Epiphany 1A (Acts 10:34-43)

​Have you ever been scapegoated, or scapegoated someone else? Scapegoating occurs when a community projects its problems onto a particular person or group, treating them as the embodiment—even the cause—of what's wrong. Think of it in family terms: the "black sheep," the one who somehow carries the family's dysfunction, shame, or unresolved conflict. That person becomes the explanation for everything that's broken.

Jesus was the ultimate scapegoat. His teaching challenged religious authorities. His table fellowship with outcasts violated social boundaries. His healings on the Sabbath defied sacred conventions. He wasn't the only teacher causing disruption, but he was the most vulnerable—a carpenter's son from Nazareth with no institutional power, no wealth, no political connections. An easy target for a community looking 
for someone to blame.

In today's reading from Acts, Peter recounts how the authorities "put him to death by hanging him on a tree." But notice the larger pattern: just days before his crucifixion, crowds shouted "Hosanna!" as Jesus entered Jerusalem. Within a week, those same voices demanded his execution. What changed? Not Jesus—he remained consistent in his identity and mission. What changed was the narrative. Once religious and political leaders successfully cast Jesus as the problem, the crowd's perception shifted. The scapegoating mechanism did its work, and the scapegoat was led to slaughter.

This pattern didn't die with Jesus. It lives in every narrative that requires an enemy, a villain, an "other" to make sense of our world. We see it in families, churches, politics—wherever communities avoid examining their own complicity by locating all evil outside themselves. These narratives shape not just how we see others, but who we become. Are we living in narratives of "us versus them"? Of perpetual victimhood? Of righteous exclusion?

Our faith names this pattern precisely because of what happened to Jesus. But Christianity doesn't stop at crucifixion—it doesn't simply validate scapegoating as inevitable. The resurrection is God's resounding "No" to this death-dealing mechanism. When God raised Jesus from the dead, God exposed and undermined the scapegoating structure itself. The one we killed as guilty stands vindicated. The system's verdict is overturned.

Peter proclaims in Acts that "everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name." This is resurrection logic: instead of needing scapegoats to manage our guilt and shame, we receive grace. Instead of projecting our brokenness onto others, we're invited into healing. Instead of narratives that require enemies, we're drawn into a story of reconciliation.

We're called to live as resurrection people—to recognize scapegoating when we see it, to refuse participation in it, and to practice the alternative narrative Christ embodied. This is the work of Epiphany: allowing Christ's light to expose the deadly patterns we've accepted as normal, and choosing instead the life-giving narrative of grace, mercy, and mutual flourishing.