Matt. 13: “Isn’t this the carpenter’s son? Isn’t his mother’s name Mary, and aren’t his brothers James, Joseph, Simon and Judas?”
This is the time of year that family reunions are wrapping up. Family barbecues and the like are wrapping up, and people are slowly drudging to prepare for the winter. Soon, summer breezes and picnics will be a thing of the past and everyone will go back to life as normal. However, we revel in the memories of those family members learned and connected with. In the process of flipping burgers and hitting volleyballs over nets, everyone meets that one nephew. He is the one with the socks on with sandals, who barbecues really well, but he is nosy and also has to know every single detail of every single person. Loudly, with the tongs in one hand and a finger pointed in the air, he asks, “Who are your people?”
You see, no matter where you are and what you accomplish, people are always wanting to know where you came from. It makes sense in one space; it is a vital tool of learning how you became who you have become. It is a means of piecing together the puzzle of how you are to understanding why you are. The problem comes when asking who you are or where you come from incarcerates you in the minds of other people.
Jesus had that same issue. In the beginning of his ministry phase, Jesus explodes on the scene as a powerful revolutionary who speaks loudly about the wrongs of his people, confidently expresses his love for God, and has miracles that follow him. He is in high demand, and he is in the public spotlight. Then, he decides to go home. Nazareth, the small city in Bethlehem where he grew up now has the “star” in their eyesight. One would expect a parade, or at best, a party celebrating their hometown hero. But Jesus was met with chagrin and judgment of his humble beginnings. There were so many that needed his gift-so many that needed what was seen all over the region. But instead of honoring him, they mocked him. “Isn’t that the boy who was born out-of-wedlock? What is his father’s name? Man that wasn’t even his real father.”
Honor is the doorway to miracles. When we bind people by what we think they used to be, or worse, by what lineage they come from, we hinder the flow of the love and power of God. The miraculous operates in honorable environments. The Bible says that he could not perform miracles that day. It was no coincidence. It was not a conducive atmosphere for the miraculous. The next time that you think you know someone based on their pedigree, ask yourself, “is this person the stockholder of my miracle? Am I hindering myself by attempting to hinder them?” You never know who God will raise up to help you. If you want to truly honor God, begin by honoring His most prized possession: his people. The miracle is in the honor.
Cleo Dailey, III is a minister, freelance writer, and author who has written for several city and nation-wide publications. He is currently releasing his newest memoirs this summer while studying to obtain a degree in both English and Clinical Psychology in Peoria, IL.