Questions abound for Jesus’ family and childhood friends. His home congregation has their doubts. Astounded, says Mark’s gospel. They took offense at him. The nerve of this man – whom we know – to waltz in here and play preacher and prophet in our midst.

It’s not supposed to be like this.

When one of our own finds their vocation from God, we rejoice! We gather round in support. We encourage. We’re proud. We’re hopeful. That’s how it was for me. I know that’s how it was for you. But now, it’s safe to admit that when a congregation learns that it has produced a bona-fide minister of the gospel, there is also a bit of light-hearted wonderment. We are astounded, and probably mystified.

“Jeff – going to seminary? Didn’t he leave university? Doesn’t he have a family to support? What’s going on here?”

“Mark – a minister? Doesn’t he have a trade? A great job? What is he thinking?”

Mark’s gospel says the home-town folks ‘took offense at him.’ Jesus became a stumbling block to them – his vocation tripped them up. They didn’t know what to think. We love for things to be simple—our impressions of people and our ideas about the world are often like ‘snapshots’ frozen in time—once we’ve categorized things in our minds, we don’t like to edit those pictures.

Our preconceived notions may well be the death of us. They bind us to misunderstanding; they close our minds to new possibilities. When other people – even well-meaning folk – determine who you are and what you ought to become, it can bring you down.

Mark’s gospel has already reminded us that Jesus’ family thought he was troubled (Mark 3:20-22). But here in the synagogue, we learn that the congregation has real questions, and that in the face of these, “he could do no deed of power there…and he was amazed at their unbelief.”

The determination of the people in Jesus’ hometown to declare who he was and what he might do actually rendered Jesus powerless.

Think about that for a moment. Jesus of Nazareth – the anointed one – only begotten Son of the most high – unable to do any deeds of power because of the attitude of his home congregation! Astonishing!

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This is the setting for Jesus’ first commission of the twelve. Hit the streets. Tour the countryside. Take a friend, and nothing else, and spread the word. They went out and reported great success. They heal, and cast out demons, but more importantly, they proclaim “that all should repent.”

Repentance is a nice, churchy word. It makes us think of bad decisions and poor behaviour. It triggers our guilty conscience and points us towards forgiveness (as it should.) But we are selling short a very useful Greek word – metanoia – that means ‘to reconsider’ – to think again.

We may have only experienced ‘repentance’ in relation to how horrible we are. The call to repent is aimed at a long and varied list of ‘sins’, but it is also a call to reconsider our actions, our attitudes, and our approach to life. Metanoia invites a turning around or a turning toward.

The word implies that we open our minds to other possibilities and different ideas. Better ideas. And in the context of this story of Jesus’ ‘rejection’ – by those who thought they knew him best – metanoia invites us to think again about what God is doing in our midst, about who Jesus is (to us) and what Jesus represents.

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So many are so sure that God will do thus and such because they have accepted a broad (and incomplete) understanding of who God is and what God does. God is mighty and mysterious (check) – hovering above; all knowing, all seeing, all powerful. Step out of line – even a little bit – and God takes note. God is often described as some sort of celestial law enforcer, with a quick temper, one from whom there is no hiding. And while this may seem true, we also know (or you certainly should know) that God is so much more than the heavy handed, easily disappointed, ruler and creator of all things.

Too many folks (in my experience) carry a stilted, unflattering image of God through life – most often expressed to me as reluctance to come to church because ‘the roof may fall in’ or ‘I might burst into flame.’

Some have been convinced that the God of all grace – the prince of peace – the Word that brought light from darkness and order to chaos – is waiting for a chance to strike them down in a spectacular way because of who they are or what they have done.

To preach ‘repentance’ to those folks is to invite them to consider their opinions of God (and of themselves). Metanoia – repentance – asks for an open mind about the things you think you know. It is possible that the stories you’ve been told about God – the things you are so sure of – are not entirely true.

Jesus sends his disciples into a world with firm notions about God, the relationship between good and evil – and the general state of misery found in the world. And these tandem evangelists invite repentance – Metanoia.  Think about what you think you know. Reconsider your position. Consider the example of Jesus – whose very existence suggests that God is not as bad as we may have been told. God really does care. God really is involved. Look here and notice this. Accept fresh evidence, and let your mind be changed. This too is repentance. This truly is the deepest sense of metanoia.

What it means for us remains to be known. We are lodged firm in our traditions; steeped in congregational and denominational history: some good, some bad. We have faith that we think might move mountains. Even so, Jesus invites us to think again – to open ourselves, over and over again to the revelation that is on offer.

God with us. Christ is risen and ascended. Extraordinary signs of extraordinary grace fly in the face of our firm convictions and our preconceptions.

God is still God, and Jesus is still risen, but the old, tired assumptions are always giving way to our urgent and current experiences. God is actively and enthusiastically engaged with this mixed-up, modern world. Jesus walks the streets and calls our assumptions about his living, dying and rising into question. We can be offended by him – sure that we know best what his purpose in our life might be – or we can dare to think again. To let the living and life-giving spirit of gentleness change our minds, our lives, and our world.