Today we have heard a part of the story of Naomi, returning from exile, of Ruth, the foreigner in a foreign land, and of Boaz, who is there to meet them.
It is a story that moves from famine to harvest, from scarcity to abundance, from widowing to wedding, from poverty and widowhood to providence and safety.
Naomi, the tale tells us, was a woman of Israel who had traveled to the land of Moab in a time of famine. She had been married then, and had two sons, who married local women, there in Moab, Orpah and Ruth.
Those men, all three of them, had died. And so Naomi was left alone in a far country.
Could she provide new husbands for her daughters-in-law? No, she said, I cannot. All I can do is return, alone, to the land I came from long ago, and hope to make out some kind of living there among the people who once knew me. Leave me, and return to your own people, she said. Orpah did so, turning back from the long road to Israel, and saying farewell to Naomi, but Ruth stuck with her.
Where you go I will go, where you live I will live; your God will be my God, your people my people; where you are buried there will I be buried also. And so the two of them set out, crossing the miles and miles from one side of the Jordan to the other and moving up into the hill country of Ephraim, to the little town of Bethlehem.
It was in this country, the home country Naomi had come from, that they hoped to live.
Would Naomi be accepted back? Would anyone remember her? What about her husband’s land, the inheritance she would have to reclaim to make a living from? Could she, with the younger widow working beside her, farm it and live on the produce? In the meantime, how were they to eat?
It is a harvest time. Ruth goes out, to gather the grain left behind by the reapers; she is gleaning, a traditional way the poor kept from starving.
She finds favor in the sight of the farmer. His name is Boaz, and he has heard of her selfless care for her mother-in-law; in fact, he is kin. And he knows the law of the land—the law that laid out a role for the next of kin, the closest male relative to Naomi’s late husband and Ruth’s, to serve as the redeemer, the one to take over the care of the inheritance and of the family’s future.
Imagine the sorrow and loneliness Ruth felt; now turning to joy. She had been a widow from a far country, traveling among strangers and serving her mother-in-law. She had been gleaning in the fields, trying to make a livelihood out of poverty and forbearance, and had been rewarded with the regard of the man in whose fields she had gleaned.
Her mother-in-law, a widow too, saw this and, savvy to the ways of men, saw a way out of poverty. Put on your best clothes, my daughter, and go to the threshing floor tonight, where Boaz will be resting. Quietly go to him in the night. He’ll take it from there.
Ruth comes home that night to Naomi, bearing grain in her cloak— and good news. It must have been clear from her face.
Naomi may have thought things would progress farther than they had, in one way. Boaz had a good heart and saw that Ruth had one too. He continued to look after her, and did offer her protection, not the warmth of a night’s blanket but a lifetime of husband-hood.
Already he—a man of means, and of generous manner—saw in her his equal, calling her a worthy woman, that is, a person of honor and wisdom, like the capable wife, the accomplished life-partner, extolled in Proverbs (31:10-31).
He went to the city gate in the morning, where such business was transacted in that land, and there he made the deal— to a closer kinsman of Naomi, the one who had prior rights, he said, you are the redeemer, if you choose to be, of the inheritance of Naomi: a parcel of land, to farm, and a daughter-in-law, with whom to marry and raise a family. This is what you have to redeem, if you will be the redeemer.
I cannot do it, said the other man; I have an inheritance of my own to protect. And so he sealed the deal with Boaz, clearing the way for the marriage— and a new life for Ruth, and Naomi.
Soon there would be children, and this stranger to Israel, this sojourner in their midst, became one of them. Her faithfulness, her steadfast loyalty to her mother-in-law, her sacramental love and care for her, would be recognized and rewarded. She who had been a foreigner, daughter-in-law to Naomi, the returning exile, would marry the man who had stayed in the land—she became included among the people of God.
There is something more than blood kinship at work here; there is more than fulfilling an obligation of law. There is grace, and welcome, and faith made effective in love.
