Cuba Community Thanksgiving Service
Pastor Amy Wharton
Joel 2:21–27
“The Joy of Dirt”
As a child, I spent most of my summers barefoot traipsing through the sandy dirt of northwest Oklahoma, walking through the black/purple mulberries and making mud pies on the make believe oven of my make believe kitchen getting dirtier than I can even remember. My feet were purple for months and full of thorns from the sandburrs of that part of the country. But I loved it, not caring about shoes for months at a time, only struggling into the most uncomfortable pair of white patent mary-janes for Sunday school and Church.
When I was in college, spending so much time inside with concrete floors and walls surrounding me in the residence halls and in classrooms, I yearned to walk barefoot in the dirt—to feel the earth under my feet and to get my hands dirty digging in a garden. My desire was that of a young girl, to walk through the hot sand of that driveway in northwest Oklahoma. I needed that connection to the earth, to a purpose and meaning as I continued to grow into the life that I was leading.
Those were the images that began flashing through my heart and mind as I read this scripture in the words of the prophet Joel.
21Do not fear, O soil;
be glad and rejoice,
for the Lord has done great things!
22Do not fear, you animals of the field,
for the pastures of the wilderness are green;
the tree bears its fruit,
the fig tree and vine give their full yield.
I remembered the happiness and satisfaction I experienced during summers with nothing concrete to accomplish and no responsibility, except the ultimate responsibility of childhood—to play and create with my mind and no one around to discourage my seemingly random actions. Along with memories of entertaining myself creating and playing in a make-believe world of my own, comes visions of hours spent trying to wheedle more concrete playthings from my mother or less creative hours spent in front of the television. Though they seemed care-free, the meaning and satisfaction I remember came from doing exactly what a child is called to do as a child—learn by playing, learn by imitating and learn by experiencing the world around me.
The freedom from the bondage of externally created fun that my mother encouraged as she pushed me out into the warm sunshine are the first and fondest images I have. I was encouraged in those fond times to enjoy the freedom of those days and weeks, to use them as the gifts that they were, to grow my mind and exercise my body, doing all of the things that play does for a child and all that play can do for the adult heart, mind and body as well.
The scripture from Joel describes the land of Israel as God’s people were freed from the time of drought and the plague of locust and brought back to a time of abundance in the land of God’s promise to Abraham and Sarah and their descendents. They were returned to rediscover the meaning of their lives as the inhabitants of that Promised Land. To praise their God as they worked the soil, tended the gardens, enjoyed the fruits of their labor. The people themselves, certainly are to be blessed—those who return and those who remained. The blessing extends into the abundant pouring of rain, which may be a hard to handle blessing at times in our lives—and onto the floors of the threshers, covered in grain and the overflowing vats of wine and oil.
But the beginning of the passage is about the joy of the soil itself—and the expression of that joy in the generous and overflowing abundance food available to the animals as the trees bear fruit, as the figs and the grapes and the olives are weighed down with enough and more to share. It calls to mind when Jesus speaks of the rocks and stone
The sure sign of God’s abundance is that it is more than could ever be needed—more than could be prudently given. Yet God’s action is always more than we think it could be and more than we could ever imagine.
This abundance follows days, weeks and months—even years of devastation in which the people suffer greatly. The devastation is described by the prophet as the land’s response to the people sin—the devastation of locusts, gnawing on the crops like hungry lion, destroying vines, stripping fig trees. Lamentation rises as people mourn for those lost to hunger, thirst and heat.
The prophet wrote in the time after exile when the people of Israel hoped to enjoy abundance—this vision from the second chapter. Yet the people have experienced devastation, destruction that comes with drought and infestations of locusts.
The promise of God given to Joel is that the devastation and the need are not signs of the day of the Lord. The destruction of the infestations of locusts is not the sign of God. The fires that often come with drought after abundance were not the action of God. The starvation was not God’s will; the hungry people and the thirsty land were not what God wanted.
This—this rejoicing of the soil—this gladness of the dirt—this hope of the animals for the return of fruits to the trees and abundance to the fields from which they could eat. And the full stomachs of the people of God—this would be the sign that it was God’s day.
26You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied,
and praise the name of the Lord your God,
who has dealt wondrously with you.
And my people shall never again be put to shame.
27You shall know that I am in the midst of Israel,
and that I, the Lord, am your God and there is no other.
And my people shall never again
be put to shame.
So, I wonder, isn’t it a sign of God’s blessing and presence in our action when we take action to feed the hungry and house the homeless? Whenever we raise our voices with the purpose of providing for the needy, do we not invoke the action of God? When we ask for justice on behalf of anyone who is oppressed by any government, including ours, are we not speaking the word of God to the places of power?
The word in Joel also reminds us that the praise of God and the abundance of God are integrally linked. The abundance of God’s action within us and toward us elicits praise from us because we are taught to realize that abundance and mercy are the signs of God’s presence. When God is involved—as God’s purposes, plans, missions or intentions are pursued, the day of the Lord glimmers within us and around us. Generosity reveals God. Joy reveals God. Satisfaction with our blessings reveals God. Praise acknowledging God’s presence and work reveals God.
Those days when I was separated from the soil and I craved that contact were also days when I was craving the direction I needed in my life. I didn’t need to know Jesus Christ as my savior so much as I needed purpose and mission. I wanted my life to have meaning so that I could lift my voice in praise, knowing that God had directed my life in some concrete way. And I’ve found that in those times, I make choices that direct my life and my purpose for a time. And none of those choices has meant that my pockets run with gold or my bank account overflows—none has guaranteed that I won’t have times when I don’t have enough money, but when I have that direction, praise comes more easily. In my life, it isn’t wealth that has given my reason to rejoice, but when I can fulfill a purpose serving God.
When we can walk through the hot and sandy soil or the wet muddy soil or past the overflowing fields or barns full of an abundant harvest or into the places of scarce resources where God needs us to share the good news of God’s generous blessings, then we, too, can celebrate, praising God and lifting up our voices along with the dirt—rejoice and be glad!
Amen.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Sermon November 22 2009 morning worship
Cuba Christian Church
2 Samuel 23:1-7
Psalm 132:1-12, (13-18)
Revelation 1:4b-8
John 18:33-37
“A Wise Reign”
Once upon a time there was a kingdom where there lived a princess trapped in a tall tower . . .
Once upon a time there was a kingdom where the king and queen were very sad because they had no children. One day, to the joy of all, the queen announced she would have a baby. . . .
Once upon a time there was a kingdom . . .
Whenever I hear about a kingdom, I get images in my head of fairy tales, nursery rhymes, or children’s stories, often produced by Disney. There are even a few hymns that contribute to that kind of image of kingdom.
“O worship the King All glorious above;
O gratefully sing His power and his love:
Our Shield and Defender, the Ancient of days,
Pavilioned in splendor and girded with praise.
O tell of his might, O sing of his grace,
Whose robe is the light, whose canopy space.
His chariots of wrath the deep thunder-clouds form,
And dark is his path on the wings of the storm.”
In that hymn I see the pavilions or colorful tents with colorful fabrics and a standard or flag flying with the symbols and colors of knights. I imagine war stallions thundering or horses pulling a chariot to war—and visions of the shining armor of a warrior king going to battle.
Often and in familiar traditions, the sovereignty of Jesus has been depicted that way—that kind of warlike imagery for the kingdom of God, ushered in through the life of Jesus justified the crusades that led thousands, if not millions of Christians to fight battle after battle for Jerusalem and other cities in what had been Israel.
