He left that place and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, “Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. Then Jesus said to them, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief.
A hometown in Jesus’ time and place was a place occupied by relatives… by family. A hometown was a set of closely bound households and interdependent family enterprises. Like any small town everyone knew everyone else’s business.
They were contemptuous of Jesus because they wouldn’t grasp that God would work through one of their own. Rather than marvel at what Jesus could do they instead tried to cut down the “tall poppy”.
The saying “familiarity breeds contempt!” is pertinent here. The “Familiarity” especially because it talks about family. Those, who in some ways, know us best, and in others, know us least.
Family know us for who we were. How we were shaped and formed. Yet often they don’t know us at all for who we are becoming.