"A racist on a train, a hungry prophet, and the hard things God asks of us..." Sermon for Sunday 11 November 2018


Sermon for Sunday 11 November 2018
Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem

The Rev. Carrie Ballenger Smith



Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Damascus Gate, Sunday morning 11 November 2018

Tuesday morning, 8:30 a.m., I stepped onto the train at the Ammunition Hill station and stood near the door, as usual. It’s only a 6-minute ride from there to Damascus Gate, so it’s usually best not to venture too far into the crowd of commuters and away from the exit. On this particular morning, however, there was a small boy already standing in my regular spot. He seemed only 5 or 6 years old, wearing a backpack and a kippah, clearly on his way to school. I found a place next to the boy, made a point to smile at him, adjusted my earbuds, and turned up the volume of the podcast I was listening to.

At the next stop, the doors opened again, and in walked a large, loud, man. He was also wearing a kippah, along with an American flag t-shirt and a very bad attitude. Because the train was now a bit packed, he had no choice but to stand exactly in front of me and the schoolboy…who instantly became the man’s source of interest.

“Are you Jewish??” he said, leaning into the small boy’s face. “I said, are you Jewish? You look Palestinian! Doesn’t he look Palestinian?”

This he said, apparently, to all the others in our general vicinity. Thankfully, it seemed the boy didn’t speak English, because the man’s rant continued, aimed at no one in particular:

“This is why we have a problem in Jerusalem! Anyone is allowed here now. We even have Japanese in Jerusalem now!”

At this point, I had turned down the volume on my podcast, but kept the earbuds in my ears. I wanted to hear the man and his little speech—and yet I didn’t. I wanted to do something—but knew I could do little in the 2 minutes left before arriving at Damascus Gate. Instead, I used all my superpowers to radiate “hush up” to this man with my eyes, my body, my spirit—and to hopefully communicate “I’ve got you” to the small boy next to me. I relaxed a bit only when I realized the boy was getting off at the same stop as me. Together, we stepped off the train and went opposite directions into the streets of Jerusalem, leaving the Ranting Racist to his ranting, and his racism.

Afterward, as I walked through the Old City to the church, I confess I didn’t have much Christian love in my heart, either for this city or for people in general. “Really, Jesus?” I was half praying, half ranting myself. “I need to love that guy? I need to see your image in that dude? I need to feed him, care for him, seek justice and peace and liberation even for him?”

And the answer I received was: Yes, Carrie. Yes, you do. Even for your enemies. Even him.

Sigh.

Sometimes the Lord asks us to do hard things.
Sometimes, the Creator of all beings says, “This, too, is a beloved child of mine.”

It was quite interesting, then, that after this train encounter the next thing on my schedule was our regular Tuesday morning prayer service and Bible study, during which time we studied 1 Kings and the story of Elijah and the Widow of Zarephath.
Eight of us sat with our cappuccinos in the sun-bathed church courtyard and read,

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.”

Now, I’ve heard the story of Elijah and the Widow of Zarephath many times, and thought I knew it well. But Holy Scripture is a living Word, which means it can speak to us in new ways in different contexts and situations. On this particular Tuesday morning, the Widow of Zarephath sounded to me something like this:

“Really, Lord? Really, I’m supposed to feed this guy? I have nothing to feed my son, and I’m supposed to take care of this dude, who shows up asking for bread just as I’m gathering sticks to prepare my last meal?”

And the Lord said to the widow of Zarephath, through the prophet Elijah:

“Do not be afraid…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.”

Wow, that sounds familiar, I thought as I sipped my cappuccino.

Just before worship at Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem
11 November 2018

Sometimes the Lord asks us to do hard things. 

Sometimes we’re asked to figure out what it means to love even a racist who would harass a small child on a train!

And sometimes, we’re asked to give all that we have, even when it seems we have nothing left to give.

The Widow of Zarephath is often lifted up as a model of both hospitality and of obedience to God– and it’s true, she is both of those things. But it’s also true that she was at the end of her rope. She had reached the end of her reserves, literally. She had nothing left to give—or so she thought—even to a prophet of the Lord.

And I get that! Some days are just like that. In Jerusalem, many days are like that! Amen?

You’re just trying to get to work, and a ranting racist steps onto the train.

Or you’re trying to get to work, and you have to cross a checkpoint and show your ID and have a gun waved in your face.

You’re trying to offer your small part in the struggle for peace based on justice in Palestine and Israel…and far-away authorities in your home country cut funding, move offices, and undermine the work you’ve been doing.

Or you’re trying to offer your small part in the struggle for peace based on justice in Palestine and Israel…and when you turn on the news 12 people have been shot to death in your home country.

Again.

On days like these, when our reserves are empty, who can blame us for talking back to a prophet of God?

On days like these, when our reserves are empty, it can feel like all too much when Jesus shows up and says,

“Love your neighbor as yourself”
“Pray for your enemies”
“Feed my sheep”

and especially, “Take up your cross and follow me.”

How are we supposed to do these hard things, when the world and its brokenness seems to empty our pantry all the time?

Dear siblings in Christ, I confess that when I encountered that racist, ridiculous, beloved Child of God on the train this Tuesday, I wondered how I could possibly do what the Lord requires of me.

Can I really do justice, and love kindness, and walk humbly with my God?
Can I really see the image of God in every person?
Can I really follow Jesus, knowing that he leads us, his disciples, to the cross?
This stuff isn’t easy! Discipleship isn’t easy! Amen?

I wish I could stand here say “it gets better” or “it gets easier”. I wish I could tell you I went to seminary and got ordained and now I’ve got it all figured out. 

