In the name of God- Father, Son,
and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Well
today is a busy day- we have two young children to welcome and initiate into
the household of God through the Sacrament of Baptism, and during the
announcements we’ll be recognizing Mike Taylor for his exceptional and
dedicated ministry at St. Francis as our facilities manager as he departs to
work for Habitat for Humanity in Wilmington.
The
lectionary this morning presents us with two very similar stories about widows
who lose their only sons and God’s power to redeem those broken situations. Both
women found themselves in very desperate situations. The widow of Zarephath,
from 1 Kings, is living in a time of extreme drought and famine. There is
little food for anyone, and so the charity that a widow would depend on has
dried up as well. And in that culture, a widow was in very dire straits, as
without a husband or son, she would be unable to negotiate deals, earn a
living, or have many civil rights. And so when her only son dies, she is losing
much more than her beloved child, which would be a painful enough loss, but she
is losing her lifeline to many social structures.
And
the widow of Nain, in Luke, is likewise in a tough situation being a widow losing
her only son. She too was not only mourning the loss of her only son, but had
lost her male protector and provider. And though it sounds rather sexist and misogynistic
to our modern ears, it is the simple fact of that culture- without a man to
provide for them, these widows were thrown down several steps on the social
ladder.
And
so as the text provides these two stories of funeral processions, we can ask
ourselves the same questions that they asked. Where is God? Does God even care
about me? Is God around? Why am I being made to suffer? Where is God’s justice?
No matter how strong our faith, there are those times when it is only natural
to wonder how it is that such a loving and powerful God seems to standby while
so much evil and sadness happens. These widows were likely pondering similar
questions in their tears.
Often
we think of Elijah and Jesus as very holy men, mouthpieces for God, or in the
case of Jesus, God incarnate. But Elijah and Jesus must have decided to skip
class the day that pastoral care came up, as they both would receive an “F” for
their intrusions in the lives of these widows. First, Elijah comes to a widow
in a land of famine and asks for food. Rather rude isn’t it? Imagine going up
to the homeless person and asking them for dinner. But he does it anyway. She
protests that only has a few morsels left for her and her son, and if they don’t
have that, they will die of starvation. But Elijah insists, just do the best
you can.
I
wonder what was going through this widow’s mind. She probably wanted to throw
him out for being such a demanding guest, not to mention for being the prophet
of the God who was causing the famine. But she responded instead with
hospitality and trust. We are reminded of the disciple on the shores of the Sea
of Galilee that asked, “how will feed all of these people with only five loaves
and two fish?” And we recall that in our generosity, in our ability to loosen
our grip on our possessions and fears of scarcity, that God’s abundance is made
more visible. In her generosity, she opens herself to the miracle of there being
food enough. So let us remember, there is always enough to be generous.
Jesus,
likewise, intrudes rather poorly into the funeral procession. Imagine the
scene. A solemn procession heading towards the cemetery, people crying, and a complete
stranger approaches the mother of the dead son and says “stop crying.” That’s
certainly not what they teach in seminary. And this woman, instead of slapping
Jesus, or asking a relative to remove this rude intruder, watches as he approaches
the bier and touches the casket. Perhaps she wanted a reason to stop crying and
wanted to see what this holy man might do.
Isn’t
that the way that God often enters the picture? How often does God come to ask
us to take on one more task, to write one more check, to shed one more tear
when we’ve already done all we thought possible. God’s intrusions into our
lives are not always welcome, sometimes they seem rather crazy. Now to be sure,
the widow doesn’t know what Jesus will do. She doesn’t know that her son will
be brought back to life, at this point in the gospel, Jesus hasn’t done
anything on that level yet. But like the widow at Zarephath, the widow at Nain
was open to receiving what God was offering. I’ve shared it before, and I’ll
share it again, as St. Augustine said- “without God, we cannot; without us, God
will not.” We can either be open to what God might be doing in our world and
lives, or we can stay closed off from these holy intrusions.
And
in being open, both of these widows find hope. Elijah asks God to send life
back into the son, and Jesus tells the dead son to “rise.” And in both
instances, the miracle of God’s redemption is seen. In Luke, the author is
trying to portray Jesus as the new Elijah, so this link shouldn’t be
overlooked. In the Greek text of both readings, the exact same phrase is found,
“he gave her back to his mother.” In both instances, the hopeless widow is
recast as the joyful mother.
What
is fascinating is that these stories differ from other miracle stories in the gospels.
These healings are not based on the faith of the people involved. The widow at
Zarephath isn’t even Jewish, she doesn’t follow the God for whom Elijah is a
prophet. She certainly didn’t expect the God of Israel to do anything for her.
