There is nothing quite as satisfying as knowing you are right, and they are wrong. And best of all if they admit that they know that they are wrong. And that we are right--always were, always will be. And here, this morning, it seems, even a Gospel passage makes the same point. So good to be right--so glad we are. Jesus is in the Synagogue, and he is speaking to the Chosen People. Now you may think you are the chosen people, you may think being high-church Episcopalian is as good as it gets. There is some merit in that argument. But if you really want to be in, really want to be self-assured, really want to be confident, well, then, being an Episcopalian in modern-day America is farm league compared to being a Jew in First Century Palestine. They were the Chosen People, bar none. I can't help but imagine there were some thoughtful Jews in Capernaum who were a lot more modest, who wondered if they were all that Chosen, all that safely sublime. These quieter, more self-questioning Jews didn't get the attention that the more arrogant scribes and Pharisees and hypocrites managed to grab. This group that we see in this morning's synagogue is not introspective, or modest. They are chosen, and they know it, and they are glad. They are right, and the rest are wrong. And then Jesus suggests they think about that, examine that, consider the idea that God may in fact choose as he chooses to choose. And he may have chosen others as well. There may be other "Chosen People". Sidonians. Syrians. Most of us at our inclusive best, and especially when we are not threatened or disappointed, are tolerant of the idea that all sorts of people can be included in our life--in our economy, our communities, our religion, our understanding of God's care. But we may not be sure, and we suspect it is a risk to be too welcoming, there doubtless is a downside to all this welcoming that might need to be considered. Not, it seems, according to Jesus. For here is Jesus talking about Sidonians and Syrians being included. But wait, he is not talking about them being included "as well", fitfully and tentatively, and as long as we agree, he is not talking about them being included "as well" but "instead of". That Elijah was sent not simply to the Sidonian woman as well as all the widows in Israel, but rather, he was sent to the Sidonian woman alone of all the women in Israel--instead of. Jesus does not remind them that Elisha healed "even a Syrian" too. But a Syrian ... alone. Of all the lepers he could have healed--good, devout, deserving hard-working Israelites--it was the Syrian who was healed. The synagogue was not happy. They rose up and put him out of the city and led him to the brow of the hill on which their city was built, that they might throw him down headlong. It is still fairly incendiary stuff, even today, even for us. Now, thankfully, there are always some who do not get unduly threatened by differences between humans and cultures and communities, now and even back then, in that little village. I am convinced, perhaps naively, but nevertheless unshakably, convinced that not all the Jews rushed him headlong to the brow of the hill, hurrying Jesus toward intended destruction. Some stayed behind, I am convinced of it, some remained in the synagogue, some walked thoughtfully home, wondering to themselves and amongst their friends, something maybe along these lines: "What can he have meant? What does this mean for our lives and our faith and our love for God? The young rabbi is right, I mean he's got his facts right. We know our Scripture well enough to know he spoke the truth. Elijah did go only to the Sidonian and Elisha did heal only the Syrian, not the Israelites in either case. He was right in what he said, is he then also right in his implication? Are we to draw some insight from this, are we to change our behavior or expand our thinking because of this challenge?" The others, surely a larger number, thought throwing him over the brow of the hill would silence any questions. And that would be the end of it and of him. History has proved them ... wrong. We have bishops in our church, and in others who are increasingly calling for more co-operation among all faiths and spiritual traditions, and for greater respect for their great truths, as well as our own. And, by and large, they are being criticized for it, widely criticized, and by some modern-day Caperneans they are ridiculed, for suggesting that God, our God, the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ might speak to Buddhists and Hindus as well as Christians. That is tame stuff by Gospel standards. Imagine a bishop who would suggest God might speak to them instead of Christians. Imagine a rabbi who suggested that the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob would comfort a Sidonian and heal a Syrian instead of Israelites. Of course we don't need to imagine, we have seen, and we have seen the reaction. I suggest we commit to being the thoughtful Jews of Capernaum, always listening to others with respect and tolerance and the expectation of finding some holy truth in the devout faith of others, regardless of their church affiliation or their religion, or what they call God, or how they address him. And what can it mean to us, to our faith, to our lives, and our devotion? How can we respond beautifully and gently and truthfully and faithfully and bravely to the provocative message that others, completely unlike us, also have a share of truth and a full and equal claim on God's love? I don't know. I do know we will want to stay well away from the brow of the hill. At times we are not sure what is right, but we can always be sure what is wrong --the smug attitude that Jesus condemned in that synagogue, an act that almost got him killed. Eventually, of course, it would. Not, surely, behavior that we his people should choose today.