And in the scripture today, despite Pilate’s denial of his interest in whether or not Jesus claims a kingdom for himself, there are political concerns in Pilate’s question. “Are you the king of the Jews?” In Pilate’s and in the Roman Empire there was one king of Israel—and of the whole empire of Rome—Caesar. Jesus’ presence before Pilate can only be understood if there were some criminal charge against Rome and sedition and criminal rebellion against Caesar were the only possibilities. But Jesus answered Pilate’s question this way, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”[1] Jesus was not interested in defeating the political regimes or the kingdoms and nations that were in power—yet he was concerned about the existence of justice and righteousness because he loved those that Rome ruled, in Jerusalem, in the Roman province of Judea and throughout the world.
The rule of Jesus was not demonstrated by an overwhelming and violent show of force in the face of opposition to his authority and power—the wise reign of Jesus began when he quietly rose from the tomb where his death by crucifixion had put him. The wise reign of Jesus was not described by his death on a cross that normally signaled shame—his reign was described by his daily actions as he taught people. He taught that the kingdom was like a mustard seed—or a pearl of great price—or a woman who lost a coin—or a woman who took four measures of flour and made bread—or any number of parables. Jesus taught about the kingdom when he saved the life of a servant in a Roman centurion’s home and when he healed the mother-in-law of Peter. He revealed the household and neighborhood of God’s dwelling place when his power flowed into a woman who had been hemorrhaging for 12 years and into a 12 year old girl who had just died. He showed the intention of God’s indwelling presence when he accepted the anointing of an unnamed woman as he approached his death. He revealed God when he forgave all who participated in his death—the ones who betrayed, the ones who denied, the ones who accused, the ones who convicted and the ones who throughout history would misunderstand and believe that God’s wrath was satisfied by his blood.
The indwelling Wisdom with which Jesus reveals himself is reason John described Jesus as the Word of God incarnate. Wisdom and Word are very similar, yet wisdom in Greek is a feminine noun and Word is a masculine. These have nothing to do with human gender, but it is more grammatically comfortable to describe a male with a masculine noun than with a feminine one. The Wisdom of God, Word of God, which was in Jesus’ physically, mentally and emotionally—in all he did and said, is consistent with how it is that Wisdom spoke and taught within First Testament scriptures. Wisdom was a sought after asset in governors, kings and in anyone who wanted to live according to God’s guidance.
In the book of Proverbs, where we hear the most about Wisdom, her actions are clearly those that faithful people would respect and favor.
20Wisdom cries out in the street;
in the squares she raises her voice.
22‘How long, O simple ones, will you love being simple?
How long will scoffers delight in their scoffing
and fools hate knowledge?
23Give heed to my reproof;
I will pour out my thoughts to you;
I will make my words known to you.[2]
4‘To you, O people, I call,
and my cry is to all that live.
5O simple ones, learn prudence;
acquire intelligence, you who lack it.
6Hear, for I will speak noble things,
and from my lips will come what is right;[3]
The Wise reign of Jesus as it is described within the witness of the entire scriptural standard reveals that it is internal to the persons and communities where Jesus is called upon to be the authority—where the tenets of God, which have been revealed from the beginning, are held firmly as the standards for the lives of those who wish to be faithful.
One author writes of Wisdom as the guide and rule by which the household of God exists and in which the presence of God is revealed in Jesus.
[Wisdom’s] is the power of person-making among those diminished
by pain who do not know their own dignity;
[Wisdom’s] the grace of conversion to turn from dead-end ways
to walk the path of newness of life;
[Wisdom’s] the light
of conscience;
[Wisdom’s] the power to shake up assured certainties
and introduce the grace of a new question;
[Wisdom’s] the strength to foment discomfort
among the unduly comfortable;
[Wisdom’s] the oil of comfort (cum + fortis, “making strong”)
known in experiences that heal refresh and invigorate;
[Wisdom’s] the vigor that energizes the fire
of active, outgoing love.
The creative power that knits us into life continuously
and mends the torn fabric of our lives,
forming in the process fine new and possibly surprising patterns.[4]
In the beginning of the gospel of John, Jesus is named Word or Logos (Greek for Word), he could have easily been named Wisdom or Sophia (Greek for Wisdom). This reveals continuity within God’s intention for the internal knowledge that our home, the realm of our belonging, the kingdom of God, can be lived out by following the wisdom that Jesus revealed in his lifetime and beyond as he lives among us and within us through the power of resurrection.
Jesus’ testimony of truth to Pilate reveals that the way his lived his life from beginning to end was a revelation of all that God wanted him to be—not a violent man who fought back when he was threatened, but a man who stood his ground against power that destroys instead of heals and makes whole. When he showed anger it was not against those who threatened him, but against those who took advantage of others—who were unjust and greedy or who made faithful living seem impossible to anyone other than the rich or privileged.
Jesus gave people dignity when others would take it. (Think of the woman at the well who had gone through 5 husbands, when have you been in need of dignity?)
Jesus gave people the grace of new life. (Think of the lepers who came to him to be made whole, how has God shown you a new way of living?)
Jesus taught people that they could live by the conscience they were given. (Think how he told Nicodemus that he was very close to the kingdom, where have you experienced the way that God would have you live?)
Jesus gave people an opportunity to be shaken by his teaching. (Think how his own hometown rejected him as a revealer of God’s truth, when have you had to follow God’s way instead of parents’, friends’ or others’ ways?)
Jesus made the powerful uncomfortable in their power. (Think of Pilate, Herod and some leaders within the Jewish faith, how has your privilege or the privilege of others been challenged by the knowledge of Jesus’ words and deed?)
Jesus gave comfort—made strong—those who needed new life. (Think of Lazarus and a 12 year old little girl, also a woman whose son had died and those who were freed from mental torment.)
Jesus breathed life into dead people and situations with love. (Think of the disciples who were given purpose and direction like never before, how has Jesus’ example and action revealed a purpose and direction for you?)
Jesus taught God’s never-changing desire for justice, mercy, equitability and hope in ways that seemed utterly new. (Think how you and others have been changed by the knowledge and awareness that the stories of Jesus have brought you.)
I have come to understand God in particular ways over the years—ways that have shown me that sometimes I need all that God has offered me in the life of Jesus—in the ways of wisdom—to move into life each day. And it takes all of God’s wisdom for the guidance I need as I step into the way that God would have me go.
In my life this realization of the Wisdom of God in the life of Jesus has been a powerful force—the knowledge that God has given intellect as a gift, that we don’t have to ignore the mind. It has given me the awareness that whatever I learn can be helpful in my ministry as long as I am careful not to use it for my own gain. I have learned that the opportunities to learn new things and meet people and help in ways I hadn’t realized were possible were invitations from God that I could accept or not. I have learned that God works in me when I make the best choice and when I don’t make the best one, just another one—and even when I make stupid choices, Wisdom’s guidance is still possible, I may just need to pay more attention.
The image of a fairy tale kingdom was far from the heart and mind of Jesus as he stood in the Pilate’s headquarters that day and acknowledged the kingdom that God was revealing in him. In his mind, as I understand it, were the teachings that he had shared throughout his life—revealing the wholeness, comfort and dignity that God was offering. The home and belonging that he revealed would not have any purpose in an armed uprising against Rome, but in the daily living to which he called those who would follow him.
