“Jesus departed from there and came to his native place, 

accompanied by his disciples. 

When the sabbath came he began to teach in the synagogue,

and many who heard him were astonished. 

They said, ‘Where did this man get all this? 

What kind of wisdom has been given him? 

What mighty deeds are wrought by his hands! 

Is he not the carpenter, the son of Mary,

and the brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon? 

And are not his sisters here with us?’

And they took offense at him.”

Who does he think he is? Although many who heard him were astonished, indicating a true wisdom spoken by Jesus, and they were no less than amazed by his mighty deeds, a thread of misgiving quickly appears. “Where did this man get all this?” they ask. His wisdom and deeds are beyond his status. They know him, as a carpenter and the son of Mary. Although he is speaking truth and doing mighty deeds, it is beyond his station in life and his role in the community. He is out of place. It should challenge each of us to be open to the truth, even seeking the truth, in unexpected places or from unexpected mouths. If the Spirit blows where it wills, then any person or situation may be the voice truth or the stuff of revelation. Our culture hints at this openness in sayings such as, “Out of the mouths of babes,” or “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” The work of God in truth should be received and fostered from whatever the source, or whatever our perception of the source. In all cases, we rejoice in the truth!

In speaking to theologians, Pope Francis noted, “Pope Benedict XVI often pointed out that the theologian must remain attentive to the faith lived by the humble and the small, to whom it pleased the Father to reveal that which He had hidden from the learned and the wise.” In one of my more shameful moments years ago, I recall a conversation I had with my mom in which I eventually used my more sophisticated theology to win an argument, belittle her faith, and make her cry. My mom is a profoundly faithful woman. Hers is a beautiful and simple faith trusting in God. It was a call to me, and to us all, to heed Jesus’s words, “Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.” Whatever our knowledge or sophistication (and I am a huge proponent of lifelong formation and education), ultimately, our relationship with God, our faith, must be like that of a child: jumping off the dock into the water and into the embrace of our loving Father. Out of the mouths of babes!

If the thread of misgiving is pulled, it leads to the pride of Jesus’s listeners. It’s not just that Jesus was out of place, beyond his status, it was that those who heard him were somehow threatened in their own status. Our ego is a difficult beast to tame. At the Air Force Academy, I embraced a common saying among cadets who were Christian, “God is my copilot.” Upon reflection, I realized that this places God in a subordinate position, not in command of the aircraft. The ego remains intact. Jesus’s listeners couldn’t relinquish control. They had the education, credentials, and status. Their pride, as does ours sometimes, prevented them from seeing or acknowledging the truth. 

But who do you say that I am? As Deacon Mark shared in his homily last week, this question lies at the very center of Mark’s Gospel and is the invitation to each of us that requires an RSVP. In two chapters from today’s gospel, the question changes from “Who does he think he is?” to “Who do you think he is?” This is really the question that determines everything, for you and for me. Out of the mouths of babes? What would a child say?