How Things Really Are (Proper 27B)

 

“How things really are”

7 November 2021

Proper 27B

Homily preached at Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon

8:00 a.m. spoken Mass, 10:00 a.m. Sung Mass

1 Kings 17:8-16; Psalm 146; Hebrews 9:24-28; Mark 12:38-44

 

God, take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen

 

The United States is suffering from a breakdown from the engine that drives the economy—supply chains are broken, contractors for needed work are months in the scheduling (that’s why our Celtic High Cross is not yet up in the inner courtyard), and, most troubling of all, resignations from jobs are at an all-time high, and it is extremely hard to find people to replace them.  Depending on the political tribe to which you belong and the grand-arc narrative to which you subscribe, your explanation of this will vary.  Fire-eating Right-wingers say it is because of too much generosity in social safety networks during covid: Joe Biden’s socialism broke the country.  Fist-shaking Leftists say it is because the inherent hopelessness of wage-slavery under capitalism was revealed in all its naked enormity by the pandemic: low wages that put even minimum housing and food out of the reach of more and more people, inadequate medical coverage, underfunded public health, and the grim fact that the “American dream” is no longer within the reach of anyone but the uber-rich is the cause:  Donald Trump’s brutal capitalism and his fans’ anti-vaxxing kookiness broke the country.  

Regardless of the merits of such arguments on either side, note that in both cases, one side blames the other, scapegoats it, and attributes all harm to it.  No one listens to their opponents, let alone forgives or compromises, and the situation simply gets worse and worse.   Both sides harden their position because the narrative arcs they follow act as filters, and allow them to see only those things that have currency in their own narrative.      

I even had a friend ask about my announcement this week of needing to retire from full-time ministry in January, wondering if it was the result of our broken economy and society.  “Was it covid?  Are you too fed-up with trying to do church while you can’t really do it right? Or was it politically-motivated detractors sniping at you, like what’s breaking up so many evangelical churches these days?”  I was saddened that they would jump to this particular conclusion, as mistaken and uncharitable it is.   They were relieved to read my letter to the parish in which I explained that Elena was put on in-home hospice care this week, and I simply need to be with her to provide hands-on care, and pursue ministry efforts at home that allow me to do this. 

 

I have been saddened also to return to the parish to find that Robin Weiss’s departure while I was away from her job as parish administrator has been a source of division for some. I even heard someone say “Robin’s enemies waited until you were away, Tony, and then they fired her.”  Rest assured—this is a false narrative.  Robin resigned.  Without going into the details, let me just say that everyone in this wanted an amicable resolution but Robin as an employee chose to resign rather than commit herself to support, or at least not undermine, vestry actions once she had raised her objections and the vestry had confirmed its decision to the contrary.  Though she felt terribly abused, I saw no malice or inappropriate actions on the part of anyone.  I love Robin, and have really benefited from her help and counsel over the years.  So I am sad to see her go, as most of the parish is.  Yet I respect her integrity in resigning rather than pretending to accept things to which she had strong objections.  

The collect for today addresses such issues of brokenness, division, and exploitation, and how the narratives we follow foster or minimize them.  It says that Jesus came into the world that he might destroy the works of the one who is always accusing and blaming (that’s what the words “Devil” and “Satan” mean), by making us children of God and heirs of life in the coming age.  It asks God to make us as single-heartedly compassionate and as unspotted by meanness and blaming as Jesus is. 

The scripture readings all address these issues with different lenses.  The Hebrew scriptures tell of the Prophet Elijah and the widow of Zarephath:  Elijah has caused a great famine by closing the heavens and shutting down the rain.  God tells him to seek refuge with a widow in a small village, whom God has already told to feed Elijah.  He goes there and asks her.  She does not refuse, but points out that she and her son are already starving.  Elijah’s reply is not that of a manager or manipulator: I am with you.  But don’t be afraid.  God will take care of us if we follow God.  She, inspired by Elijah’s solidarity with her in suffering, shares.  So “the jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail” until rain came.  In the interim, Elijah actually conquers death when it takes the widow’s son, and Elijah brings him back. 

The Psalm says we should not rely on narratives that make ourselves feel good, especially when we are oppressing others: do not trust the powerful, or even other mortals, rather, trust God who made the bounteous world we live in, is compassionate with the needy, othered, and victimized, and keeps promises of bounty and rescue:

“Who sets things right for those suffering oppression,
and feeds those who hunger.

Yahweh sets prisoners free;
Yahweh gives sight to the blind;
Yahweh lifts up those who are bowed down;

Yahweh loves those who are quick to give alms

[that’s what the word tsadik, usually translated as “righteous” or “upright” means];
Yahweh cares for the foreigner;
and sustains the orphan and widow,
but turns the schemes of wrong-doers into failure.” 

 

The passage from Hebrews draws the distinction between secondary or faulty narratives that simply reflect and distort the true ones, the earthly vs. the heavenly, specifically between blood sacrifices that scapegoat and drive out fault through violence against animals, and the self-giving of Christ, once and for all to bring reconciliation with God and each other.  It does not teach atonement as substituted punishment to placate an angry and accusing Deity, but rather questions the violence, accusation, and othering implicit in the sacrificial system itself.         

 

The Gospel has Jesus blasting religious scholars who prettify their rapacious exploitation of others with a beautiful story of self-sacrificial giving. He is clear:  the narrative that says the wealthy who give huge sums that actually are but a small percentage of their surplus are actually giving less than the impoverished widow who gives less than a dollar when that is all she has.  The scribes love appearances: long robes, the best clothes, the best seats in worship, and being honored at lavish banquets.  But they hide with their “long prayers” their brutal exploitation of others.  Jesus says “Don’t believe narratives that make you feel good about doing bad,” and when he talks about doing bad, he means compassionless exploitation of others.

 

Siblings in Christ:  we live in a world where horror is paraded as piety and brutality as “tough love.”  We tell ourselves stories that help us live for a time with ourselves.  If we continue blaming evil on others and not ourselves, we cannot hear stories that might correct our delusions.  And this is a matter of life and death, because the false, prettified stories that keep us from seeing our own lack of compassion for others—well, they turn our hearts into stone, and our lives into empty motions.  But turning from scapegoating and stopping our blaming of others brings life—we turn from the Accuser, follow Jesus and Elijah in their compassion and solidarity with the downtrodden and suffering, and ultimately we will find, I promise you, that “the jar of meal is not emptied, neither does the jug of oil fail.” 

 

In the name of Christ, Amen.