1 Kings 17:8-16
Peace Sunday, November 8, 2009
Mark 12:38-44
Allan Klassen
A Witness of Generosity and Hospitality
Today, as we focus on Peace Sunday and move toward Remembrance Day we are
drawn to consider and to lament the incredible losses which have resulted, and
which continue to result, from military conflicts around the world. As I
“Googled” the number of war casualties worldwide in the last century I was
amazed, first of all, at the number of wars that were listed, and then at the
number that were designated as either civil wars or genocides. An astounding
number of situations of internal conflicts and people killing their neighbors!
Precise total casualties (military and civilian) over the last 100 years are, of
course, not possible to come by but most estimates put the number at
approximately 160,000,000. Destruction of human lives equivalent to the entire
Canadian population five times over! Leading the statistics is World War II with
some 60,000,000 deaths.
The obvious question is, what would lead us as so-called civilized people to
wreak such havoc on each other? And how come even after “the war to end all
wars” (WW I) have we not yet learned other ways to deal with our problems? Is
there anything we can do to restore some sanity to our political systems? Sadly,
based on the reality of present world situations, prospects do not appear too
hopeful.
Our Lectionary readings for this morning may provide some helpful clues.
Interestingly, both the OT and the NT stories center around widows – focus on
the attitudes and actions of widows, who, unfortunately, are always one of the
sad by-products of wars. Why do political leaders and groups (such as countries,
ethnic or religious factions, etc) wage wars. It seems to me that two prominent
reasons are that they either want what someone else has (territory, resources,
etc), or that they hate some other group enough that they wish to control them
or even get rid of them by violent means.
Our OT reading follows Elijah’s warning to Ahab of impending drought in the land
and Elijah’s subsequent retreat to the Wadi (or Brook) Cherith where he is
sustained with bread and meat brought to him by ravens. When the Wadi dries up
because of the drought Elijah is directed to the Phoenician town of Zarephath on
the shores of the Mediterranean sea in the territory ruled by Sidon. Upon
entering the town Elijah encounters a widow gathering sticks and asks her for
water and bread. The widow and her son are impoverished, perhaps due in part to
the drought in the area. But, encouraged by Elijah’s assurance, she takes her
last bit of flour and oil and prepares a little cake for her unexpected guest,
and miraculously, her meager provisions are replenished and they have food for
many days.
In our NT reading Jesus first of all warns about and decries pretentious scribes
who like to be well thought of, who wish to be greeted with respect in the
market, and who look for the best seats in the synagogue and at banquets, all
the while oppressing poor widows. And then Jesus deliberately seats himself by
the offering plate to observe people’s donations. (Perhaps an interesting
strategy to adopt in order to encourage church giving.)
Upon seeing a poor widow put in two small copper coins, Jesus calls the
disciples over and commends the widow’s gift, not because of the size of her
gift but rather pointing out that while others “have contributed out of their
abundance; she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to
live on”.
As I said, the actions of these widows may provide some clues to counteracting
the causes of conflicts, and some hope for the future, that is, if enough of us
emulate their attitudes and actions. The story of Elijah’s encounter with the
widow of Zarephath shows us the radical trust of two faithful servants of God,
for indeed, neither the widow nor Elijah had any tangible assurance of the
outcome. And in their stories we also see the importance of generosity and
hospitality, particularly toward strangers. Both Jews and early Christians
believed that strangers might be messengers of God. And consequently, both built
generosity and hospitality into their moral codes.
Normally Elijah, who is a Jew and a man, would have (should have) been taking
care of the gentile widow. This was the law. He was bound to do so. But here he
had to be humble enough to accept her generosity and hospitality, knowing that
he was taking her last bit of grain and oil. The promise he makes on God’s
behalf is all he has to give her. And her generosity and their faith and his
humility all come together to allow God to work.
Jewish law paid special heed to strangers in a foreign land, in part because
their plight resembled that of the Jews themselves during their earlier sojourn
in Egypt. But, as we know, laws are only as good as their observance and in the
biblical record we find the Jewish prophets constantly reminding and exhorting
the people to look after strangers, widows and orphans, in short to fulfill
their obligation to the disenfranchised of society.
Jesus tells those of NT times, and us today, that loving our neighbors (and
especially our disadvantaged neighbors) is the second greatest commandment. But
our reading from Mark’s gospel points to the reality that not even the religious
elite (the scribes and other leaders) who knew the laws inside out heeded them
well. And not only did they fail to uphold the legal requirements personally,
they also failed to lead the people according to their teachings.