The story goes on to tell us about the children of Ruth, her son Obed (which means “servant”), her grandson Jesse, and of Jesse’s son—David, who would become king.
This widow, in her steadfast love and loyalty, her selfless care, is not the only widow extolled in today’s stories. She is not the only example of God’s care, of what it is to live in faith.
In the gospels we hear parable after parable to tell us what the kingdom of God is like. It is like a treasure buried in a field, it is like a pearl beyond price, it is like a mustard seed; it is like a father welcoming home his prodigal son.
Today also we have what amounts to a living parable, the poor widow that Jesus watched in the Temple, as she gave without stinting her last two coins, all she had to live on—in effect, her whole life—given over as a free gift to God.
Look, Jesus said to his men: there it is.
This is what the kingdom of God is like. It is like a poor widow, who on reaching the Temple gave without reserve her whole life as a sacrificial offering to God. She, unlike the others who came there that day, had no prominence in the eyes of men: she had no large gift to catch the eye, nothing that would show off well, just a simple gift—of everything.
Where is the good news in this story?
The good news is manifest in God’s unfailing love, open-handed beyond caution or common sense, acted out by this woman at the Temple treasury.
The good news is in God’s open-handed love, beyond precedent in the lives of men or women, which would soon be shown by Jesus himself, as he offered himself as a sacrificial offering, once for all.
The priests who entered the Holy of Holies, Hebrews reminds us, did so every year: not so our Lord, who once in his lifetime offered his whole life to God, for the redeeming of us all.
This is what the world looks like when God is truly in charge: a world in which all comes from God, and everything we have we have from God. All we offer to God—our gifts, our work, our offerings of thanks—comes from God and it is to God that we return.
So Ruth is welcomed home to a place she had never been before; she is welcome, known, recognized, as one of the very own of God—generous, loving heart, faithful—she is home, for the very first time.
So we too are welcome, in the kingdom of God, a world characterized by what the Hebrews called chesed, loyalty or faithfulness arising from commitment, the steadfast love of a loving Lord, the God who first loved us.
The widows in the story of Ruth, the widow in the Temple—they are exemplars to us of faith in living. The widow in the Temple does not give her whole life, her two coins, as a bet—she is not placing a desperate wager on the generosity of the Messiah. This isn’t a holy lottery, hoping that last dollar will turn into thousands. She is, by what she does, showing us a picture of absolute faith in the providence of God, the one who has given her all she has, and of whose own provision she has made radical return. We don’t, most of us, give with that little thought for the morrow.
Giving out of the abundance God has granted us, with thanks, with obedience, with grace, and with the knowledge that all we have is his, is what we do: it is the human thing to do.
What we see in the widow’s mite is more than just a human response—it is a sign, of God’s grace, of God’s abundance, of God’s profligate generosity. For soon, as the story carries us forward, this same son of Man who watched the widow put her two coins in the Treasury, will himself be given—will give himself—as the gift of God for our own souls’ redeeming.
He is the one who did not count equality with God as a thing to be held onto, but will be the one of whom it is said, God so loved the world that he gave his only Son that whoever believed in him, whoever trusted him so completely as to put their whole life into his care, would not perish but live eternally.
Everlasting life—and the love that is its source—is what stands behind the widows’ story.
Love, loyalty, life itself: time, talent, treasure: all we have, all we give, comes from God—who gave himself for us.
Guide me, God of grace, to give, as you would have me give, of what you have given me.
AMEN.
+
The Lessons appointed for use on the 23rd Sunday after Pentecost;
Proper 27, Year B, in the Revised Common Lectionary (RCL):
Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17 and Psalm 127
(or 1 Kings 17:8-16 and Psalm 146)
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44
The Abingdon Bible Commentary (Abingdon Press, 1929)
The HarperCollins Study Bible, Revised Edition (HarperSanFrancisco, 2006). Galatians 5:6, n.