She lived in the land of the Baals, another deity in the region. And the widow
at Nain didn’t ask Jesus for a miracle as the Roman centurion did in the
reading last week. She wasn’t seeking Jesus out, she wasn’t expecting a miracle
from Jesus, she wasn’t even expecting a card in the mail from him. These
stories demonstrate, not the faithfulness of the widows, but the faithfulness
of God.
These
two women were open to God, they responded to the intrusions not with anger or
hostility, but with hospitality and grace. And they became witnesses to God’s
faithfulness. We often focus on our own faith. How we pray, how we give, how we
share, how we read the Bible. And those are important things. But how often do
we consider God’s faithfulness?
When
we find ourselves in tough situations, it’s very easy to go inward and look for
solutions to our problems. We live in a culture that makes pulling ourselves up
by our bootstraps a virtue. Our political commentary casts people in poverty as
moochers that take government handouts, because somehow they can’t overcome the
systems of oppression designed to keep the rich rich and the poor poor. When
our President reminds us that we didn’t build the schools and the roads that
lead to our individual success, we call him a socialist instead of acknowledging
the truth that “no person is an island.” Our culture today would likely condemn
both of these widows with terms such as “illegal,” “dependent on government
welfare,” or “hopeless.” We take pride in our own success instead of God’s faithfulness.
David
Brooks recently wrote a great op-ed piece in the New York Times about individualism
and amorality. He notes that Google has recently made available a database of
words used in books published between 1500 and 2008. It’s just a list of how
many times a word is used. And he notes that in the last 48 years, words such
as “personalized,” “self,” “unique,” and “I can do it myself,” have risen is
usage, while words such as “community,” “share,” “united,” and “common good,”
have decreased. Over the same time period, words of humility have dropped by 52%,
words of compassion have dropped 56%, words of virtue such as “bravery” or “fortitude”
dropped by 74%, and words of gratitude and appreciation have dropped by 49%.
And he concludes that these gradual shifts in language reflect tectonic shifts
in culture. We write less about communal bonds, obligations, and reliance on
others because they’re less central to our lives.
What
Brooks is saying is similar to what these widows are witnessing the
faithfulness of God. These women receive grace, not through belief, not through
their faith, not because they deserved it, or earned it, or even asked for it,
but instead because they were open enough to receive God’s faithfulness.
Consider
today’s Psalm- Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning / You have
turned my wailing into dancing; you have put off my sack-cloth and clothed me
with joy.
As
these widows and the Psalmist show us, though we will experience pain, God’s
faithfulness will also show us joy. But how you might ask? I’ve never had any of my dead loved ones come
back to life. It was rather easy for these widows to rejoice, their dead sons
came back to life. But as far as miracles go, resuscitating a dead person back
to life is just a cheap parlor trick. Now I’m sure many of us would like this
to happen in our lives, but if we’re talking about the Creator of the universe,
it’s not really all that spectacular.
But
what is worthy of our wonder and awe is God’s ability to raise those who merely
live and breathe to living a true life. Simon Weil wrote “the extreme greatness
of Christianity lies in the fact that it does not seek a supernatural cure for
suffering, but a supernatural use of it.” What is amazing about these stories
is not so much that these dead sons came back to life, but it is the
transformation of their situation. Those sons both died again at some point, it
wasn’t a lasting miracle. What was so powerful about these acts is the way
these events changed the people that witnessed the miracles, the way it changed
tears of sadness into tears of joy, the way it reminds us that God’s grace
comes not because we deserve it, but because God is faithful.
Theologian
Karl Barth said “where [humans] fail, God’s faithfulness triumphs.” We need not
obsess over all of our problems, we don’t need to see failing as the worst
possible outcome. Because it is in our failings, in our deepest needs that God’s
faithfulness will be there. Some pains, such as the loss of a child, will never
go away; some scars will never fully heal, but just as those wounds remain, God’s
faithfulness remains with us. Grace and healing come not through our individual
accomplishments, but through God’s faithfulness.
And
isn’t this what Baptism is about? God being faithful to us, who can’t earn God’s
grace. It’s why babies are the perfect sort of people to baptize, people that
are completely dependent on others, who receive God’s grace instead of earning
it through a confession or class. And we’re setting them on the path to live a
life full of moments of God’s faithfulness. And we thank Mike Taylor for his
witness to God’s faithfulness through his humility, his care, and his
dedication to St. Francis.
These
widows remind us that sometimes when God enters the picture, it can be a rather
rude and unwelcome intrusion. But if we can respond with hospitality and
openness, we can be witnesses to God’s faithfulness, which will be the true
miracle- the miracle of living a life that truly matters, the miracle of a legacy
that will endure long after we are gone, the miracle of having God transform
our sackcloth into joy. As the refrain of the great hymn proclaims- Great is
thy faithfulness, great is thy faithfulness / Morning by morning new mercies I
see / All I have need of thy hand hath provided / Great is thy faithfulness,
Lord unto me.
