Widows and Dead Sons
Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
June 6, 2010; 2 Pentecost; Proper 5, Year C
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary
(1 Kings 17:8-24) – The word of the Lord came to Elijah, saying, "Go now to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and live there; for I have commanded a widow there to feed you." So he set out and went to Zarephath. When he came to the gate of the town, a widow was there gathering sticks; he called to her and said, "Bring me a little water in a vessel, so that I may drink." As she was going to bring it, he called to her and said, "Bring me a morsel of bread in your hand." But she said, "As the Lord your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die." Elijah said to her, "Do not be afraid; go and do as you have said; but first make me a little cake of it and bring it to me, and afterwards make something for yourself and your son. For thus says the Lord the God of Israel: The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the Lord sends rain on the earth." She went and did as Elijah said, so that she as well as he and her household ate for many days. The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord that he spoke by Elijah.
After this, the son of the woman, the mistress of the house at Zarephath, became ill; his illness was so severe that there was no breath left in him. She then said to Elijah, "What have you against me, O man of God? You have come to me to bring my sin to remembrance, and to cause the death of my son!" But he said to her, "Give me your son." He took him from her bosom, carried him up into the upper chamber where he was lodging, and laid him on his own bed. He cried out to the Lord, "O Lord my God, have you brought calamity even upon the widow with whom I am staying, by killing her son?" Then he stretched himself upon the child three times, and cried out to the Lord, "O Lord my God, let this child's life come into him again." The Lord listened to the voice of Elijah; the life of the child came into him again, and he revived. Elijah took the child, brought him down from the upper chamber into the house, and gave him to his mother; then Elijah said, "See, your son is alive." So the woman said to Elijah, "Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth."
(Luke 7:11-17) – Soon after healing the centurion's slave, Jesus went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went with him. As he approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother's only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town. When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, "Do not weep." Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, "Young man, I say to you, rise!" The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother. Fear seized all of them; and they glorified God, saying, "A great prophet has risen among us!" and "God has looked favorably on his people!" This word about him spread throughout Judea and all the surrounding country.
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We have two stories of widows and dead sons today.
In our first story from the Hebrew Scriptures, Ahab has just come to the throne as king, along with his Queen Jezebel. They are powerful, wealthy and cosmopolitan. Not since Solomon has Israel been such a power. But they are greedy and unjust. So God sends the prophet Elijah to announce a drought.
When the water dries up at the prophet's hiding place, God sends Elijah out of the country, to Zarephath in the neighboring Phoenician nation of Sidon. God sends Elijah to a widow.
In a patriarchal culture like the Middle East, a widow is particularly vulnerable. A woman only has social standing and economic security through a male – her husband or father, an uncle, brother or brother-in-law. Apparently this widow is struggling to stay alive without a male protector. In a prosperous time, she would be dependent upon charity, and very vulnerable. In a time of drought and the famine, her situation would be most precarious. When Elijah meets her, she is gathering sticks to make a last, small cake of bread before her supplies are exhausted. She is preparing to die. She and her son – her hope; her future.
Let's leave that there and shift to the Gospel story. Jesus has just healed a slave, a man who was the property of one of the foreign officers in the occupying Roman army. Now Jesus approaches a village not far from his hometown Nazareth. There is a funeral procession. The dead person is the only son of a widow. His death means her permanent marginalization and vulnerability.
If a widow has a son, that son gives her a future. He will have standing a soon as he becomes recognized as a man, around age twelve. He will be able to earn income for their survival, and to represent their interests in the community, and to marry and continue the family. A widow without a son is hopeless and vulnerable. This would have been an extraordinarily tragic funeral procession. The mourners know this widow's plight. They would have assumed that she, or the young man, or their ancestors had done something very bad to deserve this kind of punishment from God. The distancing from her would have already begun.
Look what Jesus does. "When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, 'Do not weep.' Then he came forward and touched the bier," he spoke to the corpse, and the young man was raised from death.
What Jesus did is inconceivable. Few things are as unclean in ancient Jewish culture as a corpse, or anything connected with a corpse. Jesus touched the bier, the frame on which the body is being carried for burial. It is against the law of Torah to touch a bier. One who does so becomes unclean. Rabbis don't touch the unclean. Jesus touches the bier.
