Jesus returned, 
walking dusty roads
back home, if He had a home.
back to familiar faces,
back to the places 
where stories started 
with laughter heard 
and lessons learned,
where the synagogue’s walls
held prayers heard 
during His childhood, 
His teens,
His twenties.

now, at thirty-years-old
a beginning begins, the new arrives.
Jesus had been baptized,
the water a reminder of the story,
of His story, of our stories.
He left the moist memory 
and traveled into the wilderness.
like life, from water and wind,
from Father and Spirit,
from a statement of pleasure,
into the wild, the temptations, the battle. 
a wilderness can be lonely,
but, even there, especially there, 
the Spirit remains,
and the Word stays. 

Jesus left the war and returned home.
toward a new battle, a long battle, 
He returned,
filled with power,
filled with purpose,
filled with fulfillment.

the news spread like wind.
rumors started, were heard,
as uncertainty felt certain.
“Jesus is back.
the Carpenter’s Son,
the Quiet Boy turned teacher.
have you heard His words?
have you seen His works?”

there He stood.
there, in a place He had been,
in a place He had known and heard. 
in the synagogue,
in His hometown.
nazareth, with its narrow streets,
now so small for the weight
He carried within Him.

He was handed the scroll.
He responded by reading from
the prophet isaiah,
familiar words, ancient promises,
statements Jesus had heard,
had read, had known,
for so long.
but that moment was different.
that time was a new time.
“the Spirit of the Lord is on Me,
because He has anointed Me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent Me to proclaim 

freedom for the prisoners,
recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

He read.
He rolled the scroll.
He sat down.

eyes locked on Him,
minds unsure what to think.
He broke the silence,
not with thunder,
not with judgment,
not with loud noise,
but with a statement of truth, of grace:
“today this scripture is fulfilled
in your hearing.”
with a statement which would
change the world.

the weight of His words lingered:
what was promised was present.
what was spoken was seen.
what was hoped for had come.

He returned, 

not defeated by the wilderness,
but empowered by the Spirit.
He taught with authority,
lived with purpose,
and offered, and offers, 
the same Spirit to us.

how can we return—not weary—but 
filled with the Spirit’s power?

the scroll held words written long ago,
but the Word stood among them.
the Word holding the words of the word.
good news wasn’t a theory;
it was a person.
freedom wasn’t a dream;
it was a touch.
healing wasn’t a hope;
it was His presence.

i think, about them, 
about Him,
about me, about us.
do we see Him as the fulfillment,
or do we still wait for something else?
are we still waiting?

His mission was clear:
good news for the poor,
freedom for the bound,
healing for the broken,
sight for the blind.
the mission wasn’t His alone;
it is ours.

how do we join Him in this mission—
to proclaim, to heal, to restore?

He returned that day,
not as they expected,
not as they imagined.

and still, He returns.
not at the end of the world,
but at the beginning of something new:
in every heart He redeems,
in every life He transforms.

His return wasn’t just for a hometown.
it wasn’t just for them there.
it was for the poor,
the blind,
the broken,
the prisoner.
it was for us.

and now, through us,
He returns again and again.
when we walk the dusty roads of service,
when we speak the good news of hope,
when we live the love of Jesus.

our focus should not only be
on the Jesus who will return someday
in glory and triumph.
but on the Jesus who returned
to galilee,
to ministry,
to fulfillment,
and who now returns
through us,
for others.

because the Spirit of the Lord
is still on Him.
and now,
the Spirit of the Lord
is on us.