Theology of Abundance

A Sermon for Pleasant Street Church

Rev. Reebee Girash

June 6, 2010

Text:

This is not a story which ignores pain, death, grief, drought, famine, tragedy. No, it’s all there, in stark focus. Especially, oh, especially, if you listen to this widow.

And yet…

This is a resurrection story. This is a conversion story. This is a story of transformation. Listen for God’s word to you.

1 Kings 17:8-16, (17-24)

Elijah was on the run, and there was a famine in the land.

17:8 Then the word of the LORD came to Elijah, saying,

17:9 “Go now to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and live there; for I have commanded a widow there to feed you.”

17:10 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.”

17:11 As she was going to bring it, he called to her and said, “Bring me a morsel of bread in your hand.”

17:12 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.”

17:13 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.

17:14 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.”

(Pause, offer emotion to the widow’s face.)

17:15 She went and did as Elijah said, so that she as well as he and her household ate for many days.

17:16 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.

17:17 After this the son of the woman, the mistress of the house, became ill; his illness was so severe that there was no breath left in him.

17:18 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!”

17:19 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.

17:20 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?”

17:21 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.”

17:22 The LORD listened to the voice of Elijah; the life of the child came into him again, and he revived.

17:23 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.”

17:24 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.”

Prayer

Sermon

She could be an AIDS widow in Cape Town.

She could be a homeless woman, living in a family shelter.

She could be a mom, whose son is sick, and she does not know what to do to heal him.

She could be a fisherman, on Grand Isle, Louisiana.

She could be any of you, in those moments of desperation, you know you’ve had them.

There was a time when this story was the narrative of my own family’s life.

The summer before I was to start seminary, my mom’s life fell apart. Her kidneys failed. She was on dialysis. She was a poor widow, literally, alone in Nashville, she had food to put on the table, but no energy to cook it. She was in trouble.

My aunt called me, and said, come down here and take are of your mother.

Mom and I talked about it, she said: don’t leave your life in Boston, I’ll move up there, if you’ll help me.

Her church (my home church) helped us pack, helped us clean, helped us sell the house. Drove us to the airport.

Just like that, my mom was a Bostonian, though the Southern lilt always set her apart.

Just like that, the Nashville family and friends were too far away to help. (Thank God for John, and other Boston folks.)

We found an assisted living apartment.

And I looked at the money and realized, it wasn’t going to last very long.

The first little while things were ok, financially. I’d watch the balance dwindle, just kept saying, it’ll be ok somehow.

Mom lived here four and a half years.

Somewhere midway through the second year I started to get nervous when I opened the bank statements.

There were tearful nights, wondering how to keep mom in supportive housing, which cost so much, but was the only right place for her.

There were exciting juggles: will this company fuss if we pay them a week late? Will this medical office work a deal with us?

There were also moments of relief: unexpected refund checks; gifts; sale of the little summer camp property; just enough of a raise from Social Security; a call from her building that she’d been accepted into a special financial assistance program.

I thanked God monthly, that Mom, a retired insurance underwriter, had chosen a very good Medicare supplement policy through her company.

Year four, finally, I had a “real job” and suddenly if you added what I could give to her social security check, the bills got paid.

And yet, every month, it was like peering into that jar of meal. Would there be enough to get her through?

Every month, I thought: she’ll have to go to nursing home. Not because she needs that level of care, but because, in our messed up world, assisted living is more out of reach financially than a skilled nursing home.

But never once, in those four and half years, did we run out of money completely.

Every month, just a little more oil, a little more meal, found its way mysteriously into the jar.

After she died, I went to the bank to close out her account. They handed me the balance in cash and coins. It was less than fifty dollars.

That four and a half years, there wasn’t an easy day, for either of us. Life was hard for my mom: her health was fragile, she was in and out of the hospital so often they offered her a frequent flyer card. And dialysis, in case you don’t know: it just sucks. Life was hard for me: youngins in their twenties are not usually primary caregivers for fragile elders; especially not while also in grad school, working two jobs, getting engaged and married (ok, there were some bright spots; ps John was great to my mom).

I suppose one reason I personally made it through, was my mom. Not just the fact that I loved her and wanted to do right by her. That was the motivation. But Mom was also my example. She was the one who had lived her whole life, getting up every day with no reason to think the jar of meal would be any fuller than the day before, but getting up anyway, and getting on with the business of taking care of people, of believing in them, of nurturing and feeding them. I was one of those people. So, when she needed care, and the jar seemed empty, I followed her example and kept going, every day. And it was enough.

We like to dream about big miracles. There’s even one in our story: the son raised from the dead.

Not a one of us hasn’t prayed, this past six weeks, for the oil spill to be contained, right this second.

Not a one of us hasn’t prayed, for an end to AIDS.

Not a one of us, hasn’t prayed for someone to wave a magic wand and fix Pleasant Street Church, restore it to former glory, overnight.

Not a one of us hasn’t prayed for someone we love to be healed: of cancer, of ALS, of mental illness, of Alzheimer’s, of scoliosis.

Not a one of us doesn’t need some kind of big miracle.

But while we wait…and let’s not stop waiting…I believe in that kind of miracle…while we wait, let’s remember the daily miracles that get us through. The people who call at the right moment. The medication that at least gives us time. The volunteers who are even now, cleaning the oil off of brown pelicans and transporting them to safety. The researchers working and the activists envisioning a post-oil world.

God says, in the face of despair, in the face of a hurting and broken world, in the face of famine, in the face of anger, grief, injustice:

Do not be afraid.

Trust in me.

Act with compassion.

- - - - Don’t be afraid.

We have hit the wall:

I can’t possibly.

We’re starving.

The money is gone.

The pelicans are smothered in oil.

We are soooooo tired.

I have nothing left to give.

The pain is too great.

God says, follow me.

You can, possibly.

Don’t be afraid.

Psalm 146 says of this God of ours, gives food to the hungry; sets the prisoners free;

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; the LORD upholds the orphan and the widow.

The next morning, you wake up. You stand, stretch, wonder. You take a deep breath, walk over to the counter, pull the jar to you. You open it. There inside, is enough for today.

Do not be afraid.

Amen.

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Theology of Abundance – Sermon, June 6

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