The New Revised Standard Version Bible (National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America, 1989)
+
Showing posts with label Hebrews 9:24-28. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hebrews 9:24-28. Show all posts
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Sunday, November 9, 2003
the widow's mite
Merciful Father, compassionate Son, Spirit of
wisdom, inspire our words, ennoble our deeds,
that we may speak truth, work for justice, and
bear forth peace into the world you have made.
Let us then love God purely, without expectation
of reward or fear of punishment.
Remember how bereft a widow was in ancient
Palestine - the bottom had fallen out of her life
- she was in a dark place. Scripture knows no one
more desolate than the widow and orphan.
And here it was that Elijah went. He had just
announced to the king, Ahab, that there would be
no rain until he, Elijah, gave the word. Then he
hid out - first in a ravine (or wadi) where there
was a trickle of mud - then he picked up and left
Israel entirely.
He went into Sidon, on the coast - in the
territory whose god was not Yahweh but Baal. And yet
there Yahweh provided. As Yahweh lives, said the
widow, I have nothing ready to give you -
[She had nothing to offer him but bread, oil, and tears.]
just a little last meal, a little oil and flour,
with some sticks to make a fire. We are going to
eat it, then die.
I picture a campout kind of cooking - johnnycake,
bread on a stick. In any case,
after this rude meal, there would be nothing left
to eat and they would starve.
Remember the Psalm: Yahweh loves the righteous,
Yahweh cares for the stranger; God sustains the
orphan and widow, but frustrates the way of the
wicked. (Ps 146.8)
Poverty and bereavement came close together - and
the grief was not just personal but economic and
political. This woman on the edge of the land had
no livelihood. There was no provision for her
care. Left alone with no support, she was
composing herself for death.
Politically it was a dark and turbulent time.
Ahab, the cruel king of Israel, had driven Elijah
out - and he thought he had driven the Lord out
as well. He thought Yahweh was a tribal god, a
local god, one who could be replaced - with a
flashy imported model, Baal.
Yet here in the heart of the land of Baal, Elijah
runs for refuge - at God's command. And there the
wonders begin - with simple sustenance, the
plainest meal. Bread. Oil. God works through
these things. In these simple things, in the
offering of them, these destitute people affirm
their faith. And neither the bread nor the oil
failed - they lasted until the rains came.
(At first when I read these passages I thought of
Jesus, in the gospel of John making provision for
his mother. She was about to lose her son, her
support. And from the cross Jesus saw her
standing next to the beloved disciple, and said,
"Mother, there is your son." "There is your
mother." (John 19.25-27) And the disciple took
her into his home from that moment.)
God provides for the widowed and the orphaned.
But these lessons are about more than taht. They
are about the radical faith and unstinting giving
(service) of the women in the stories. They love
without fear of punishment or hope (expectation)
of reward. All they have, they give.
The faith the widow of Zarephath shows is an
absolute trust in Yahweh. He is no tribal god to
her - she has no tribe. He is no territorial god
- she is in exile. He is Lord of their lives, and
she returns to him an offering from all he has
provided.
(All I have needed thy hand hath provided, great
is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me. ...and now she
gives in turn.)
Again in the gospel we meet such a woman of
faith. We are warned, first, about the
rule-keepers, the people who try to earn their
place. They keep the rules.
Just as there were rules of hospitality there
were rules of giving - and as Jesus witnessed the
rules were kept. But there was someone who went
beyond the rules.
"She had less than enough, and gave all that she
had to live on." (REB)
It is one thing to give out of your wealth,
another to give out of your poverty. Here again
was a woman with next to nothing. What would
happen to her when she left the Temple? We don't
know.
(Since the first days of the church care for the
poor, the suffering & the bereft has been part of
its work. And of course there have been rich
widows - last week Mrs Kroc left $200m to NPR.)
What we do know is that she gave, without hope of
reward, without fear of retribution, without
stinting or holding back anything for herself.
All she had, she gave.
