November 8, 2009
(Twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost; Proper 27)
(From The Lectionary Page)
God is Very Near
by The Rev. Joe Behen,
Clergy Assistant
“…to be unfortunate in this world in such a way that one is abandoned by human sympathy… is a sign of God’s nearness.”[1] I find that this quote from Soren Kierkegaard says a lot about much of the Bible, not least about today’s lessons. It’s an idea that almost seems at odds with itself. That the God of providence, who made humanity in his own image and loves us, would be nearest to us, precisely when we are in great need, seems strange. Yet there it is, throughout both Old and New Testament.
It strikes me that there are two ways of understanding this. First of all, the presence of the poor and needy reminds us of the sad truth that God’s justice is not the rule on earth. It is too much the exception. The poor, then, become the living embodiment of God’s message of truth, justice, and mercy. That message is to be responded to with love.
But there is something more, both to Kierkegaard’s statement and to this idea of God’s presence with the poor. It seems that today’s readings would have us to understand God’s presence, not in an abstract and theoretical way, but in a personal and very tangible sense. Having said this, I find no better way to communicate my own understanding of this, than through a story.
Part of my seminary experience in Austin, Texas, was an urban immersion program in which seminarians were placed for three weeks in a setting of ministry to the urban poor. With a classmate I was placed in the Trinity Center, a mission that fed breakfast to about a hundred or so of Austin’s homeless folks each day. Breakfast was normally finished by 10, but coffee was served throughout the day. Over time, the Trinity Center had become a kind of sanctuary to these folks, a place where they could sit for a while and escape from some of the realities of their existence. There were a number of regulars, but also numerous passers through, or newly homeless.
My classmate Scott and I were placed here with no clear directions or expectations regarding our own part in this community. We took it upon ourselves then simply to get to know the individuals, to learn something about them. It was a truly transforming experience. One particular neighbor that I spoke with nearly every day was a particularly eloquent man named Larry, who described himself as an out-of-work children’s author. Larry told me once that it still amazed him how hard it was to be homeless. He described his life of trying to guard the few possessions he did have that he couldn’t carry with him, of trying to protect himself from the weather, and of being moved by police away from the downtown area at night. “If you stay here,” he said, “you just have to keep moving all night. If you move away from downtown, there are fewer public places where you can just sit, much less lay down. Everything you do requires standing in long lines with the same people you were trying to protect yourself from last night. It just wears you down.” His eyes became red as he finished. “You have no choice but to let go of your dreams. They get replaced by thoughts of your next meal and where you’ll stay tonight.”
None of what Larry told me surprised me. But what did surprise me was just how moved I was by this interaction. I was no longer looking at homelessness in some general sense, or driving by someone walking down Broadway with a knap sack or a shopping cart. I was talking with a person, someone who God cared for as much as me – someone who lived the injustice that I was able to look at from a distance. We were simply two people sharing his pain for a moment. I had rarely felt God’s presence so strongly as I did then. Larry’s tears became God’s tears.
When I asked Larry how I might help him, he gave me and old floppy disc that he had carried for years. He told me that the children’s book he last worked on was on it, and simply asked me to print it for him. I was excited to think that so simple a thing could mean so much to him. That night I loaded the disc, only to find that Larry’s book consisted of about 15 photographs of a primitive doll house, with doll people standing in various places within. My heart sank and filled with pity for Larry, but I printed them as I had promised. The next morning Larry looked excitedly at the photographs, and then began to rehearse a story complete with doll voices. He looked like a child at play, oblivious for a moment to the difficulty of his life. I knew in my heart that God was very near.
It is no coincidence that Jesus’ first sentence in Mark’s gospel includes the phrase, “…the Kingdom of God has come near.” This is where Mark begins Jesus’ story, and the next 16 chapters go on to illustrate this truth, in his story of Jesus’ life.
Today’s passage from Mark has been used through the centuries to make the widow an example of giving. But scholars currently argue over whether Mark is admiring the widow’s dedication, or if he is rather lamenting her plight, a situation forced upon her by the Temple authorities. As with so much that Mark does, I think that the answer is – yes, he means those things. But there is little doubt that the nearness of God’s Kingdom, the nature of God’s presence, is Mark’s primary focus.
Throughout Hebrew literature, the widow and the orphan are used to represent the poor, the unfortunate. The actual Hebrew word for widow means not only one whose husband has died, but also carries the more subtle definition of, “the voiceless one, one with no means, no power.” The widows we encounter today not only have nothing, and no one hears their need, no one advocates for them. They are alone. They lack what is needed simply to live. But there is an interesting difference in these two stories as well. The widow in Elijah’s story finds redemption, while there is no evidence that anything is different for Mark’s widow. If we go strictly with the text, nothing at all changes for her.
What is lacking in Mark’s story, is relationship. Elijah entered into a relationship with the widow in Zarephath. He listened to, and lived with, her desperate situation. He beckoned her to trust God. But he also learned something about God through her. It was in her presence that God’s word came to him, that the jar of meal and the jug of oil would not fail her. It was in her presence that he himself was nourished. And it was in her presence that he learned, why God had sent him there. God truly was close to Elijah in this poor widow, who was prepared to lay down and die. Through each other and through their trust in God, they both lived.
So why do we not find the same kind of relational healing in the gospel story? What happens to the widow who gave all she had in the Temple? We don’t know, but what we do know is that Jesus goes out of his way to call her to the disciples’ attention, and by extension, ours. By pointing her out, Jesus has given her to us, to be our mission, our reason, our way to the experience of God. She is ours to care for, to give voice to. Like my friend Larry, she is all around us. When we enter into her world with its impossible difficulties and pressing needs, we enter into God’s presence. God’s presence becomes inseparable from God’s mission for us.
It is only through engaging the people with the greatest needs, in personal relationship, that we experience God in and through them. God was truly with Larry, and he was with me by extension while I engaged Larry in our relationship. Like the widows in today’s lessons, Larry is the reason we are called to mission. God’s work happens through our relationship with these voiceless ones. God’s returning of their voice happens through our choice to enter into relationship with them, so that we might hear them. And while listening, we too will hear God’s voice.
[1] Kierkegaard, Soren. Provocations – Spiritual Writings of Kierkegaard (Farmington, PA: Plough Publishing House, 2002) p. 185