Let us make Jesus’ welcome in all that we do and say—in the ways that the Wisdom of God is revealed in our hearts and minds. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] John 18:36b
[2] Proverbs 1:20, 22-23
[3] Proverbs 8:4-6
[4] From She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse by Elizabeth A. Johnson New York: Crossroad, 1992
2 Samuel 23:1-7
Psalm 132:1-12, (13-18)
Revelation 1:4b-8
John 18:33-37
“A Wise Reign”
Once upon a time there was a kingdom where there lived a princess trapped in a tall tower . . .
Once upon a time there was a kingdom where the king and queen were very sad because they had no children. One day, to the joy of all, the queen announced she would have a baby. . . .
Once upon a time there was a kingdom . . .
Whenever I hear about a kingdom, I get images in my head of fairy tales, nursery rhymes, or children’s stories, often produced by Disney. There are even a few hymns that contribute to that kind of image of kingdom.
“O worship the King All glorious above;
O gratefully sing His power and his love:
Our Shield and Defender, the Ancient of days,
Pavilioned in splendor and girded with praise.
O tell of his might, O sing of his grace,
Whose robe is the light, whose canopy space.
His chariots of wrath the deep thunder-clouds form,
And dark is his path on the wings of the storm.”
In that hymn I see the pavilions or colorful tents with colorful fabrics and a standard or flag flying with the symbols and colors of knights. I imagine war stallions thundering or horses pulling a chariot to war—and visions of the shining armor of a warrior king going to battle.
Often and in familiar traditions, the sovereignty of Jesus has been depicted that way—that kind of warlike imagery for the kingdom of God, ushered in through the life of Jesus justified the crusades that led thousands, if not millions of Christians to fight battle after battle for Jerusalem and other cities in what had been Israel.
And in the scripture today, despite Pilate’s denial of his interest in whether or not Jesus claims a kingdom for himself, there are political concerns in Pilate’s question. “Are you the king of the Jews?” In Pilate’s and in the Roman Empire there was one king of Israel—and of the whole empire of Rome—Caesar. Jesus’ presence before Pilate can only be understood if there were some criminal charge against Rome and sedition and criminal rebellion against Caesar were the only possibilities. But Jesus answered Pilate’s question this way, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”[1] Jesus was not interested in defeating the political regimes or the kingdoms and nations that were in power—yet he was concerned about the existence of justice and righteousness because he loved those that Rome ruled, in Jerusalem, in the Roman province of Judea and throughout the world.
The rule of Jesus was not demonstrated by an overwhelming and violent show of force in the face of opposition to his authority and power—the wise reign of Jesus began when he quietly rose from the tomb where his death by crucifixion had put him. The wise reign of Jesus was not described by his death on a cross that normally signaled shame—his reign was described by his daily actions as he taught people. He taught that the kingdom was like a mustard seed—or a pearl of great price—or a woman who lost a coin—or a woman who took four measures of flour and made bread—or any number of parables. Jesus taught about the kingdom when he saved the life of a servant in a Roman centurion’s home and when he healed the mother-in-law of Peter. He revealed the household and neighborhood of God’s dwelling place when his power flowed into a woman who had been hemorrhaging for 12 years and into a 12 year old girl who had just died. He showed the intention of God’s indwelling presence when he accepted the anointing of an unnamed woman as he approached his death. He revealed God when he forgave all who participated in his death—the ones who betrayed, the ones who denied, the ones who accused, the ones who convicted and the ones who throughout history would misunderstand and believe that God’s wrath was satisfied by his blood.
The indwelling Wisdom with which Jesus reveals himself is reason John described Jesus as the Word of God incarnate. Wisdom and Word are very similar, yet wisdom in Greek is a feminine noun and Word is a masculine. These have nothing to do with human gender, but it is more grammatically comfortable to describe a male with a masculine noun than with a feminine one. The Wisdom of God, Word of God, which was in Jesus’ physically, mentally and emotionally—in all he did and said, is consistent with how it is that Wisdom spoke and taught within First Testament scriptures. Wisdom was a sought after asset in governors, kings and in anyone who wanted to live according to God’s guidance.
In the book of Proverbs, where we hear the most about Wisdom, her actions are clearly those that faithful people would respect and favor.
20Wisdom cries out in the street;
in the squares she raises her voice.
22‘How long, O simple ones, will you love being simple?
How long will scoffers delight in their scoffing
and fools hate knowledge?
23Give heed to my reproof;
I will pour out my thoughts to you;
I will make my words known to you.[2]
4‘To you, O people, I call,
and my cry is to all that live.
5O simple ones, learn prudence;
acquire intelligence, you who lack it.
6Hear, for I will speak noble things,
and from my lips will come what is right;[3]
The Wise reign of Jesus as it is described within the witness of the entire scriptural standard reveals that it is internal to the persons and communities where Jesus is called upon to be the authority—where the tenets of God, which have been revealed from the beginning, are held firmly as the standards for the lives of those who wish to be faithful.
One author writes of Wisdom as the guide and rule by which the household of God exists and in which the presence of God is revealed in Jesus.
[Wisdom’s] is the power of person-making among those diminished
by pain who do not know their own dignity;
[Wisdom’s] the grace of conversion to turn from dead-end ways
to walk the path of newness of life;
[Wisdom’s] the light
of conscience;
[Wisdom’s] the power to shake up assured certainties
and introduce the grace of a new question;
[Wisdom’s] the strength to foment discomfort
among the unduly comfortable;
[Wisdom’s] the oil of comfort (cum + fortis, “making strong”)
known in experiences that heal refresh and invigorate;
[Wisdom’s] the vigor that energizes the fire
of active, outgoing love.
The creative power that knits us into life continuously
and mends the torn fabric of our lives,
forming in the process fine new and possibly surprising patterns.[4]
In the beginning of the gospel of John, Jesus is named Word or Logos (Greek for Word), he could have easily been named Wisdom or Sophia (Greek for Wisdom). This reveals continuity within God’s intention for the internal knowledge that our home, the realm of our belonging, the kingdom of God, can be lived out by following the wisdom that Jesus revealed in his lifetime and beyond as he lives among us and within us through the power of resurrection.
Jesus’ testimony of truth to Pilate reveals that the way his lived his life from beginning to end was a revelation of all that God wanted him to be—not a violent man who fought back when he was threatened, but a man who stood his ground against power that destroys instead of heals and makes whole. When he showed anger it was not against those who threatened him, but against those who took advantage of others—who were unjust and greedy or who made faithful living seem impossible to anyone other than the rich or privileged.
Jesus gave people dignity when others would take it. (Think of the woman at the well who had gone through 5 husbands, when have you been in need of dignity?)
Jesus gave people the grace of new life. (Think of the lepers who came to him to be made whole, how has God shown you a new way of living?)
Jesus taught people that they could live by the conscience they were given. (Think how he told Nicodemus that he was very close to the kingdom, where have you experienced the way that God would have you live?)
Jesus gave people an opportunity to be shaken by his teaching. (Think how his own hometown rejected him as a revealer of God’s truth, when have you had to follow God’s way instead of parents’, friends’ or others’ ways?)
Jesus made the powerful uncomfortable in their power. (Think of Pilate, Herod and some leaders within the Jewish faith, how has your privilege or the privilege of others been challenged by the knowledge of Jesus’ words and deed?)