Six years ago at the General Convention in
Philadelphia I was selling Bibles and
prayerbooks. A friend helped me carry them in to
the exhibit hall, then we had lunch. We talked
about the issues of the day. He said, "well,
there are some rules, you know." And I found
myself retorting sharply,
"Your rules need to give way to some compassion."
Good words. Wrong target. I should have been
saying them to me!
Jesus carries us into a world beyond rule-keeping
- Jesus breaks the rules open to reveal
compassion, mercy & wisdom. Beyond the rules he
shows us radical faith, and a self-giving that
knows no measurement.
God does not meet us halfway.
This gift comes present to us as we share simple
sustenance together: Bread. Oil. Water. Wine.
Through them we find that he, like the widows,
has given all he has with an open hand - this
sacrifice of himself was made once when he freely
accepted the death he suffered at the hands of
the rule-makers. Bearing the message of
compassion, of infinite mercy, came with a cost
he could not measure - and did not measure.
As the widow of Zarephath claimed in the promise
of the prophet,
As the widow at the Temple opened her hand and
let it all fall to Yahweh,
So Jesus, sustaining himself only in his faith,
opened his heart - and cast himself on the mercy
of God.
[God is with us. Pray boldly. Give
wholeheartedly, openhandedly; live faithfully.]
This radical reliance on the providence of God,
this going beyond obedience to sacrificial giving
How do we live with that?
Where in our lives is there a place
to welcome the stranger
to give up our treasure
Perhaps it is not about the money
Perhaps it is about something else we treasure
Perhaps wherever we stand on current issues
Our rules need to give way to some compassion
It is about giving up self-righteousness, about
admitting that we, wherever we stand, could be
wrong - and opening our hands and our hearts and
ourselves to each other and to God.
(We need to blend the confidence, the courage, of the prophet, Elijah, with the compassion and care of the shepherd.
(The church has been through times of turmoil before. At one time there was a new prayerbook, and the ministers all looked different. It took 150 years, from 1537 to 1688, to find a workable solution. That was the English Reformation.
(How are we to live in the meantime?)
***
[It is not about the coins, not even the bread or
the oil. Perhaps it is about giving up our
treasured right to be right, to admit we could be
wrong, to open our hands and offer ourselves to
God and each other.
[DO try this at home.
[Next weekend at diocesan convention in Redding
there are a heap of resolutions to consider and
to vote on. Beyond that there are the people of
our diocese to gather and celebrate together the
goodness of God. It would be easy to get stuck on
the money - or it get stuck to us - to give or
not give, where I feel good or bad. But the money
is not a vehicle of self-expression, or a vote,
it's a gift of God. Beyond that what we really
have to give each other more than time, talent,
or treasure, is our obedience to the Lord, who
commands us to love one another. Our gift is to
go beyond compliance, to sacrifice our stampbooks
of debts owed, and out of radical reliance on God
to open our hands to the stranger and our hearts
to the Lord.]
Merciful Father, compassionate Son, Spirit of
wisdom, inspire our words, ennoble our deeds,
that we may speak truth, work for justice, and
bear forth peace into the world you have made.
Grant that we may live faithfully, and,
undistracted by fear of retribution or
expectation of reward,
love purely for Christ's sake.
__________________________________
Thanks to: Bill Adams, Don Kraus, Dorothy Nicholl, Jane Williams; Kate Aldrich, Margaret Bock, Hutch Gibb, George Hunt, Bette Leedom, Greta MacLeod, Ann Peters, John & Else Redmond, Sally Skanderup, Hugh Stevenson, George Thoresen, Julie Wizorek, Wendy Wood. Mrs. Paul H. (Sara S.) Leech.
The Lectionary Page www.io.com/~kellywp/YearB/Pentecost/Bprop27.html
Geranium Farm www.geraniumfarm.org Barbara Crafton
Out of Nowhere www.covenant-journal.org Lane Denson III
Year B Proper 27
1 Kings 17.8-16, Psalm 146.4-9, Hebrews 9.24-28
Mark 12.38-44 The widow's mite
St Patrick's Episcopal Church, Kenwood, California
Sunday, November 09, 2003
wisdom, inspire our words, ennoble our deeds,
that we may speak truth, work for justice, and
bear forth peace into the world you have made.
