Many scripture scholars remind us that one of the common denominators among ancient prophets is that their words provoked and upset people—especially those who held political or royal power and the social elites. In fact, in his book, Wishful Thinking, Frederick Buechner, said that “There is no evidence to suggest that anyone ever asked a prophet home for supper more than once.” Buechner continues explaining that the word “’Prophet’ means ‘spokesman,’ not ‘fortune-teller,’” and so we remind ourselves that the prophets we are talking about today are also spokesmen for God: “The one whom in their unfathomable audacity the prophets claimed to speak for was the Lord and Creator of the universe.” That should give us pause as we ponder their words.

Today’s Gospel of Luke (4:21-30) places us in the hometown Nazorean Synagogue of Jesus, where today stands a Melkite Greek Catholic Church, though there is no proof to cement this as the actual historical site. Yet a painting which hangs above the altar in that Synagogue illustrates today’s gospel account—Jesus teaching in the Synagogue where He is fulfilling the role of a prophet—telling the listeners and us today—that the Kingdom of God is at hand and will be fulfilled in their/our hearing. Jesus even aligns Himself with two well-known prophets, Elijah and Elisha who worked among the Gentiles, while the congregation gathered sees Jesus as the young boy from Nazareth rather than a spokesman or prophet for God.

Like the two just-mentioned prophets above, Jesus’ own words stirred up the people listening, upsetting them in the Synagogue so that they drove Him out to the brow of the hill in an attempt to kill him—that will have to wait—as He passed through the midst of them.

As we continue in this Jubilee Year of Mercy proclaimed by Pope Francis, we should listen and look at these gospel words anew: we, too, are being called to make a year acceptable to the Lord through embracing mercy as part and parcel of our daily activities of life. Pope Francis has called the Church—collectively (institutionally) as well as individually (you, me, us) to be disturbed by his words issued after his election as pope to be a “Church of poor people and for poor people.” This has—and will—disturb many of us. But we have to really listen to the words and the way Pope Francis speaks them.

Is the Holy Father saying that starting with his pontificate we will now feed the hungry, care for the sick, educate the ignorant, console the lonely or free the oppressed? No. He is not stating that there has never been a Catholic Charities or Archbishop’s Annual Appeal, nor Catholic schools for the poor, or a St. Francis Hospital or Knights of Malta or of Little Sisters of the Poor, nor is he saying that Pope Benedict XVI or Pope Leo XIII never thought or wrote or marshalled efforts to help the downtrodden. Rather, the Pope is simply asking every Catholic (Christian) to dove-tail into our daily activities of life the merciful acts that will soften a hardening world around us: to recognize in each and every person—Christian, Jew, Muslim and nonbeliever—the face of Christ. To make feeding the hungry or caring for the lost or offering housing to the homeless a concern for all humanity—to transform the 20 percent who do the lion’s share of this work into 100 percent. And, this mercy is meant for all—while it reaches into the hospitals and homeless shelters of the world, it should also be extended and offered to all in our own homes, our neighborhoods, our parishes, our workplaces—and beyond.

And this all starts with small steps, small beginnings. For that is where change begins. First one-by-one, then many-by-many, the world will become more merciful, more compassionate, and softer—in a good way. With God’s grace, we will succeed. The choice is ours—will we be part of and extend His Mercy, especially in this Jubilee Year? Last Sunday at the 5 p.m. Mass, which was for the Fifth Grade Religious Ed program, I repeated something I said two weeks ago when we listened to Luke on the Wedding Feast of Cana, “Where Christ is there is life; where Christ is not, there is decay.” The choice is ours—will we choose Christ and life or will we not choose Christ and allow decay? A young girl, Mary DeRitis, stood up and said, “I choose Christ!” Let’s follow her lead!