Let's look at these two stories first as metaphors. Let's internalize them.
Within each of us is our internal widow – our experience of ourselves as contingent, dependent, weak, threatened, disowned. Sometimes life presents us with challenges that leave us literally weak, threatened, dependent or disowned. Even in the best of circumstances, we all have our vulnerabilities.
God comes to us in our weakness. When life is dry and tasteless, in times of emotional drought and famine, depression or fear – God visits us to feed us with the nourishing food of unqualified forgiveness and infinite love. When our future seems cut off and possibilities disappear, Jesus touches our dead ends with resurrection power and brings new life and hope. That is what God does.
So bring to God today your fears and your vulnerabilities. Bring God your disappointments and insecurities. Feed from the bread of life and cup of salvation. Be touched and embraced back to life and freedom. God comes to us most especially in our weakness. God forgives us and accepts us fully into new life. God loves us with an unqualified and unquenchable love. This church mediates that every week through our prayer and through this Eucharist.
But, these two stories of widows and sons are not only metaphors, they are also stories about God's intention for our human community. God shows special attention and particular compassion toward anyone in our world who is marginalized, weak, dependent, or disowned, toward anyone whose future is threatened and who lives with fear and vulnerability. The prophet and the Christ care, and they expect us to share the divine agenda for compassion and generosity.
I met a young woman here the other day. She is seventeen; I'll call her Christina. Christina's family moved to Springdale when she was three. They came here legally from Mexico on a visitor's visa, but they stayed illegally after her father was offered a good job. They filed papers through an agency that promised to help them secure permanent worker status and citizenship. But the agency was a con. Preying on vulnerable immigrants, stealing their money and some of their brief window of opportunity for gaining status. Predators know that they can take advantage of people like Christina's family, because they know undocumented people are afraid to report villains to the police.
Christina has grown up here from age three. When she talks, she sounds just like you and me. She's bright and energetic. She'll graduate from Springdale High School next year with good grades. She plans to go to college. Christina got a learner's permit to drive when she was 14. It expired last year. She can't get a driver's license. She drives as rarely as she can, and when she does, she is very careful to obey all laws. Her mother telephones her if she hasn't heard from Christina by the time she should have reached wherever she was going. If Christina is pulled over, it could threaten her whole family. She says won't drive in Rogers where it is said people are pulled over without cause. In fact, she avoids Benton County if at all possible.
As she spoke, I remembered the "sundown towns," some with signs telling black people they'd better not be in this town when the sun goes down. A leading researcher counts 94 suspected sundown towns and counties in Arkansas' past.
Christina says she lives very carefully. She watches her words in the classroom. If people talk about illegal immigrants, she keeps silent. She's careful about the friends she makes. A small disagreement between friends could lead to a phone call that might bring the authorities to her door.
Her brother Jose is 21. He'll graduate from the University next year with a double major in Civil Engineering and Economics. He's been here since he was eight. He doubts he can get a job in the U.S. after he graduates. Unless the laws are changed, he'll probably move to Mexico, where he has few connections. All of his friends and family are here.
Everyone in Christina and Jose's family lives with the fear that at any moment one or all of them could be seized, detained, and deported. They know of the stories of Mamas who didn't show up at school to pick up their child, of Papas who lost job, home, and family in a moment.
I have a friend who got stopped in his car in Benton County the other day because the light on his tag was out. He had been at a fund-raiser in a prominent home, and he had consumed four glasses of wine. He failed the breathalyzer and ended up in jail. They treated him nicely; he was obviously some kind of professional. In the cell with him was an Hispanic man who had been walking home after having some beers with some friends. He had been picked up and charged with public intoxication. My friend is now back at work and talking to a lawyer who might get him off. The man in his cell with him will be deported to Mexico. "I wonder about his family," said my friend.
Maybe you remember Jesus' first sermon, in his home synagogue in Nazareth. Jesus mentioned this story about Elijah and the widow. Jesus told his hometown and family, "The truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zaraphath in Sidon." Jesus' sermon was not well received.
It's easier to hear a sermon about how God comes to us in our weaknesses and touches us with forgiveness and love. It's a little harder to hear a sermon about God's expectation that we do the same for others. Especially when it involves foreigners or the unclean.
Jesus was willing to get his hands dirty to touch something unclean and controversial for the sake of the weak and vulnerable. The synagogue didn't like it. Elijah befriended a foreigner in her time of weakness and danger. Ahab and Jezebel didn't like it.
God is here for us in our weakness and need. Will we be present for others in their weakness and need? If we want to cooperate with God's agenda, we will, with God's help.
In our first story from the Hebrew Scriptures, Ahab has just come to the throne as king, along with his Queen Jezebel. They are powerful, wealthy and cosmopolitan. Not since Solomon has Israel been such a power. But they are greedy and unjust. So God sends the prophet Elijah to announce a drought.
When the water dries up at the prophet's hiding place, God sends Elijah out of the country, to Zarephath in the neighboring Phoenician nation of Sidon. God sends Elijah to a widow.
In a patriarchal culture like the Middle East, a widow is particularly vulnerable. A woman only has social standing and economic security through a male – her husband or father, an uncle, brother or brother-in-law. Apparently this widow is struggling to stay alive without a male protector. In a prosperous time, she would be dependent upon charity, and very vulnerable. In a time of drought and the famine, her situation would be most precarious. When Elijah meets her, she is gathering sticks to make a last, small cake of bread before her supplies are exhausted. She is preparing to die. She and her son – her hope; her future.
Let's leave that there and shift to the Gospel story. Jesus has just healed a slave, a man who was the property of one of the foreign officers in the occupying Roman army. Now Jesus approaches a village not far from his hometown Nazareth. There is a funeral procession. The dead person is the only son of a widow. His death means her permanent marginalization and vulnerability.
If a widow has a son, that son gives her a future. He will have standing a soon as he becomes recognized as a man, around age twelve. He will be able to earn income for their survival, and to represent their interests in the community, and to marry and continue the family. A widow without a son is hopeless and vulnerable. This would have been an extraordinarily tragic funeral procession. The mourners know this widow's plight. They would have assumed that she, or the young man, or their ancestors had done something very bad to deserve this kind of punishment from God. The distancing from her would have already begun.
Look what Jesus does. "When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, 'Do not weep.' Then he came forward and touched the bier," he spoke to the corpse, and the young man was raised from death.
What Jesus did is inconceivable. Few things are as unclean in ancient Jewish culture as a corpse, or anything connected with a corpse. Jesus touched the bier, the frame on which the body is being carried for burial. It is against the law of Torah to touch a bier. One who does so becomes unclean. Rabbis don't touch the unclean. Jesus touches the bier.
Let's look at these two stories first as metaphors. Let's internalize them.
Within each of us is our internal widow – our experience of ourselves as contingent, dependent, weak, threatened, disowned. Sometimes life presents us with challenges that leave us literally weak, threatened, dependent or disowned. Even in the best of circumstances, we all have our vulnerabilities.
God comes to us in our weakness. When life is dry and tasteless, in times of emotional drought and famine, depression or fear – God visits us to feed us with the nourishing food of unqualified forgiveness and infinite love. When our future seems cut off and possibilities disappear, Jesus touches our dead ends with resurrection power and brings new life and hope. That is what God does.
So bring to God today your fears and your vulnerabilities. Bring God your disappointments and insecurities. Feed from the bread of life and cup of salvation. Be touched and embraced back to life and freedom. God comes to us most especially in our weakness. God forgives us and accepts us fully into new life. God loves us with an unqualified and unquenchable love. This church mediates that every week through our prayer and through this Eucharist.
But, these two stories of widows and sons are not only metaphors, they are also stories about God's intention for our human community. God shows special attention and particular compassion toward anyone in our world who is marginalized, weak, dependent, or disowned, toward anyone whose future is threatened and who lives with fear and vulnerability. The prophet and the Christ care, and they expect us to share the divine agenda for compassion and generosity.