But the truth is, pastors don’t have it all figured out, and even our most beloved saints, activists, and peacemakers have known times when their reserves were gone, and their resolve was fading.

One of the most powerful examples for me is the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who often received death threats for his work to achieve civil rights for Black Americans in the US.

In the book “Stride Towards Freedom”, we read about what he called his most profound spiritual experience, which took place late at night at his kitchen table:

Redeemer member Haddie Smith provides prelude music 
“I was ready to give up. With my cup of coffee sitting untouched before me, I tried to think of a way to move out of the picture without appearing a coward. In this state of exhaustion, when my courage had all but gone, I decided to take my problem to God. With my head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud.

The words I spoke to God that midnight are still vivid in my memory. "I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But now I am afraid. The people are looking to me for leadership, and if I stand before them without strength and courage, they too will falter. I am at the end of my powers. I have nothing left. I've come to the point where I can't face it alone."

Like the Widow of Zarephath, Dr. King felt he had nothing left to give. He had no bread baked, no meal, no oil. While he wasn’t preparing his last meal, he was surely considering this being his last night in the civil rights movement.

But then, Dr. King writes:

"At that moment, I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never experienced God before. It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying: "Stand up for justice, stand up for truth; and God will be at your side forever." Almost at once my fears began to go. My uncertainty disappeared. I was ready to face anything."

I hear in Dr. King’s account echoes of Elijah and the Widow of Zarephath. When she challenged Elijah, saying, “I’ve got nothing!” the word she received from the prophet was, “Do not be afraid! Your meal will not run out. Your oil will not run out. Trust me.”

And when Dr. King took his fears and doubt to the Lord, the message was much the same:

“Do not be afraid! Trust me. You can do this.

Again and again, this is the message we receive through Holy Scripture. Whenever we feel weak, whenever the situation seems bleak, whenever we see only scarcity and emptiness in the world around us, the God of abundance shows up to pull us through.

When the pantry is empty,
When the peace process has stalled,
When the wall seems to be a permanent part of the landscape,
When mass shootings seem commonplace,
When racism and sexual assault and homophobia and hate have been given a pass even by elected leaders,
When a stone is blocking the entrance to Jesus’ tomb and his disciples can’t imagine how the dark night will ever end,

Then the God of light and life shows up to change the rules of the game—

and all are fed.
The oil never fails.
Walls fall.
The captives are freed.
The dead are raised. Thanks be to God! Amen!

In this way, the story of the Widow of Zarephath is a beautiful reminder that as people of faith, we aren’t called to assess the world’s situation and then decide how much we can do,
how much we can love our neighbor,
how far we can follow Jesus,
or how far we can go when trusting the Lord our God.

We do not judge what’s possible by statistics or polling data or even by what we have left in our kitchen pantry.

As today’s Psalm, number 146 states it:

Do not put your trust in princes,
   in mortals, in whom there is no help.  When their breath departs, they return to the earth;    on that very day their plans perish. 
   whose hope is in the Lord their God, 
who made heaven and earth,
   the sea, and all that is in them;
who keeps faith for ever; 
   who executes justice for the oppressed;
   who gives food to the hungry. 
   the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down;
   the Lord loves the righteous. 
The Lord watches over the strangers;
   he upholds the orphan and the widow,
   but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.”


Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob,
The Lord sets the prisoners free.

Amen!

Yes, God often asks us to do hard things. And often, we feel we have nothing left to give.

Sometimes, we’re ready to prepare our last meal, to throw in the towel and give up on the hope of peace, justice, equality, liberation, and love for all people.

And then…miraculously, we find that the jar of meal is full. The oil is replenished. Our energy is renewed! And by the grace of God, we have enough for one more day—one more day of loving. One more day of hoping. One more day of striving for a better future for all our neighbors.

Tuesday afternoon, St. Francis Road, near my hair salon. I’ve had prayer and Bible study. I’ve had a cappuccino and a good conversation with friends—and still, I’m not really in love with Jerusalem, or its people, or people in general. 

The memory of that awful morning train encounter is still at the forefront of my mind.

But then I look up and see a Muslim woman in hijab, leaning over and fussing with a plastic bag on the street. Soon, the bag starts to rise through the air. I realize it’s attached to a rope, and the rope reaches all the way up to the top floor window of the building next to us. When I look up, I see a Greek Orthodox priest I know, his head sticking out a window, slowly pulling the plastic bag up to his room via that rope.

What’s in the bag? I wondered. Probably lunch. And I’m hungry.

The priest, whom I recognize, sees me and smiles. “Hello, Sister!” he calls out, and waves to me as his lunch passes the windowsill and arrives to his quarters. “Ma’a Salameh. Go in peace!”  

The Muslim woman who had sent the lunch up did the same. “Ma Salameh, Sister!”

I walked away hungry for lunch… because I was certain my friend the priest knew what to order for lunch!

But I also walked away with a smile on my face, and feeling full.

I had been so depleted, so empty that day. I was so sick of humanity.

But in that moment, I felt full of hope, full of trust, full of confidence –
Confidence in the peaceful, just, diverse city of Jerusalem that really can exist someday,

And confidence in the Lord God, the God of our ancestors:

The God of Hannah and Elizabeth, whose prayers for children were answered,
The God of Peter and Mary Magdalene, who witnessed resurrection and light when it seemed the night would last forever,
The God of Dr. Martin Luther King, who received strength for the struggle when he needed it most,

And the God of the Widow of Zarephath,

Who thought she had nothing left to give,
Who wanted to give up,
But who trusted,
Who stepped out in faith,
and whose jar was never emptied,
Whose oil never ran out,
And whose witness of trust and obedience strengthens us for our struggle today.

May the peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.  

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