Let us then love God purely, without expectation
of reward or fear of punishment.
Remember how bereft a widow was in ancient
Palestine - the bottom had fallen out of her life
- she was in a dark place. Scripture knows no one
more desolate than the widow and orphan.
And here it was that Elijah went. He had just
announced to the king, Ahab, that there would be
no rain until he, Elijah, gave the word. Then he
hid out - first in a ravine (or wadi) where there
was a trickle of mud - then he picked up and left
Israel entirely.
He went into Sidon, on the coast - in the
territory whose god was not Yahweh but Baal. And yet
there Yahweh provided. As Yahweh lives, said the
widow, I have nothing ready to give you -
[She had nothing to offer him but bread, oil, and tears.]
just a little last meal, a little oil and flour,
with some sticks to make a fire. We are going to
eat it, then die.
I picture a campout kind of cooking - johnnycake,
bread on a stick. In any case,
after this rude meal, there would be nothing left
to eat and they would starve.
Remember the Psalm: Yahweh loves the righteous,
Yahweh cares for the stranger; God sustains the
orphan and widow, but frustrates the way of the
wicked. (Ps 146.8)
Poverty and bereavement came close together - and
the grief was not just personal but economic and
political. This woman on the edge of the land had
no livelihood. There was no provision for her
care. Left alone with no support, she was
composing herself for death.
Politically it was a dark and turbulent time.
Ahab, the cruel king of Israel, had driven Elijah
out - and he thought he had driven the Lord out
as well. He thought Yahweh was a tribal god, a
local god, one who could be replaced - with a
flashy imported model, Baal.
Yet here in the heart of the land of Baal, Elijah
runs for refuge - at God's command. And there the
wonders begin - with simple sustenance, the
plainest meal. Bread. Oil. God works through
these things. In these simple things, in the
offering of them, these destitute people affirm
their faith. And neither the bread nor the oil
failed - they lasted until the rains came.
(At first when I read these passages I thought of
Jesus, in the gospel of John making provision for
his mother. She was about to lose her son, her
support. And from the cross Jesus saw her
standing next to the beloved disciple, and said,
"Mother, there is your son." "There is your
mother." (John 19.25-27) And the disciple took
her into his home from that moment.)
God provides for the widowed and the orphaned.
But these lessons are about more than taht. They
are about the radical faith and unstinting giving
(service) of the women in the stories. They love
without fear of punishment or hope (expectation)
of reward. All they have, they give.
The faith the widow of Zarephath shows is an
absolute trust in Yahweh. He is no tribal god to
her - she has no tribe. He is no territorial god
- she is in exile. He is Lord of their lives, and
she returns to him an offering from all he has
provided.
(All I have needed thy hand hath provided, great
is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me. ...and now she
gives in turn.)
Again in the gospel we meet such a woman of
faith. We are warned, first, about the
rule-keepers, the people who try to earn their
place. They keep the rules.
Just as there were rules of hospitality there
were rules of giving - and as Jesus witnessed the
rules were kept. But there was someone who went
beyond the rules.
"She had less than enough, and gave all that she
had to live on." (REB)
It is one thing to give out of your wealth,
another to give out of your poverty. Here again
was a woman with next to nothing. What would
happen to her when she left the Temple? We don't
know.
(Since the first days of the church care for the
poor, the suffering & the bereft has been part of
its work. And of course there have been rich
widows - last week Mrs Kroc left $200m to NPR.)
What we do know is that she gave, without hope of
reward, without fear of retribution, without
stinting or holding back anything for herself.
All she had, she gave.
Six years ago at the General Convention in
Philadelphia I was selling Bibles and
prayerbooks. A friend helped me carry them in to
the exhibit hall, then we had lunch. We talked
about the issues of the day. He said, "well,
there are some rules, you know." And I found
myself retorting sharply,
"Your rules need to give way to some compassion."