Jesus gave comfort—made strong—those who needed new life. (Think of Lazarus and a 12 year old little girl, also a woman whose son had died and those who were freed from mental torment.)
Jesus breathed life into dead people and situations with love. (Think of the disciples who were given purpose and direction like never before, how has Jesus’ example and action revealed a purpose and direction for you?)
Jesus taught God’s never-changing desire for justice, mercy, equitability and hope in ways that seemed utterly new. (Think how you and others have been changed by the knowledge and awareness that the stories of Jesus have brought you.)
I have come to understand God in particular ways over the years—ways that have shown me that sometimes I need all that God has offered me in the life of Jesus—in the ways of wisdom—to move into life each day. And it takes all of God’s wisdom for the guidance I need as I step into the way that God would have me go.
In my life this realization of the Wisdom of God in the life of Jesus has been a powerful force—the knowledge that God has given intellect as a gift, that we don’t have to ignore the mind. It has given me the awareness that whatever I learn can be helpful in my ministry as long as I am careful not to use it for my own gain. I have learned that the opportunities to learn new things and meet people and help in ways I hadn’t realized were possible were invitations from God that I could accept or not. I have learned that God works in me when I make the best choice and when I don’t make the best one, just another one—and even when I make stupid choices, Wisdom’s guidance is still possible, I may just need to pay more attention.
The image of a fairy tale kingdom was far from the heart and mind of Jesus as he stood in the Pilate’s headquarters that day and acknowledged the kingdom that God was revealing in him. In his mind, as I understand it, were the teachings that he had shared throughout his life—revealing the wholeness, comfort and dignity that God was offering. The home and belonging that he revealed would not have any purpose in an armed uprising against Rome, but in the daily living to which he called those who would follow him.
Let us make Jesus’ welcome in all that we do and say—in the ways that the Wisdom of God is revealed in our hearts and minds. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] John 18:36b
[2] Proverbs 1:20, 22-23
[3] Proverbs 8:4-6
[4] From She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse by Elizabeth A. Johnson New York: Crossroad, 1992
Sermon November 15 2009
Pastor Amy Wharton
Cuba Christian Church
1 Samuel 1:4-20
1 Samuel 2:1-10
Hebrews 10:11-14, (15-18), 19-25
Mark 13:1-8
“The Birth of Promise”
Our lives are filled with a myriad of emotions—even in moments of joy and satisfaction, we are aware of the tragedies that have been a part of our lives. And in times of joy in our lives, we are aware of the sorrow that is contained in others lives at the same time as our joy. Within a community of faith, we are to be more than aware, we are to stand with one another in all of those times.
But we are not called upon to deny how we feel, whether we are happy or sad, angry or in grief, singing praise or moaning a song of lament. Whatever our age or situation we can share who we are with God and hopefully with a family of faith.
Imagine, if you will, Hannah’s situation in 1 Samuel chapter 1. She has been married to Elkanah long enough to be considered barren. She has had no babies, but his other wife Peninnah has had several sons and daughters and she was proud of this accomplishment. In the Jewish common faith, at this time, it was important that women have children for many different reasons. Sons provided for a woman’s future, no matter how long a mother lived, if she lived beyond the death of her husband, she was her son’s responsibility. A son was her future in that way, but sons and daughters were eternal life to a mother and father. They were the means to carry one’s beliefs and memories into the future. Though they were unaware of much biological detail, they knew that children carried a portion of them into the future. The Jewish people had no clear belief in life beyond death, but they knew that children—their offspring—carried pieces of themselves beyond the death of the parents.
Hannah’s barrenness plagued her for these reasons, but also because, like many women, she had a desire for a baby to hold and care for. No matter how her husband cared for her and guaranteed her future, she also wanted a child.
Imagine . . . that kind of desire for children as you imagine this woman at the tabernacle at Shiloh. She stood outside the place of presence and prayed and wept—she was so distraught that Eli the priest thought she was drunk when he saw her. She had lost control and looked disreputable—her voice unheard, but her distress plain and her lips moving with prayer and supplication.
She was full of sorrow, full of disappointment, and I would imagine, full of anger and some resentment of her husband’s other wife Peninnah who provoked her because she had had no babies.
She was hopeless; she was in despair; she was so beside herself that she aired her depth of feeling in public where the priest could see her. Can you imagine that kind of pain in your life?
Have your felt hopeless? in despair? beside yourself?
When have you felt like life has passed you by and you are left with little to nothing?
Hannah felt like empty; persecuted by another person; her husband’s love couldn’t make up for her feelings of loss and sorrow.
Yet she didn’t curl up and avoid the problem. She took it to the tabernacle or temple where the Jewish people worshipped God. She took it to the place of presence, the place they called God’s footstool—where heaven met earth—and she prayed.
Her desperation seemed pointless and a little crazy to Eli, but when he heard her desire, he said and knew somehow that God would give her the child she wanted so much. So she went away with hope inside of her—such hope, life and promise that she and Elkanah soon conceived and she was full of the joy that she had always wanted.
There are times we have feelings of barrenness within us as individuals, certainly, but what about those times in the church when we feel lifeless and exhausted. What do we do when it feels that way within the church? Where is the life we seek and how do we find it?
Hannah began her search on this day by going to God—she poured her heart out to God and didn’t worry about what other people were thinking of her as she did it. She wept, tears running down her face; she wept, eyes red and nose running; she wept and continued to tell God of her desire, her desperation and her love that she would give a child.
If we look for life, let us enter into that conversation with God—tell God and tell God and tell God. And then listen, waiting for the answer that we seek. Her answer came through Eli, who had no idea what that Hannah was asking God, yet he saw her faith and her desire and knew that God’s loving way would grant her what she wanted. Sometimes the desires of our hearts have to be expressed so that we understand what we are asking. If we ask for something for the life of this congregation, what are we asking for? What changes will be needed for that to happen? We can’t expect new life without change. Who will tell us the answer to our prayers? Who can we trust to tell us that God will grant our deepest desires? Then we can trust that God wants for us to live, but there is always more and there is always required action on our part.
When Hannah received the assurance she wanted from the Eli, the priest, she went back to her husband’s tent happily and gratefully. She shared a meal with her husband. The scripture doesn’t tell us what they talked about, but I can’t imagine that she didn’t tell him a little about why she was happy. Once we have set our eyes on new life, we can talk about that new life with those we know and trust. New life, what form does that take? If I know it is possible, then who will it be. What form of new life is coming? Hannah asked for a baby, but when we want new life in this congregation, what are we asking for? More people? Less stress on each person? Change? Will there be new faces and new visions?
We can talk those things out with those we trust. And then trust God to help us do what needs to be done. Once Hannah received a word of encouragement from Eli the priest, she ate and drank with her husband and when they returned to their home, they did what they needed to do to conceive. There was action required on her part—conception, certainly, but also pregnancy, labor and birth. She needed her husband and she needed the assurance of God’s cooperation in the whole process. She poured out her soul to God and she poured out her trust to her husband and relied on them both to receive the promise that Eli had made—even though he didn’t know what he was promising.
Before Hannah knew what Eli would have to say. Before she was assured that her son would be born. She told God that her son would have a purpose and a mission, if she had anything to do with it. Her son would be God’s own person, serving God faithfully and keeping himself apart from pollution. His life would be God’s life. She promised that that child would know God because she would make sure of it. She didn’t ask God for a son simply for her own self, but so that God would be revealed in the birth of her son in some way. She promised that her boy would be the answer to her prayers, but also would be a servant to Israel’s God.
She didn’t ask for the son because she wanted to be cared for; it seems that she trusted in her husband for that. He assured her of that; it seems to me that her supplication was more visionary than a family of her own because she gave her son, Samuel to the temple when he was just a toddler.
And there is joy in her dedication. She sings a song of joy when she gives Samuel, because she received him, but in him, she has the assurance that God loves and cares for those who are tormented and that God is on the side of God and not torment and
oppression.
Her words reveal more than familial or maternal love; her words are about the future of her people, especially as her people continue their trust in God.
There is no Holy One like the Lord,
no one besides you;
there is no Rock like our God.
3Talk no more so very proudly,
let not arrogance come from your mouth;
for the Lord is a God of knowledge,
and by him actions are weighed.
4The bows of the mighty are broken,
but the feeble gird on strength.
5Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread,
but those who were hungry are fat with spoil.
The barren has borne seven,
but she who has many children is forlorn.
6The Lord kills and brings to life;
he brings down to Sheol and raises up.
7The Lord makes poor and makes rich;
he brings low, he also exalts.
8He raises up the poor from the dust;
he lifts the needy from the ash heap,
to make them sit with princes
and inherit a seat of honor.[1]*
She exalted that God is God and she was not—that God had the power of life and death. She rejoiced that in God a world of injustice and pain could be overturned—changed beyond recognition if God decided to do it. Poor would be rich; rich would labor for their money. The hungry would be full; the full would be made to realize where food came from. The women would be fertile; the fields would be rich; the needy would be taken from the trash heap; the princes would be no higher than anyone else.
The song of Hannah sounds very similar to the song of Mary that we will hear in just a few weeks during Advent; the joy of this Samuel’s mother is similar to the joy of Jesus’ mother because in each God was working. In each one, God would reveal justice and mercy and in each one God’s love would be shown. In each one there would be great difference, but God would still be in the life of each.
The life of Samuel wasn’t about full fledged, complete answers to problems or questions; but Hannah’s prayer provided great opportunity for new things to happen in Israel.
Eli was a priest, the bible says, who had not heard “the word of God.” I don’t know exactly what that means, but my impression is that God felt distant from Israel. Eli’s sons were corrupt and unworthy of priesthood and that was a tragedy for him. Samuel, the answer to Hannah’s prayer and the subject of her exaltation song was the beginning of a new relationship between God and the people of Israel. Samuel’s birth was the beginning of the end of judges ruling in Israel. Samuel’s life as a prophet propelled him into the life of a kingmaker—he and God chose Saul to be king. When Saul’s reign led outside of God’s desires, God chose David and Samuel anointed him. Hannah’s song was a sign of that new relationship between God and Israel—or it expressed her hope in that new relationship.
Hannah’s prayer and her song of joy were not offered in a perfect world—or in one where she was perfectly satisfied with her situation. Her husband’s other wife tormented her—and Hannah felt bereft by her lack of children. Her song of joy was sung about a world of justice and righteousness and goodness among the faithful. Yet none of those things were real and in existence as she sang them. And they didn’t all come into existence in the lifetime of her son, but she and her son knew that those dreams and visions were the intentions of God for all of humanity beginning with Israel, the people of God.
As Jesus said in Mark’s gospel, “7When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. 8For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.”[2]
The end of things is never in the labor and the pain; the end is in the birth of new life. God’s intention is expressed in that vision, in the vision of pain leading to new-found life and hope. Birth is a great metaphor for what is to come because it doesn’t come easily for any kind of birth. But, Jesus assures us, the pain is not the purpose; the pain is not the result of God’s work; the struggle, the war the famine, the earthquake, the greed of nation against nation or religion against religion are not signs of God, but simply signs that the new life we await hasn’t come yet.
In a world of unrest and anxiety, in times of uncertain resources and shaky economic prospects, let us follow Hannah’s example and pray. Let us pray for new life and promise God that the gift of new life will have a purpose. Let us pray, not caring what other people think and listening for the assurance that God has heard us. Let us pray, and then move, act and do what is necessary to make that new life possible.
Let us focus on new life, new dreams, new visions and the promise of birth—God’s promise, yesterday, today and always.
To the glory of God and only God’s glory. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] 1 Samuel 2:2-8
[2] Mark 13:7-8
Cuba Christian Church
1 Samuel 1:4-20
1 Samuel 2:1-10
Hebrews 10:11-14, (15-18), 19-25
Mark 13:1-8
“The Birth of Promise”
Our lives are filled with a myriad of emotions—even in moments of joy and satisfaction, we are aware of the tragedies that have been a part of our lives. And in times of joy in our lives, we are aware of the sorrow that is contained in others lives at the same time as our joy. Within a community of faith, we are to be more than aware, we are to stand with one another in all of those times.
But we are not called upon to deny how we feel, whether we are happy or sad, angry or in grief, singing praise or moaning a song of lament. Whatever our age or situation we can share who we are with God and hopefully with a family of faith.
Imagine, if you will, Hannah’s situation in 1 Samuel chapter 1. She has been married to Elkanah long enough to be considered barren. She has had no babies, but his other wife Peninnah has had several sons and daughters and she was proud of this accomplishment. In the Jewish common faith, at this time, it was important that women have children for many different reasons. Sons provided for a woman’s future, no matter how long a mother lived, if she lived beyond the death of her husband, she was her son’s responsibility. A son was her future in that way, but sons and daughters were eternal life to a mother and father. They were the means to carry one’s beliefs and memories into the future. Though they were unaware of much biological detail, they knew that children carried a portion of them into the future. The Jewish people had no clear belief in life beyond death, but they knew that children—their offspring—carried pieces of themselves beyond the death of the parents.
Hannah’s barrenness plagued her for these reasons, but also because, like many women, she had a desire for a baby to hold and care for. No matter how her husband cared for her and guaranteed her future, she also wanted a child.
Imagine . . . that kind of desire for children as you imagine this woman at the tabernacle at Shiloh. She stood outside the place of presence and prayed and wept—she was so distraught that Eli the priest thought she was drunk when he saw her. She had lost control and looked disreputable—her voice unheard, but her distress plain and her lips moving with prayer and supplication.
She was full of sorrow, full of disappointment, and I would imagine, full of anger and some resentment of her husband’s other wife Peninnah who provoked her because she had had no babies.
She was hopeless; she was in despair; she was so beside herself that she aired her depth of feeling in public where the priest could see her. Can you imagine that kind of pain in your life?
Have your felt hopeless? in despair? beside yourself?
When have you felt like life has passed you by and you are left with little to nothing?
Hannah felt like empty; persecuted by another person; her husband’s love couldn’t make up for her feelings of loss and sorrow.
Yet she didn’t curl up and avoid the problem. She took it to the tabernacle or temple where the Jewish people worshipped God. She took it to the place of presence, the place they called God’s footstool—where heaven met earth—and she prayed.
Her desperation seemed pointless and a little crazy to Eli, but when he heard her desire, he said and knew somehow that God would give her the child she wanted so much. So she went away with hope inside of her—such hope, life and promise that she and Elkanah soon conceived and she was full of the joy that she had always wanted.
There are times we have feelings of barrenness within us as individuals, certainly, but what about those times in the church when we feel lifeless and exhausted. What do we do when it feels that way within the church? Where is the life we seek and how do we find it?
Hannah began her search on this day by going to God—she poured her heart out to God and didn’t worry about what other people were thinking of her as she did it. She wept, tears running down her face; she wept, eyes red and nose running; she wept and continued to tell God of her desire, her desperation and her love that she would give a child.
If we look for life, let us enter into that conversation with God—tell God and tell God and tell God. And then listen, waiting for the answer that we seek. Her answer came through Eli, who had no idea what that Hannah was asking God, yet he saw her faith and her desire and knew that God’s loving way would grant her what she wanted. Sometimes the desires of our hearts have to be expressed so that we understand what we are asking. If we ask for something for the life of this congregation, what are we asking for? What changes will be needed for that to happen? We can’t expect new life without change. Who will tell us the answer to our prayers? Who can we trust to tell us that God will grant our deepest desires? Then we can trust that God wants for us to live, but there is always more and there is always required action on our part.
When Hannah received the assurance she wanted from the Eli, the priest, she went back to her husband’s tent happily and gratefully. She shared a meal with her husband. The scripture doesn’t tell us what they talked about, but I can’t imagine that she didn’t tell him a little about why she was happy. Once we have set our eyes on new life, we can talk about that new life with those we know and trust. New life, what form does that take? If I know it is possible, then who will it be. What form of new life is coming? Hannah asked for a baby, but when we want new life in this congregation, what are we asking for? More people? Less stress on each person? Change? Will there be new faces and new visions?
We can talk those things out with those we trust. And then trust God to help us do what needs to be done. Once Hannah received a word of encouragement from Eli the priest, she ate and drank with her husband and when they returned to their home, they did what they needed to do to conceive. There was action required on her part—conception, certainly, but also pregnancy, labor and birth. She needed her husband and she needed the assurance of God’s cooperation in the whole process. She poured out her soul to God and she poured out her trust to her husband and relied on them both to receive the promise that Eli had made—even though he didn’t know what he was promising.
Before Hannah knew what Eli would have to say. Before she was assured that her son would be born. She told God that her son would have a purpose and a mission, if she had anything to do with it. Her son would be God’s own person, serving God faithfully and keeping himself apart from pollution. His life would be God’s life. She promised that that child would know God because she would make sure of it. She didn’t ask God for a son simply for her own self, but so that God would be revealed in the birth of her son in some way. She promised that her boy would be the answer to her prayers, but also would be a servant to Israel’s God.
She didn’t ask for the son because she wanted to be cared for; it seems that she trusted in her husband for that. He assured her of that; it seems to me that her supplication was more visionary than a family of her own because she gave her son, Samuel to the temple when he was just a toddler.
And there is joy in her dedication. She sings a song of joy when she gives Samuel, because she received him, but in him, she has the assurance that God loves and cares for those who are tormented and that God is on the side of God and not torment and
oppression.
Her words reveal more than familial or maternal love; her words are about the future of her people, especially as her people continue their trust in God.
There is no Holy One like the Lord,
no one besides you;
there is no Rock like our God.
3Talk no more so very proudly,
let not arrogance come from your mouth;
for the Lord is a God of knowledge,
and by him actions are weighed.
4The bows of the mighty are broken,
but the feeble gird on strength.
5Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread,
but those who were hungry are fat with spoil.
The barren has borne seven,
but she who has many children is forlorn.
6The Lord kills and brings to life;
he brings down to Sheol and raises up.
7The Lord makes poor and makes rich;
he brings low, he also exalts.
8He raises up the poor from the dust;
he lifts the needy from the ash heap,
to make them sit with princes
and inherit a seat of honor.[1]*
She exalted that God is God and she was not—that God had the power of life and death. She rejoiced that in God a world of injustice and pain could be overturned—changed beyond recognition if God decided to do it. Poor would be rich; rich would labor for their money. The hungry would be full; the full would be made to realize where food came from. The women would be fertile; the fields would be rich; the needy would be taken from the trash heap; the princes would be no higher than anyone else.
The song of Hannah sounds very similar to the song of Mary that we will hear in just a few weeks during Advent; the joy of this Samuel’s mother is similar to the joy of Jesus’ mother because in each God was working. In each one, God would reveal justice and mercy and in each one God’s love would be shown. In each one there would be great difference, but God would still be in the life of each.
The life of Samuel wasn’t about full fledged, complete answers to problems or questions; but Hannah’s prayer provided great opportunity for new things to happen in Israel.
Eli was a priest, the bible says, who had not heard “the word of God.” I don’t know exactly what that means, but my impression is that God felt distant from Israel. Eli’s sons were corrupt and unworthy of priesthood and that was a tragedy for him. Samuel, the answer to Hannah’s prayer and the subject of her exaltation song was the beginning of a new relationship between God and the people of Israel. Samuel’s birth was the beginning of the end of judges ruling in Israel. Samuel’s life as a prophet propelled him into the life of a kingmaker—he and God chose Saul to be king. When Saul’s reign led outside of God’s desires, God chose David and Samuel anointed him. Hannah’s song was a sign of that new relationship between God and Israel—or it expressed her hope in that new relationship.
Hannah’s prayer and her song of joy were not offered in a perfect world—or in one where she was perfectly satisfied with her situation. Her husband’s other wife tormented her—and Hannah felt bereft by her lack of children. Her song of joy was sung about a world of justice and righteousness and goodness among the faithful. Yet none of those things were real and in existence as she sang them. And they didn’t all come into existence in the lifetime of her son, but she and her son knew that those dreams and visions were the intentions of God for all of humanity beginning with Israel, the people of God.
As Jesus said in Mark’s gospel, “7When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. 8For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.”[2]
The end of things is never in the labor and the pain; the end is in the birth of new life. God’s intention is expressed in that vision, in the vision of pain leading to new-found life and hope. Birth is a great metaphor for what is to come because it doesn’t come easily for any kind of birth. But, Jesus assures us, the pain is not the purpose; the pain is not the result of God’s work; the struggle, the war the famine, the earthquake, the greed of nation against nation or religion against religion are not signs of God, but simply signs that the new life we await hasn’t come yet.
In a world of unrest and anxiety, in times of uncertain resources and shaky economic prospects, let us follow Hannah’s example and pray. Let us pray for new life and promise God that the gift of new life will have a purpose. Let us pray, not caring what other people think and listening for the assurance that God has heard us. Let us pray, and then move, act and do what is necessary to make that new life possible.
Let us focus on new life, new dreams, new visions and the promise of birth—God’s promise, yesterday, today and always.
To the glory of God and only God’s glory. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] 1 Samuel 2:2-8
[2] Mark 13:7-8
Sermon November 8 2009
Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17
Psalm 127
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44
“What Do We Risk?”
How far would we go, what would we give up or risk for the sake of a loved one in desperate need?
When one of my siblings had a very small child, my sibling once said, “I would be willing to kill to protect my child and I would give up my life for my child, if I knew it would save that child’s life.” I’ve heard similar descriptions of your commitment to your children when they were young and vulnerable. And I know that people sacrifice deeply for those they love: young or old, man or woman, sick or healthy, loving or not so lovable.
It’s generally not considered socially acceptable behavior to kill—but to protect a loved one, especially someone too vulnerable to protect themselves, we often can understand and forgive those who might. Yet it also falls within our socially acceptable behavior, in our culture and norms to protect those we love with violence if necessary. What if, instead, someone we love needs us to break rules that govern what we might call sin to survive?