Several weeks ago during the Associated Mennonite Biblical Seminary board
meetings, Hilary Scarsella, a student at the seminary and a former member of
Christian Peacemaker Teams in Iraq, shared how touched she was by the generous
and unquestioning hospitality shown to her by a young Iraqi girl. This in spite
of the fact that essentially all the strangers (including American foreigners)
this young girl had encountered in her short life had wreaked nothing but havoc
on her family, on her village, and on her country. This is indeed a moving
witness of generosity and hospitality that runs counter to the frequent
attitudes and actions of selfish grasping and suspicion or even outright
hostility toward strangers that are at the root of many smaller and larger
conflicts.
Earlier this fall a young man who, along with his wife, had emigrated to
Saskatoon from Bangladesh stopped by our house to fill out an application for a
plot in the Eastview Community Garden. During our brief but most delightful
conversation he described with considerable pride some of the foods that his
wife likes to prepare and then, I believe very genuinely, said that we should
come to their home for dinner. A complete stranger after a 10 minute visit was
inviting us to dinner at his home! After he left Renata and I both marveled at
such an open expression of generosity and hospitality from someone who is a
stranger and obviously not as well off financially as we are. We should have
been the ones inviting them to dinner! Our brief time together warmed our
hearts. Surely, of such expressions of kindness comes the hope for better
relations that we desire for our world.
Included in my elementary school literature course (and maybe in some of yours
as well) was the poem by Leigh Hunt entitled “Abou Ben Adhem”. It is one of
those pieces that stick with a person for many decades while others are long
forgotten. Perhaps it sticks because of its message which speaks to the second
of the great commandments identified by Jesus, namely that we love our neighbors
as ourselves. It implies treating others with generosity and hospitality and
that in doing so one is honoring and pleasing God as well.
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
and saw, within the moonlight in his room,
making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
an Angel writing in a book of gold:
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
and to the Presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?" The Vision raised its head,
and with a look of sweet accord answered,
"The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
but cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
write me as one who loves his fellow men."
The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
it came again with a great wakening light,
and showed the names of those who love of God had blessed,
and, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!
Other speakers and writers have used the metaphor of moving from clenched fists
to open hands. It is an image that I like (and need to practice more) because it
speaks volumes about two opposite approaches and attitudes. The clenched fist
denotes, first of all, a straining to hang onto something for dear life and an
unwillingness to share it with others.
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It is indicative of a greater emphasis on the importance of me as an individual
rather than on the value of living in community. And along with that grasping
individualism, the clenched fist is, symbolically and in reality, a weapon that
can inflict injury on others, not only as a response to aggression, but also as
the initiation of violence.
In contrast, open hands denote a willingness to share what we have, and also a
willingness to receive from others. Open hands are a symbol of generosity and
hospitality. When we gesture for someone to come in, or for someone to be seated
at our table, or to share what we have to offer, we do so with an open hand
rather than a clenched fist. And as important as it is for us to share what we
have, it is also important, particularly for us in North America, to be willing
to receive and to learn from others.
The widows in our texts are both poor, highlighting the fact that wealth and
status in the community are not prerequisites for generosity and hospitality.
But we must also quickly add that neither do possessions or position preclude
these attitudes and actions. All, no matter what our resources or place in
society, are called to demonstrate generosity and hospitality if there is to be
hope for a more peaceful world. It is a matter of attitude rather than
capability. Our individual actions of feeding one person or welcoming one
stranger, multiplied into generosity and hospitality on a national scale are
necessary to move from the sad realities of genocides and greedy aggressions
which afflict our global community.
Governments and news media call for and glamorize the sacrifices made in the
name of military conflicts. It is expected that military personnel and even
civilians will lose their lives as a result of conflicts which are deemed
necessary and justifiable. What sacrifices are we willing to make for the sake
of peace?
Chris Hedges, a war correspondent, tells the story of Rosa and Drago Sorak, a
Bosnian Serb couple in the town of Gorazde in 1992. Rosa and Drago suffered
greatly from the war and their isolation as a Serb family surrounded by Muslims.
Their two sons were killed, they suffered death threats, and the town was
repeatedly shelled. They had no electricity, gas or water. And into this
desperate situation, a baby girl was born. Food was scarce and Rosa could not
breastfeed the baby. Infants were dying everywhere and their little girl became
weaker.
One morning there was a knock on the door. Before them stood a Muslim neighbor,
Fadil Fejzic, with a half a liter of milk for their baby. Fadil had milked his
cow at night to avoid being killed by snipers. Every morning for the next 442
days, Fadil suffered the insults and threats of his own Muslim community to take
a half a liter of milk to the young Serb infant. War finally forced Rosa and
Drago to move to another community, and Fadil eventually lost his cow to the
Serb forces, but they survived the war. And the baby lived. (Adapted from Chris
Hedges, War is a force that gives us meaning New York: Public Affairs, pp.
51-53)
Can we imagine a world in which everyone treated each other with such kindness
and compassion? By God’s grace, and for the sake of justice and peace, may it be
so.