to you. It is your light in the darkness. It’s your guide, your comfort. And then, one day, someone opens the blinds and suddenly, the sun floods the room. It should be a moment of joy but instead, it’s overwhelming. The light is too bright. You can’t see. And instead of embracing the sunrise, you find yourself clinging to the candle because it’s what you’ve always known.
The people of Nazareth had spent their whole lives seeing God through a small window. And now Jesus is saying, "Look, there’s more than you imagined." But instead of stepping into the light, they reach for the curtain, they want to shut the window because this vision of God was not what they had signed up for.
How many of us have felt that way before?
We love grace—until it’s for the wrong person.
We love the idea of forgiveness—until it’s the person who betrayed us.
We love the idea of redemption—until it’s the person who did our family wrong!
We love the idea of second chances—until it’s for the very bad criminal we think should stay locked up.
Christ is breaking down every dividing line. Grace for the outsiders. Mercy for the enemies. A kingdom where the first are last and the last are first. And it’s too much. It’s too disruptive. It’s too offensive.
When Amanda Gorman stood on the steps of the U.S. Capitol at President Joe Biden’s inauguration and read her poem The Hill We Climb, she said:
“For there is always light,
if only we're brave enough to see it.
If only we're brave enough to be it.”
I think that’s what Jesus is saying. The light of God’s mercy is shining—but are we brave enough to step into it? Are we brave enough to let grace disrupt us? The people had a small window—and Jesus just widened it. And they couldn’t handle it. Can we? Or:
Do we resist it—insisting that grace should be small and controlled?
Do we fight it—choosing vengeance over mercy?
Do we step through the window—trusting that God’s Kingdom is bigger than we imagined?
I think that God’s grace will always be bigger than we are comfortable with. And even if we reject it. If we resist it. If we try to throw it off the proverbial cliff. God’s mercy remains. And the window stays wide Stays open for us all to see and to experience!
I can’t help, but ask:
Where might he be challenging our expectations of grace?
Where might he be asking us to let go of vengeance?
Where might he be calling us into something bigger?
In actuality, the window isn’t just wide, it’s wide open! The light is shining. And the window is open. And the only question is: Will we step through?
A Shattered Window – The Prophet We Reject
So, the people that loved him. That admired him were now outraged and wanted to throw him off a cliff.
Jesus has just shattered their expectations. He opened the window so wide, he blew out the wall that held it. There’s destruction and a mess everywhere. And rather than step through the debris into this new world, they shut their eyes and reach for stones, the glass shards.
Their anger isn’t just personal. It’s cultural. Religious. Historical.
They have been waiting for generations for God to deliver them. They have suffered under Rome. They have endured exile, oppression, and loss. And now Jesus is saying, “I’ve come to bring the Kingdom of God—but not just for you.”
For centuries, people believed the earth was the center of the universe. The church, the scientists, the philosophers—they all agreed. Then Galileo said, “Actually, I believe the earth revolves around the sun.”
People were outraged. He was arrested, put on trial, silenced. Why? Because the truth was too disruptive.
It wasn’t just that Galileo had new information—it was that his discovery demanded a shift. If the earth wasn’t the center of the universe, then everything had to be rethought.
Jesus isn’t just bringing a new teaching—he’s bringing a new reality. One that reshapes their place in the world. One that shifts their assumptions about who is in and who is out. One that demands a transformation in how they see their enemies. And they can’t handle it.
So, what do they do? They do what people do when they feel their world slipping away—they lash out. They reject the messenger. They try to throw Jesus off a cliff!
I think we all have windows in our lives that we don’t want to see shatter. Maybe it’s the way we’ve always understood God; the boundaries we’ve drawn between who is worthy and who isn’t; the way we thought life would unfold. And when those windows start to crack, it’s terrifying. So, we do what the people of Nazareth did: We resist. We fight it. We hold tighter to what we thought was true, even as it slips through our fingers.
But here is the mercy of Jesus yet again—even when they reject him, he does not reject them. When they try to push him away, he does not turn his back on them. He simply walks through the crowd and continues on his way. Not because he has given up. But because his Kingdom is bigger than their resistance. And his mercy is bigger than their rejection.
Helen Johnson and her family hadn’t eaten in two days. With only $1.25 in her pocket, she went to buy eggs—only to realize she was 50 cents short. Desperate, she slipped five eggs into her pocket. Then they broke!
The store worker stopped her. "Ma’am, did you take those eggs?" Helen didn’t lie. "Yes." When the police were called, she braced for handcuffs, shame, and her grandkids watching her get arrested.
Officer William Stacy arrived, assessed the situation, and told her to wait.
Helen assumed her arrest was coming. Instead, he walked back into the store. A few minutes later, he returned holding a carton of eggs—and handed them to her.
She burst into tears asking, "Can I give you a hug?" He said, “Of course!”
A passerby recorded the moment and posted it online. The video spread, and days later, police showed up at Helen’s house.
Her 3-year-old grandson panicked: "Grandma, are they taking you to jail?"
But this time, they came with food and supplies—donations from strangers who had heard her story. Helen’s home was suddenly overflowing with food. Later, someone asked, "What would you do if another hungry person asked you for food?" And without hesitation, she said:
"I’d give them the whole loaf. And then I’d give them Officer Stacy’s number."
Helen thought she knew how the story would go. She thought she knew how justice worked. She expected punishment. Instead, she received mercy. And that mercy changed everything. She said later: "My life is changed forever because of the actions of Officer Stacy and the Police Department." And then she added, "My heart is wide open right now."
My heart is wide open right now. Her heart was open. The previous belief system was shattered, and she stepped into this new world of receiving the beautiful gift.
I can’t think of a better way to describe what Good News does in a person’s life.
It opens us up. It changes our hearts. It disrupts our expectations and leaves us with something far better than we imagined. But it also demands something of us—that maybe we see people differently. That we might surrender control. That we could extend mercy and not just receive it.
Because here’s the thing about shattered windows—they let in the light. They let in the fresh air. They open up a world far bigger and more beautiful than we ever imagined. And the mercy of Christ? It meets us there. Even in the breaking. Even in the disorientation. Even in the places where we resist him. Because the Kingdom of God is not fragile. And neither is his love.
So, may we sit with the God who disrupts.
May we wrestle with the grace that offends us.
May we not run from the questions that stretch us.
May we embrace the blessing of God’s mercy that touches us in our small and shattered places.
And may we trust that on the other side of the window, there is a Kingdom wider, deeper, and more beautiful than we ever imagined. Amen.