“Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing!" Wednesday of Epiphany 2 2026

21. January 2026
Wednesday of Epiphany 2
Luke 4:14-22a

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

People love a “theme verse.” A verse for a conference. A verse for a school year. A verse they carry like a banner into the next chapter of life. Sometimes it’s a confirmation verse. Sometimes it shows up again at a funeral, because it became the verse that held them up when everything else fell apart.

I’ll be honest: the whole theme-verse thing can feel a little forced. Like we’re trying to brand our year with a slogan. That’s not always me. 

But then Jesus walks into His hometown synagogue, and He does something that makes every “theme verse” look small. He receives the scroll of Isaiah, finds a particular passage, reads it aloud, sits down, and says, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

If you want an identity verse, if you want a mission statement, if you want a banner over Christ’s public ministry, that’s it. Not because Jesus needs a theme verse, but because He is the theme. The Scriptures are not a pile of religious quotes for self-improvement. The Scriptures are God’s promise coming due, paid out in the person of Jesus Christ.

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me… to proclaim good news to the poor… liberty to the captives… sight to the blind… to set at liberty those who are oppressed… to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

And then the staggering claim: This is about Me. This is happening in Me. This is fulfilled—today.

Scholars can argue all day about Isaiah 61. Is it the prophet speaking? Is it the Servant? Is it the Messiah? Is it the Servant who is the Messiah? Jesus doesn’t tiptoe around that debate. He ends it. He steps into the text and says, “It’s Me.” He is the Anointed One. He is the Spirit-filled Servant. He is the Messiah who brings the Lord’s favor, not as a theory, not as a metaphor, but as a real deliverance for real people.

And Luke says the people “spoke well of Him” and “marveled at the gracious words that were coming from His mouth.” They’re impressed. They’re moved. They’re drawn in—at least for a moment. But here’s where the text presses on you, not just on them: Do you marvel?

Because if you’re paying attention, you know there’s a problem. Jesus says the blind see, the oppressed are set free, captives are released, and good news is preached to the poor. Yet you look around, and what do you see?

People still blind—sometimes physically, often spiritually. People still oppressed—by tyrants, by cruelty, by addiction, by despair, by their own sin, by other people’s sin. Captives still chained—some by prisons of concrete and steel, others by prisons no one else can see: shame, bitterness, lust, greed, fear, the relentless replaying of old wounds. Even inside the Church, suffering is not absent. Trouble is not rare. Death is still doing its worst.

So what are we supposed to do with Jesus’ bold “Today”? If He fulfills Isaiah 61, why doesn’t it look finished? Why does it still feel unfinished? This is exactly where weak faith gets uncomfortable. Not because Jesus’ words are unclear, but because our eyes see a world that argues back.

And the unbelieving world loves this. It wants to say, “See? Nice religious talk. But if Jesus really brought liberty and healing, you wouldn’t still have tears, hospitals, funerals, and hypocrisy. Your ‘Messiah’ didn’t fix it.”

But you’re not an unbeliever. You’re baptized. You’ve been given faith. And faith does two things at the same time: it confesses Christ truly, and it admits honestly that we do not yet see everything put under His feet. Here’s the key: Jesus is not lying, and you are not crazy. Both are true: He has fulfilled the prophecy, and the final, public, visible completion of that fulfillment is still coming.

This is the Christian life in Epiphany light: Christ is revealed as the Messiah, the Spirit-anointed Savior, and yet His glory is still largely hidden under the cross, under weakness, under preaching, under water, under bread and wine, under suffering that looks like defeat.

So when your marveling is wears thin—when you hear Jesus say “fulfilled,” and your mind immediately answers, “Then why is it still like this?”—what then? Then you do what faith does. You stop putting Jesus on trial in the courtroom of your feelings, and you let His Word judge your eyes instead.

Because Jesus does not say, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your seeing.” He says, “fulfilled in your hearing.” That is not an accident. This is how the kingdom comes now: by the Word. By proclamation. By the Spirit working through what sounds unimpressive and ordinary.

So hear what Jesus is actually doing in Nazareth. He is not giving a vague promise of a better society someday. He is announcing the arrival of God’s salvation in Himself. And that salvation is delivered to you—personally—where Christ has promised to be for you: in His Word and Sacraments.

“You are the ones who have good news preached to you.” That’s not a mere slogan. That’s the point.

Good news to the poor: not first the poor in wealth, but the poor in spirit—the ones who have nothing to bargain with before God. The ones who know, deep down, that if salvation depends on their performance, they’re cooked. Jesus says: I am for you. I have come for you.

Liberty to captives: yes, the world still has prisons. But there is a deeper captivity than bars: slavery to sin and the fear of death. And Jesus actually breaks that captivity—not by trite sentiments, but by His cross. The Messiah becomes the Servant. The Anointed One becomes the condemned One. He lets the chains close on Him so they can be opened for you.

Recovery of sight to the blind: you may know what it is to be blind in a different way—blind to your own sin when you want to justify yourself, blind to God’s mercy when guilt screams louder than grace, blind to hope when the future feels like a wall. Jesus opens eyes by speaking forgiveness into the dark. The light is not first in your circumstances; it’s in His verdict: “Your sins are forgiven.”

To set at liberty the oppressed: some oppression is obvious, some is hidden. Oppression by other people’s cruelty is real. But oppression by the Accuser is also real—Satan crushing you with, “You again. You failed again. God’s done with you.” Jesus answers that oppression with His blood. The devil does not get the last word. Christ does.

And “the year of the Lord’s favor”: that’s jubilee language. Debt release. Slaves freed. Inheritance restored. Not because the slaves proved worthy, but because God declared release. That is exactly what Christ announces and accomplishes. And He does it for people whose marveling is not perfect, whose faith is not strong, whose hearts are often mixed with doubt, irritation, and fatigue.

This is where the Gospel gets pointed and specific: Jesus fulfills Isaiah 61 not in general, but for you. He forgives you for the times you don’t marvel. For the times your faith is weak. For the times you look at the Church and see mess instead of mercy. For the times your frustration with others bubbles over. For the times you quietly wonder whether Christ is really reigning.

And He doesn’t do it by crushing you into pretending. He does it by being exactly the kind of Messiah you actually need: the One who does not break the bruised reed, and does not snuff out the smoldering wick. He does not come to finish you off. He comes to carry you.

So yes—there is a “not yet.” Your body still breaks. Your heart still aches. Your house still gets sick. Your relationships still strain. The grave still waits. And Christ will come again to finish what you cannot see finished yet: the dead raised, the blind seeing, the oppressed fully freed, the captives fully released, the whole creation set loose from corruption.

But do not miss the “today.” Today, Christ is revealed as the Messiah for sinners. Today, He speaks. Today, He gives His Spirit through the Gospel. Today, He puts His favor on you. Today, in your hearing, He is doing what He promised: forgiving, freeing, opening eyes, lifting the poor, strengthening the weak, sustaining the bruised.

So: marvel—yes. But more than marvel: rejoice and believe. Not because your marveling makes Him the Messiah, but because He is the Messiah, whether your feelings agree or not. He is the fulfillment of the Scripture. He is the Lord’s favor in flesh and blood. And He is for you.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin