Three Widows

The following is a reflection (not sure I'm qualified enough to call it a "sermon") I offered at Berea Mennonite Church a couple of weeks ago. It is best paired with the liturgy for the week:

I Kings 17:8-16

Mark 12:38-44

* * *

“In the case that the cabin should lose oxygen, masks will descend. Secure your own mask over your nose and mouth before assisting those around you.”

I have always thought these instructions were rather selfish. In essence, flight attendants instruct us to kindly let the airline passenger beside us gasp for air until we get ourselves situated. These directions stem logically from the ideals that much of society reinforces: make yourself comfortable, and then worry about others.

Today we read about Elijah who asks just the opposite of the widow of Zarephath. “First make me a little cake of [bread] and bring it to me, and afterwards make something for yourself and your son,” he requests. Elijah, the “anti-flight attendant,” is not a steward of earthly society but a prophet of God’s kingdom. The widow does as Elijah asks. She does not hesitate, but believes his words and God provides for her and her son. We read: “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.”

The New Testament lesson introduces us to another widow who also gives all she has. She contributes an offering, not out of wealth like the scribes in showy robes, but out of poverty.

Both of these women from our scripture today represent the epitome of worldly poverty. The widow is one of the three classic Biblical cases of the lowest of the low. Along with the orphan and the stranger, the widow is economically and socially vulnerable. The widow of Zarephath prepares what she believes will be her last meal, and the widow in the synagogue gives away her last coins. They relinquish the only earthly sustenance they possess, all for little or no assurance of what may follow.

Yet the widows give freely. According to the “oxygen mask” theory, the widows should worry about securing their own masks first. Furthermore, given their circumstances, they should be the last passengers on earth expected to reach out to their seat-mates first. The logic of this world concludes that the widow of Zarephath should prepare food for she and her son before providing for Elijah, and that if those two coins are really all the widow in the synagogue had, she should get a by when the collection plate comes around… But the two women do reach out; they give everything. This is God’s kingdom we’re talking about, and God doesn’t play by our rules.

So if the widow of Zarephath and the widow in the synagogue give despite their circumstances, what excuse do we have to hold back anything?

* * *

This year, as a Young Adult Volunteer (or YAV for short) through the Presbyterian Church USA, I am attempting to give of my time and identify and hone any talents that may be usefulin this kingdom. As a recent graduate of a liberal arts college, I feel prepared to do both anything and nothing. I have been trained to learn but lack specific “practical” knowledge.

My YAV placement is with DOOR Atlanta. DOOR (or Discovering Opportunities for Outreach and Reflection) is a partnership between the Mennonite and Presbyterian churches and is dedicated to “seeing the face of God in the city.” Through organizing short term youth mission trips and sponsoring intentional Christian communities in 6 U.S. cities, DOOR provides an opportunity to learn about urban issues and the ministries that respond to these problems. I spend most of my days volunteering in DOOR’s 30 plus partner agencies, so this placement allows me to be a generalist of many human service nonprofits throughout Atlanta. Currently, I know a little about a handful of nonprofits. Hopefully, by next August I will know a lot about many agencies and the issues they address. But for now, I am often in the dark about the social service network and I fear that my short time in each agency renders me relatively unhelpful.

Each day I struggle to maximize my ability to give. I try to emulate the humble, sacrificing widows, but frequently I fall far short of their example. First of all, I am giving out of wealth. I am educated, white, and supported by my parents. I have social connections, a car, and health insurance. Most of all, I have time to give without requiring a salary in return. All of these possessions place me in the “scribes with showy robes” category. Secondly, I often feel motivated by guilt. Why was I born into this life and not another? To whom much is given, much will be expected.

But God does not want us to be burdened with guilt – it is a poor impetus for caring for His creation. No, I have to remind myself that God wants us to act out of love. And too, my position towards the top of the world’s socio-economic ladder does not necessarily correlate with spiritual richness, as Jesus illustrates through the scribes in the synagogue. I am broken and am reminded often of my inadequacies.

A case in point came one afternoon last week, during an encounter with a widow of sorts:

As soon as I stepped out of my car in front of the Grant Park Clinic, a tiny but very pregnant young woman approached me. She was hungry and pled with me to buy her food. I looked around for a solution, not wanting to hand her cash but not wanting to venture down the street towards the penitentiary to buy her something either. I opted to go on into the clinic and told her I would see if they had any food. As I went inside, my stomach dropped. I was avoiding the situation when I had the ability to help.

Three hours and a pelvic exam, STD test, infected foot, and pregnant 14 year-old later, I emerged from translating at the clinic. The disheveled woman I had encountered earlier met me at the door. Part of me was relieved that she was still there, as I had passed the three hours inside feeling guilty for not finding some sustenance for her. In the meantime, she had managed to collect some change and wanted 80 cents more to purchase a hot sandwich at Mrs. Winner’s Chicken and Biscuits.

We chatted for a few minutes and introduced ourselves. Her name was Courtney and she had been living in an abandoned building up the street since her husband left her. She needed ID to get into a shelter. My heart raced as I felt the urgency of her situation and tried to recall any strand of the social network that she might be able to grasp onto. So far, I’ve learned that not only are shelters difficult to get into, but they are also quite the opposite of the refuges I previously understood them to be. In fact, some are so awful that people opt to stay on the streets. Regardless, I was ashamed to be at such a loss as to where to point Courtney. Despite living in Atlanta for two months, having visited 15 nonprofits, and having ready access to information and transportation, I was hitting dead ends. If I can’t negotiate the system, how then is a pregnant, out-of-state, abandoned, hungry, likely mentally disabled, and penniless woman supposed to figure things out? With shaking hands I ripped out a back page of my day planner and explained to Courtney how to get to Central Outreach and Advocacy Center downtown. There, if she gets in line by 6:30 am, she can apply for a Georgia ID and order her birth certificate from Florida. Then she can wait for at least 6 weeks for it to come.

I convinced her to meet me at the gas station where we purchased a loaf of Sunbeam, some PB & J in a jar, and a purple Fanta. This Fanta girl was probably not who inspired advertisers to design their curvaceous, dancing, Fanta-hued protégés. As we paid, Courtney’s grimy hand gripping the soda, she offered to pump my gas. I declined.

Courtney and I hugged goodbye at the pump. “God bless you,” she said and I told her to be strong and have faith – easy for me to say. She shuffled up the street, swinging the plastic grocery bag like a child. I pulled off, wishing she was beside me in the passenger seat and that I was whisking her away to safety.

* * *

I still wonder what would have been the best thing to do for Courtney. Hindered by my wealth or spiritual poverty or fear, I did not give freely of everything I could have. Where is the line between putting others first and damaging our ability to “secure our own oxygen masks” at all? Where and how do we start fully implementing God’s logic in our own individualistic society?

As I contemplate these questions, I am trying to soak up all I can, to store away bits of knowledge that will hopefully allow me to serve in a big way in the future. I am afraid of being paralyzed by complacency, stinginess, and guilt. I am afraid of falling short of the widows’ example. And this fear is probably realistic: I will fall short, we all will. But we must remember that we are never too poor – spiritually or otherwise - to give of ourselves. Sometimes all we can give is love, which is perhaps the best service of all.