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The villagers of Nazareth knew Jesus, and they thought him to be nothing special.

The memory still fills me with shame. I was a junior in high school, and had joined the small group of guys that I usually ate lunch with in the cafeteria. Over the past few weeks we’d been increasingly drawn together by our shared Christian faith (a discovery made when I lent one of them a book in which I had a communion registration card from my church: he wanted to know if I truly believed the “real presence” language on the card). On this particular day, the same fellow invited me to join him in praying a blessing over the meal.

Going into the temple of the Lord would never be taken lightly. Still, Isaiah could not have imagined what was about to happen.

Most worshipers take the psalms for granted, treating them like background music that establishes a mood but has little grip on the imagination. Yes, the 23rd Psalm is brought in for comfort at funerals, and folks would miss the “green pastures” and “still waters” were they not invoked. But mostly psalms provide responsive readings no one really attends to, or offer a transition between more important scriptures.