Proper 5C; 1 Kings 17:17-24; Ps. 30; Luke
7:11-17; St. Paul’s, Smithfield
6/5/16 – Jim Melnyk: “Deep in the Darkness Is
God”
Tears are no
stranger to us in the stories of our faith.
Perhaps that’s because tears are no stranger to us in our day to day lives. When the Psalmist, considering Israel held
captive in exile, talks about growing weary from suffering to the point of
flooding his couch with tears – his “eyes wasted with grief” (6:6-7), it’s not
too difficult for most of us to picture – perhaps most of us can identify with
the poet – though perhaps in our day it’s our pillows that we might drench with
our tears.
Most of us, if not
all, I hope, know that as Easter always follows Good Friday, our faith tells us
that joy will return. The Psalmist reminds
us today that joy comes in the morning – though in our experience it’s not always
the next morning, or the morning after that – sometimes it might be days, or
weeks, or even seasons. But our hope –
the promise we are offered when we find ourselves in sorrowful places – is that
like Easter, joy will return – our wailing turned to dancing (Psalm 30).
The widow of
Zarephath knew what it meant to flood her couch with tears. Like many among the poor today, too many
women of her day found themselves destitute if and when they became
widowed. It’s one of the reasons that
widows and orphans are especially singled out for care in Torah. This widow was no exception. Earlier in the portion of the story we heard
this morning we come upon a woman who probably has no tears left to shed. She is resigned to her own death – and to the
death of her son. Facing famine induced
by a long drought, she is gathering sticks to build a fire in order to cook a
last meal for her and her son – using the very last bits of the oil and meal
she has on hand.
As the story
unfolds, Elijah tells the widow that if she will prepare a loaf of bread from
what little meal and oil she has left, God will bless her and the meal and the
oil will last until the rains return and the crops are renewed. With the advent of the prophet who has been
sent to her, the widow’s weeping has certainly been turned to joy in the
morning. But as the story picks up
today, that joy is short-lived. We don’t
know how many days, or weeks, or months the widow and her son enjoyed their
reprieve from starvation. Does it
matter? All we know is that her son is
now dead, and I imagine that behind her accusations toward the prophet, the
tears are once more ready to flow. Can
you imagine hearing her speaking to the prophet?
“Twice now have I
died.
Once you brought me
back from the brink
Only to die again,
Flesh of my flesh
lost to me.
Had we both died
from hunger then
I would not be
grieving now.
You, God – you have
given me tears
for my bread.
Would you see me
live again?
Give me back that
which I have lost.
Give me back my son.
This will be bread
enough” (Jim Melnyk, 5/26/2016).
God hears her cry
and answers her prayers in the person of Elijah.
We move forward in
time to find ourselves hearing a story about another grieving widow. Those experiencing the way Jesus interacts
with the widow from Nain most likely would have noticed the compassion he
expresses as he sees her grief. Luke
only uses the specific word describing the compassion felt by Jesus in three
places – here and in the parables of the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal
Son. The compassion Jesus feels here is
the same as that felt by the Samaritan for the man left alongside the road,
wounded nearly to death. It is the same
compassion the father feels for his returning son, racing out to embrace him
before the son ever reaches home to ask for forgiveness (William Sanger
Campbell, Feasting on the Gospels: Luke,
volume 1, p. 191).
Those observing
Jesus understand the Torah teaching about the command to care for the poor and
the widowed – both of which are realities for this woman. Upon reflection, perhaps many of the
onlookers recall the story of Elijah and the widow of Zarephath, and see in
Jesus a reenactment of God’s great deeds done through the prophets in days long
past – they even proclaim that a great prophet – perhaps as great as Elijah –
is among them in Jesus. They begin to
wonder if perhaps God can do a new thing in a new
age. They begin to understand that the
proper response to pain and suffering is compassion – and that the proper
expression of compassion is action centered in mercy.
Let’s be honest – we
don’t experience people being raised from the dead like the sons of the two
widows in today’s stories. Or do
we? Perhaps some of the medical marvels
we experience as day-to-day in the twenty-first century are our experiences of
God’s power to heal acted out through the breakthroughs in science that never
existed before. Sometimes we are
given back children, parents, spouses, and friends from what was something as
sure as death. Perhaps we can
understand what the psalmist means when he proclaims that “joy comes in the
morning.”
As the poet Rilke
tells us, “Deep in the darkness is God,” (Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God,
p. 109). As Elijah and Jesus were
present with the widows in each of our stories this morning, God is present with
us in the midst of our deepest darkness.
When I am at my lowest, God sends me you – to be God’s presence with me
– to be the compassion and love of God that is with us always. This is what we do for one another. We find ways of being present with and for
one another in the midst of the weeping, so that we might be present with and
for one another when the morning dawns and our sorrows turn to dance.
When we choose to
follow Jesus – when we choose to claim his name to describe who we are to this
world – Christians – then we must choose to live as Jesus. And I realize how daunting that sounds! How can I – how can we – live like Jesus? It is too hard to do! Look what it cost him! That’s too high a price – too high a
price!
When we choose to
follow Jesus we must open ourselves to the compassion that Jesus shows in
today’s story from Luke – we must open ourselves to the compassion Elijah shows
the widow from Zarephath – we must open ourselves to the compassion the loving
father shows to the prodigal son while he is still far off – we must open
ourselves to the compassion the Samaritan felt and showed as he gave of himself
– gave of his own resources – to care for the stranger left for dead alongside of
the highway.
And if we are to
live with the compassion of Jesus that means living with the desire to make all
things new: where there is despair, we bring hope; where there is anger and
hatred, we bring the love of God; where there is weeping and death, we bring
life! Weeping may indeed “spend the night,” as the psalmist proclaims in the
midst of exile, “but joy comes in the morning” (30:6). Because “deep in the darkness, [keeping watch
along with us, deep – even in the darkness - deep in the darkness] is God.”
