By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, RectorIn the first lesson from the first Book of the Kings we heard the widow say to Elijah, "Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth."
The Old Testament and Gospel lessons are linked today most certainly because of the similarity in them about the raising to life of the sons of these two widows. At first glimpse it seems that the miracles were for the sons. But, I believe, the miracles were really for the mothers.
In the first lesson it is Elijah, one of the great prophets of the Old Testament who performs the miracle. It's actually one of several miracles he performs for this poor family. At the urging of God he arrives at the house of the widow and her son as they are about to eat the last of their grain and brace themselves to starve to death. The first miracle is one of abundance. The grain and oil that never run out. They did not starve but had plenty. It is a statement of faith, and a beautiful story. It says so much about the importance of giving, even at the last. By itself, it would have been a wonderful and complete story full of lessons of hospitality and generosity - how giving provides a limitless well of love and spiritual nourishment.
But the wisdom of scriptures take this story the next step. Sometimes even after the giving tragedy strikes and anger arises. The widow is furious at Elijah. He had given them hope in the final moments of their despair and brought them back from the brink of death. When the widow's son dies, it seems too cruel for her to imagine that after what they had gone through, the boy would die and she would be left alone. She does not take this last bit quietly. She accosts Elijah and unleashes her anger, frustration and grief. Elijah prays and the boy is restored to life. Not only Elijah's credibility, but God's is restored.
The echo of this story in the Gospel is unmistakable. But in the Gospel it's a little clearer as to whom the gift of life is given. As Jesus sees the funeral procession go through the town, it's the widow, the mother of the dead boy, on whom he has compassion. We would assume that he had compassion on the boy and brought him to life. But that's not the case. Jesus, like Elijah, had compassion on the mothers and raised their sons. There is the natural grief of a parent for a child in the story, but the details provided about them being widows and their sons being their only child is important. The best hope for these women to be cared for in their old age was their sons. The burden of grief would be multiplied in both cases by falling into lives of destitution and further poverty. The sons were beyond any need in their deaths, but Elijah and Jesus after him had compassion on the mothers, and brought their sons back to life.
Healing stories are all throughout the Bible and each has a deeper meaning past the miracle it tells. Stories of death and life are the most profound since they plumb the depths of human emotion and need. Our point of contact with them is in our deepest moments of emotion and need. I recently spoke with a woman whose partner of many years died. She spoke of her anger at God. "How could he do this to her," she cried. I knew her pain and have felt it also. I too survived a partner's death and felt the anger aimed at God. In time I came to a different conclusion though. In time I came to realize that death is a release to the person who is ill. It is, in fact, the ultimate healing. The heaven I believe our loved ones are in far exceeds any pain or tragedy they endured here. In my case I finally had to admit to myself that my anger at God had more to do with the question, not how could you do this to him, but how could you do this to me? The ones who are left behind to grieve have horrible pain as well. We experience a death in our own right. Our lives are emptier and filled with many unresolved issues, and the dreams of the future fall into shards of stabbing pain. While the dead are born to new life in God's love, we who are left behind, are faced with searching for new life, and it's painful and lasts a long time.
This, I believe, is where the widows' felt their anger and grief, and it was in this pain that Elijah and Jesus offered them new life. Wouldn't it be wonderful if all our loved ones could be told to rise off their death beds. But in the wisdom of scripture, it is we who are still in this life that have to rise off ours. We can turn to God for healing and the new life that grows. It does not grow immediately, unfortunately, but it does over time. I shared my story with the woman and validated her pain and disorientation. I told her it was going to hurt for a long time and that she was not going to feel comfortable wherever she was. Moving wasn't going to help. Changing churches wasn't going to help. For a while, nothing was going to help. The pain lessens in time, though it never goes away fully. But out of that grief comes a new strength and a new life. She was a bit taken aback by my bluntness, but at the same time seemed grateful. Sometimes we pad difficult truths too much, and they need to be taken head on.
The deaths in the scripture lessons prompted my telling this story, but I think the same is true for any deep pain we feel that can go deep into our souls. Ultimately, it's not the son of the women who are told to rise, but the women themselves. Whatever has happened in our lives that threatens our spiritual, emotional, or even physical well being - we are in further danger of falling into despair. As the oil crises worsens in the Gulf of Mexico, the shadows of death lengthen there in the untold number of deaths in the ecological sense, the animal and fish life, and the ways of life for those dependent on the sea for their livelihood.
God's love, in the form of Jesus' command comes to us, "Do not weep... I say to you rise." Sometimes we need a stern command to snap us out of our pain. Healing is in the rising. Ironically, even those preparing to die, can rise to a healing place in their acceptance and preparation.
In his letter to the Galatians, St. Paul talks of his new life rising from the death of his old one. His conversion has become well known to us in the revelation of Jesus to him as he rode to Damascus. In this lesson he says again how far up in the Jewish hierarchy he had gotten and how all that changed when he encountered the risen Christ. A new life opened to him that he could never have imagined. He, who had persecuted the church, became one of its staunchest advocates and evangelists.
Yesterday, two women were ordained deacons in the Cathedral in Newark. One of them, Mary Davis, did her field work here for two years and was very much part of this congregation. It was a real pleasure for me to be one of those who presented her to the Bishop for ordination. I was proud to see so many from St. George's there to support her on behalf of our church. As the preacher told them, "Everything's changed!" And for them it has. They will grow into their new lives as ordained clergy, discovering what that means in the particular ways in which God has called them into service.
Themes of death and life constantly cross our paths. Actual deaths of loved ones, loss of jobs, leaving homes we love, disappointments in love or family. The temptation will be to die inwardly. But the love of God is and always will be on the side of life. We may weep a little bit, but after a while the voice of Jesus will find ways to come to us and say, "Do not weep, I say to you arise." When this story comes into our lives, we may find ourselves in the role of the widow, perhaps the son, or perhaps Elijah. There will be anger, there will be pain, there will be confrontation. But ultimately there will be the healing love of God bringing new life and giving new meaning to the words of the widow of Zaraphath, "Now I know that you are a person of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth." Amen.
©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ
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