I met a young woman here the other day. She is seventeen; I'll call her Christina. Christina's family moved to Springdale when she was three. They came here legally from Mexico on a visitor's visa, but they stayed illegally after her father was offered a good job. They filed papers through an agency that promised to help them secure permanent worker status and citizenship. But the agency was a con. Preying on vulnerable immigrants, stealing their money and some of their brief window of opportunity for gaining status. Predators know that they can take advantage of people like Christina's family, because they know undocumented people are afraid to report villains to the police.
Christina has grown up here from age three. When she talks, she sounds just like you and me. She's bright and energetic. She'll graduate from Springdale High School next year with good grades. She plans to go to college. Christina got a learner's permit to drive when she was 14. It expired last year. She can't get a driver's license. She drives as rarely as she can, and when she does, she is very careful to obey all laws. Her mother telephones her if she hasn't heard from Christina by the time she should have reached wherever she was going. If Christina is pulled over, it could threaten her whole family. She says won't drive in Rogers where it is said people are pulled over without cause. In fact, she avoids Benton County if at all possible.
As she spoke, I remembered the "sundown towns," some with signs telling black people they'd better not be in this town when the sun goes down. A leading researcher counts 94 suspected sundown towns and counties in Arkansas' past.
Christina says she lives very carefully. She watches her words in the classroom. If people talk about illegal immigrants, she keeps silent. She's careful about the friends she makes. A small disagreement between friends could lead to a phone call that might bring the authorities to her door.
Her brother Jose is 21. He'll graduate from the University next year with a double major in Civil Engineering and Economics. He's been here since he was eight. He doubts he can get a job in the U.S. after he graduates. Unless the laws are changed, he'll probably move to Mexico, where he has few connections. All of his friends and family are here.
Everyone in Christina and Jose's family lives with the fear that at any moment one or all of them could be seized, detained, and deported. They know of the stories of Mamas who didn't show up at school to pick up their child, of Papas who lost job, home, and family in a moment.
I have a friend who got stopped in his car in Benton County the other day because the light on his tag was out. He had been at a fund-raiser in a prominent home, and he had consumed four glasses of wine. He failed the breathalyzer and ended up in jail. They treated him nicely; he was obviously some kind of professional. In the cell with him was an Hispanic man who had been walking home after having some beers with some friends. He had been picked up and charged with public intoxication. My friend is now back at work and talking to a lawyer who might get him off. The man in his cell with him will be deported to Mexico. "I wonder about his family," said my friend.
Maybe you remember Jesus' first sermon, in his home synagogue in Nazareth. Jesus mentioned this story about Elijah and the widow. Jesus told his hometown and family, "The truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zaraphath in Sidon." Jesus' sermon was not well received.
It's easier to hear a sermon about how God comes to us in our weaknesses and touches us with forgiveness and love. It's a little harder to hear a sermon about God's expectation that we do the same for others. Especially when it involves foreigners or the unclean.
Jesus was willing to get his hands dirty to touch something unclean and controversial for the sake of the weak and vulnerable. The synagogue didn't like it. Elijah befriended a foreigner in her time of weakness and danger. Ahab and Jezebel didn't like it.
God is here for us in our weakness and need. Will we be present for others in their weakness and need? If we want to cooperate with God's agenda, we will, with God's help.
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P.O. Box 1190, Fayetteville, AR 72702, or call 479/442-7373
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posted by Lowell @ 6/05/2010 03:18:00 PM
2 comments
2 Comments:
Yes, there certainly is a challenge in living out our faith. I read Gandhi. One thing he said that has stuck with me - when seeking freedom for his country. "Many want their country to be great - I just want my country to be good."
It seems the challenge to me personally - I really want my religion to do good, my church to be good and do good, my country and my world to be good. They don't need to be great. I have a role to play in that, and I can trust that God is there - to bring good out of these real life situations. And I don't think we are ever called to give up on our expectations of goodness.
Your words are powerful and your witness is more so.
Thanks Lowell.
It does seem that "hesed" (loving kindness) describes God's nature and our invitation to follow in his character from the perspective of the Hebrew Scripture, and "compassion" describes Jesus' nature and our invitation to follow him in the Gospel. When loving kindness and compassion are present, there is goodness that doesn't have to worry about greatness.
Thanks Janet,
Lowell
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