"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.
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| 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.
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| 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:
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| 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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