In a book I am reading about the Post World War II and the Holocaust, more men than women survived the death camps because men were used as labor in mines and other places. Women sometimes survived the death camps because they would trade their company for food or warmth, not only for themselves, but for their children or even for their husbands or other family members. And in this book, there are women who continued to share their company once they were in Palestine in camps run by the British.
During the same period of time, a book, later a movie, was written describing one woman’s situation. The Germans were holding her and her children in a camp; she was the lover of one of the officers, hoping to save her children. At one point, simply because he could, he told her that one of her children was going be killed and she had to choose which one. If she didn’t choose, then both of them would be killed. The choice she made (and I can’t remember what she chose) almost destroyed the rest of her life. But it doesn’t matter, neither choice would be considered moral or acceptable under normal circumstances.
In each of these cases, one could argue that risking socially unacceptable behavior is outweighed by the lives that were saved. Maybe it’s hard to imagine being in those situations, yet I believe that most of us have had moments when we might have made morally ambiguous choices for reasons of survival—either of those we love or of others.
What is the risk that we take when we express love? How far would we be willing to go to save life or give life? What does it mean to risk social unacceptability and expectation?
The story of Ruth and Naomi is one of those kinds of stories—lifted up to us in today’s scripture. Last week’s regular lectionary text described how Ruth chose to stay with Naomi when she left Moab. Naomi had moved there with her husband during a famine in the land of Judah; he died and her sons married Moabite women and then they died without children. As Naomi left Moab to return to Judah where she might have had family, Orpah and Ruth, her daughters-in-law came with her. She begged them to go back to their families because she had nothing to give them; she had no husband for them to marry or other support structure. Orpah listened and left, but Ruth stayed with Naomi, despite her gloomy prospects.
Today’s scripture occurs after they arrive in Bethlehem. They’ve found Boaz, who is a distance relative of Naomi’s. Ruth and Naomi are in need of the basics for survival, so Ruth has gone out into Boaz’s fields and is gleaning grain—the excess of the fields so that they have something to eat. But Naomi has a longer term plan; she believes that Boaz will be her kinsman redeemer—someone who will take her and Ruth in as his right and duty, Naomi send Ruth so that he will begin to notice them. He does notice her as she gleans his fields—she was a stranger, probably looked and dressed differently than the local women and he spoke to her.
Once that had happened, Naomi told Ruth what to do in today’s text, “2Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working. See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing-floor. 3Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing-floor; but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. 4When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down; and he will tell you what to do.” (3:2-4) My guess is that Naomi knows that Boaz needs a wife and that he has noticed Ruth. I further would guess that Ruth wasn’t against the idea of marriage to Boaz either, so Naomi sends Ruth to offer herself as a wife. And Ruth is willing.
Yet we might wonder at this situation—and wonder if it was acceptable in their social and religious situation. And it was probably a bit scandalous. In reference to Ruth 3:10, Kathleen A. Robertson Farmer writes in the New Interpreter’s Bible, “. . . what Ruth did is scandalous in the eyes of the world and an act of loving kindness . . . .” She offered herself, after the threshing, she “made herself known to the man.” This was knowledge in the biblical sense—done out of loving kindness or hesed in the Hebrew; and it was done out of necessity for the both of their survival.
Boaz had shown himself to be a kind and decent man to the women who worked in his field and had already said he would protect Ruth from the other men in the fields. This is a story where she risks his further protection and provision, but they need to be able to rely on a system of living. They cannot live beyond the barley harvest (which is celebrated during the feast of Pentecost) if they do not take this risk and put themselves at the mercy of Boaz—and depend upon the provision and mercy that God put into the law.
In the law, Deuteronomy, we can read these provisions:
Every third year you shall bring out the full tithe of your produce for that year, and store it within your towns; the Levites, because they have no allotment or inheritance with you, as well as the resident aliens, the orphans, and the widows in your towns, may come and eat their fill (Deuteronomy 14:29).
Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land” (Deuteronomy 15:11).
When you reap your harvest in your field and forget a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to get it; it shall be left for the alien, the orphan, and the widow (Deuteronomy 24:19).
When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left; it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow (Deuteronomy 24:21).
God saw the need to care for those who had no family system of caring to survive—and in the story of Ruth we hear how that system might have worked in one particular case. While the gleaning of fields provided a stop gap solution to the problem, women and their dependent children had to be provided for in the long term. In some cases, there was an allotment that was kept for those without land or a means of supplying food so that they could live. But there was also a system of redemption that was available as a longer term solution. A woman who was widowed could redeem her husband’s portion of land or other resource by marrying a man in the family—his closest kin. In Boaz and Naomi’s case, there was another closer relative—and they had to work out a deal—and then Ruth stood in Naomi’s place as wife.
Ruth’s willingness to give herself was risky—she didn’t know Boaz that well. She had seen his kindness, yet risked herself for the sake of Naomi’s future. Not only did she provide a husband’s support and family for Naomi in that way, but her son, Obed became Naomi’s future. He was her way of carrying Naomi’s family into the continuing covenant with God and God’s future for God’s people.
What do we risk to follow the way that Jesus has called us to walk? The widow is a common thread in today’s texts and risk is also common. In the gospel lesson, a poor widow was held up as an example to the disciples who had watched wealthier donors to the temple give hundreds of times more wealth than she could ever give. But Jesus sees the risk she takes in her gift and calls that more than was given by any other. The widow was an example because she believed in her gift’s purpose. She had faith in the God whose home was in that temple. And even though Jesus often disagreed with the leaders of the temple, especially the scribes—and would be arrested on their word and pressure—he still admired her gift to the temple because it was given in faith. She had faith in the God who was represented and worshiped at the temple, even if she knew (like everyone did) that it’s leadership was flawed.
Can we risk criticism by being more generous that might be wise as individuals and as a church? What is it that we are called to risk for the way that Jesus is calling us to walk each day?
The scribes built walls around the law—making sure that details of the law were protected from disobedience while widows and poor children were neglected—he and other saw it every day. Then Jesus saw that the widow gave to support the priests and other workers at the temple and saw that her risk and her generosity was a greater gift because it revealed God’s continuing work in the community that gathered and worshiped.
We risk when we stand up and walk the road that Jesus calls us to walk instead of the way that leads to greater wealth—as a church or as an individual or family. We risk social eyebrows lifting when we reach out in acceptance of diversity rather than in an attempt to fix the ways that people live their lives the best way they know how. We risk losing our generous gifts when those who receive from us are not grateful, but we’ve been faithfully obedient.
We don’t always know the outcome of our risk—we can’t always count the cost in the spiritual world. God’s work can’t be put into a ledger sheet and quantified. The gains that we make are often spiritual. Did your loving kindness change a moment in someone’s life? Did your decision not to be judgmental give someone an opportunity to experience a sense of belonging like never before? Did your willingness to listen rather than talk mean a moment of comfort to a stranger?
What do we risk on our journey with Jesus? Are we willing to risk when it is necessary?
To the glory of our living God. Amen.
Psalm 127
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44
“What Do We Risk?”
How far would we go, what would we give up or risk for the sake of a loved one in desperate need?
When one of my siblings had a very small child, my sibling once said, “I would be willing to kill to protect my child and I would give up my life for my child, if I knew it would save that child’s life.” I’ve heard similar descriptions of your commitment to your children when they were young and vulnerable. And I know that people sacrifice deeply for those they love: young or old, man or woman, sick or healthy, loving or not so lovable.