Good words. Wrong target. I should have been
saying them to me!
Jesus carries us into a world beyond rule-keeping
- Jesus breaks the rules open to reveal
compassion, mercy & wisdom. Beyond the rules he
shows us radical faith, and a self-giving that
knows no measurement.
God does not meet us halfway.
This gift comes present to us as we share simple
sustenance together: Bread. Oil. Water. Wine.
Through them we find that he, like the widows,
has given all he has with an open hand - this
sacrifice of himself was made once when he freely
accepted the death he suffered at the hands of
the rule-makers. Bearing the message of
compassion, of infinite mercy, came with a cost
he could not measure - and did not measure.
As the widow of Zarephath claimed in the promise
of the prophet,
As the widow at the Temple opened her hand and
let it all fall to Yahweh,
So Jesus, sustaining himself only in his faith,
opened his heart - and cast himself on the mercy
of God.
[God is with us. Pray boldly. Give
wholeheartedly, openhandedly; live faithfully.]
This radical reliance on the providence of God,
this going beyond obedience to sacrificial giving
How do we live with that?
Where in our lives is there a place
to welcome the stranger
to give up our treasure
Perhaps it is not about the money
Perhaps it is about something else we treasure
Perhaps wherever we stand on current issues
Our rules need to give way to some compassion
It is about giving up self-righteousness, about
admitting that we, wherever we stand, could be
wrong - and opening our hands and our hearts and
ourselves to each other and to God.
(We need to blend the confidence, the courage, of the prophet, Elijah, with the compassion and care of the shepherd.
(The church has been through times of turmoil before. At one time there was a new prayerbook, and the ministers all looked different. It took 150 years, from 1537 to 1688, to find a workable solution. That was the English Reformation.
(How are we to live in the meantime?)
***
[It is not about the coins, not even the bread or
the oil. Perhaps it is about giving up our
treasured right to be right, to admit we could be
wrong, to open our hands and offer ourselves to
God and each other.
[DO try this at home.
[Next weekend at diocesan convention in Redding
there are a heap of resolutions to consider and
to vote on. Beyond that there are the people of
our diocese to gather and celebrate together the
goodness of God. It would be easy to get stuck on
the money - or it get stuck to us - to give or
not give, where I feel good or bad. But the money
is not a vehicle of self-expression, or a vote,
it's a gift of God. Beyond that what we really
have to give each other more than time, talent,
or treasure, is our obedience to the Lord, who
commands us to love one another. Our gift is to
go beyond compliance, to sacrifice our stampbooks
of debts owed, and out of radical reliance on God
to open our hands to the stranger and our hearts
to the Lord.]
Merciful Father, compassionate Son, Spirit of
wisdom, inspire our words, ennoble our deeds,
that we may speak truth, work for justice, and
bear forth peace into the world you have made.
Grant that we may live faithfully, and,
undistracted by fear of retribution or
expectation of reward,
love purely for Christ's sake.
__________________________________
Thanks to: Bill Adams, Don Kraus, Dorothy Nicholl, Jane Williams; Kate Aldrich, Margaret Bock, Hutch Gibb, George Hunt, Bette Leedom, Greta MacLeod, Ann Peters, John & Else Redmond, Sally Skanderup, Hugh Stevenson, George Thoresen, Julie Wizorek, Wendy Wood. Mrs. Paul H. (Sara S.) Leech.
The Lectionary Page www.io.com/~kellywp/YearB/Pentecost/Bprop27.html
Geranium Farm www.geraniumfarm.org Barbara Crafton
Out of Nowhere www.covenant-journal.org Lane Denson III
Year B Proper 27
1 Kings 17.8-16, Psalm 146.4-9, Hebrews 9.24-28
Mark 12.38-44 The widow's mite
St Patrick's Episcopal Church, Kenwood, California
Sunday, November 09, 2003
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