It’s generally not considered socially acceptable behavior to kill—but to protect a loved one, especially someone too vulnerable to protect themselves, we often can understand and forgive those who might. Yet it also falls within our socially acceptable behavior, in our culture and norms to protect those we love with violence if necessary. What if, instead, someone we love needs us to break rules that govern what we might call sin to survive?
In a book I am reading about the Post World War II and the Holocaust, more men than women survived the death camps because men were used as labor in mines and other places. Women sometimes survived the death camps because they would trade their company for food or warmth, not only for themselves, but for their children or even for their husbands or other family members. And in this book, there are women who continued to share their company once they were in Palestine in camps run by the British.
During the same period of time, a book, later a movie, was written describing one woman’s situation. The Germans were holding her and her children in a camp; she was the lover of one of the officers, hoping to save her children. At one point, simply because he could, he told her that one of her children was going be killed and she had to choose which one. If she didn’t choose, then both of them would be killed. The choice she made (and I can’t remember what she chose) almost destroyed the rest of her life. But it doesn’t matter, neither choice would be considered moral or acceptable under normal circumstances.
In each of these cases, one could argue that risking socially unacceptable behavior is outweighed by the lives that were saved. Maybe it’s hard to imagine being in those situations, yet I believe that most of us have had moments when we might have made morally ambiguous choices for reasons of survival—either of those we love or of others.
What is the risk that we take when we express love? How far would we be willing to go to save life or give life? What does it mean to risk social unacceptability and expectation?
The story of Ruth and Naomi is one of those kinds of stories—lifted up to us in today’s scripture. Last week’s regular lectionary text described how Ruth chose to stay with Naomi when she left Moab. Naomi had moved there with her husband during a famine in the land of Judah; he died and her sons married Moabite women and then they died without children. As Naomi left Moab to return to Judah where she might have had family, Orpah and Ruth, her daughters-in-law came with her. She begged them to go back to their families because she had nothing to give them; she had no husband for them to marry or other support structure. Orpah listened and left, but Ruth stayed with Naomi, despite her gloomy prospects.
Today’s scripture occurs after they arrive in Bethlehem. They’ve found Boaz, who is a distance relative of Naomi’s. Ruth and Naomi are in need of the basics for survival, so Ruth has gone out into Boaz’s fields and is gleaning grain—the excess of the fields so that they have something to eat. But Naomi has a longer term plan; she believes that Boaz will be her kinsman redeemer—someone who will take her and Ruth in as his right and duty, Naomi send Ruth so that he will begin to notice them. He does notice her as she gleans his fields—she was a stranger, probably looked and dressed differently than the local women and he spoke to her.
Once that had happened, Naomi told Ruth what to do in today’s text, “2Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working. See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing-floor. 3Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing-floor; but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. 4When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down; and he will tell you what to do.” (3:2-4) My guess is that Naomi knows that Boaz needs a wife and that he has noticed Ruth. I further would guess that Ruth wasn’t against the idea of marriage to Boaz either, so Naomi sends Ruth to offer herself as a wife. And Ruth is willing.
Yet we might wonder at this situation—and wonder if it was acceptable in their social and religious situation. And it was probably a bit scandalous. In reference to Ruth 3:10, Kathleen A. Robertson Farmer writes in the New Interpreter’s Bible, “. . . what Ruth did is scandalous in the eyes of the world and an act of loving kindness . . . .” She offered herself, after the threshing, she “made herself known to the man.” This was knowledge in the biblical sense—done out of loving kindness or hesed in the Hebrew; and it was done out of necessity for the both of their survival.
Boaz had shown himself to be a kind and decent man to the women who worked in his field and had already said he would protect Ruth from the other men in the fields. This is a story where she risks his further protection and provision, but they need to be able to rely on a system of living. They cannot live beyond the barley harvest (which is celebrated during the feast of Pentecost) if they do not take this risk and put themselves at the mercy of Boaz—and depend upon the provision and mercy that God put into the law.
In the law, Deuteronomy, we can read these provisions:
Every third year you shall bring out the full tithe of your produce for that year, and store it within your towns; the Levites, because they have no allotment or inheritance with you, as well as the resident aliens, the orphans, and the widows in your towns, may come and eat their fill (Deuteronomy 14:29).
Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land” (Deuteronomy 15:11).
When you reap your harvest in your field and forget a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to get it; it shall be left for the alien, the orphan, and the widow (Deuteronomy 24:19).
When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left; it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow (Deuteronomy 24:21).
God saw the need to care for those who had no family system of caring to survive—and in the story of Ruth we hear how that system might have worked in one particular case. While the gleaning of fields provided a stop gap solution to the problem, women and their dependent children had to be provided for in the long term. In some cases, there was an allotment that was kept for those without land or a means of supplying food so that they could live. But there was also a system of redemption that was available as a longer term solution. A woman who was widowed could redeem her husband’s portion of land or other resource by marrying a man in the family—his closest kin. In Boaz and Naomi’s case, there was another closer relative—and they had to work out a deal—and then Ruth stood in Naomi’s place as wife.
Ruth’s willingness to give herself was risky—she didn’t know Boaz that well. She had seen his kindness, yet risked herself for the sake of Naomi’s future. Not only did she provide a husband’s support and family for Naomi in that way, but her son, Obed became Naomi’s future. He was her way of carrying Naomi’s family into the continuing covenant with God and God’s future for God’s people.
What do we risk to follow the way that Jesus has called us to walk? The widow is a common thread in today’s texts and risk is also common. In the gospel lesson, a poor widow was held up as an example to the disciples who had watched wealthier donors to the temple give hundreds of times more wealth than she could ever give. But Jesus sees the risk she takes in her gift and calls that more than was given by any other. The widow was an example because she believed in her gift’s purpose. She had faith in the God whose home was in that temple. And even though Jesus often disagreed with the leaders of the temple, especially the scribes—and would be arrested on their word and pressure—he still admired her gift to the temple because it was given in faith. She had faith in the God who was represented and worshiped at the temple, even if she knew (like everyone did) that it’s leadership was flawed.
Can we risk criticism by being more generous that might be wise as individuals and as a church? What is it that we are called to risk for the way that Jesus is calling us to walk each day?
The scribes built walls around the law—making sure that details of the law were protected from disobedience while widows and poor children were neglected—he and other saw it every day. Then Jesus saw that the widow gave to support the priests and other workers at the temple and saw that her risk and her generosity was a greater gift because it revealed God’s continuing work in the community that gathered and worshiped.
We risk when we stand up and walk the road that Jesus calls us to walk instead of the way that leads to greater wealth—as a church or as an individual or family. We risk social eyebrows lifting when we reach out in acceptance of diversity rather than in an attempt to fix the ways that people live their lives the best way they know how. We risk losing our generous gifts when those who receive from us are not grateful, but we’ve been faithfully obedient.
We don’t always know the outcome of our risk—we can’t always count the cost in the spiritual world. God’s work can’t be put into a ledger sheet and quantified. The gains that we make are often spiritual. Did your loving kindness change a moment in someone’s life? Did your decision not to be judgmental give someone an opportunity to experience a sense of belonging like never before? Did your willingness to listen rather than talk mean a moment of comfort to a stranger?
What do we risk on our journey with Jesus? Are we willing to risk when it is necessary?
To the glory of our living God. Amen.
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