Proper 27 (B) + More than seven sons + 11.11.18

M. Campbell-Langdell

All Saints, Oxnard

(Ruth 3:1–5; 4:13–17; Ps. 127; Hebrews 9:24–28; St Mark 12:38–44)

How are all you doing today? I know the end of this week has been so hard. Thursday morning felt unreal, waking up to the news of the shooting, and then the fire later in the day. My heart hurts.

Today is the one hundredth anniversary of Armistice Day, the end of World War I. I recall being in London a few years ago and seeing the field of red poppies around the Tower of London. Based on the famous poem by John McCrae about how poppies remind us of the dead at Flanders[1], poppies have come to be a reminder of all we have lost in war. The scene was gorgeous but sad. Seeing a scarlet wave here by a tower wall and a pool there on the lawn, each blood red poppy for a life lost in World War I. So that we would never forget and never return to commit such an atrocity as we did in the world wars. But we know we have had conflicts since. So always we begin again.

Although these two events may not appear to have a lot in common, any loss of life- far back in time on another continent – or just a little ways down the freeway and of our friends and neighbors or our friends’ friends and neighbors – is a tragedy that grieves the heart of God.

What can we find in today’s scriptures to speak to this loss? There are few words that seem to help. As I have reflected, I am drawn back to the image of the widow and her small offering that to Jesus is so big because it is all that she can give. For many years I thought she was the point of this passage. That we must sacrifice of ourselves, and not have a shallow faith like the scribes mentioned here.

But this time I saw about how the scribes devour widow’s houses. Here the beneficiaries of the temple take these offerings given sacrificially and use them for their benefit and not for the people. Those of us who serve the church will be wise to listen to this at this time when we design budgets funded by other’s giving.
We must not be scribes who consume others’ gifts so easily.
But doesn’t this also speak to us of how we treat life? Some of us are sacrificial givers of their life and efforts- be they the veterans we honor this weekend, the first responders, the mental health workers, medical professionals, social workers and faith leaders- for all of us it is our honor to serve and to give our lives to a cause- literally or figuratively. By saying this I do not mean to diminish the greater gift of a literal life. That is a sacrifice I honor today. But the rest of us who sleep while others work, or who have the privilege of living our lives with a bit more ease because of others, are not let off the hook. We must see our work as reaching out to others.

To me the story of Ruth is the story of chosen family. Two women who, by the accident of one being married to the other’s son, are shipwrecked by grief. And while the other woman in the same situation leaves- and without rancor- Ruth stays with Naomi and builds a new family with her, and then subsequently with her family member Boaz. Boaz is wonderful but interestingly he is kind of secondary in this picture. The true focus of the story is how Ruth and Naomi build a family together along with Boaz. Although the new baby is amazing, and will continue the family line, Ruth has become to Naomi “more than seven sons.” Family is what we make it.
In our local culture, we have seen examples this week of treating others like family even in our grief and even when we are not related. Witness the many who stopped on the freeway for the procession of the sheriff’s body on Thursday. How did you choose to be family to others this week?

But our true challenge will be to reach out to support others as we continue to deal with this grief.
We can no longer rely just on legislation and on the diligent efforts of our first responders and others we entrust with this work.

We cannot rely on gun rules alone either. We must be a part of the solution. While I support common sense gun regulations personally, I feel we must remember that our nation’s ideas about access to a gun for self-defense, potential food and sport were developed when the citizens were worried about armed militias or British soldiers being able to terrorize the populace.
Now we live in fear of our own populace, and we look to our versions of that militia to protect us. These laws were about citizens being able to be proactive. But instead they have made us passive.

In order to heal our nation, we must all look to the helpers, Mr. Rogers said. We must be the helpers. Those who engage the young man or woman who appears disturbed. We cannot take it all on, the grief of war, the social isolation of social media, and the looming cloud of our society’s inability to properly handle mental health issues, not to mention our sense of spiritual disconnection, made worse by the harm we have inflicted on our planet. Disconnection from the earth has made us feel more adrift from God, I feel. It’s all too much. But with God nothing is impossible.

The Jewish concept of Tikkun Olam speaks of this. Of our call to be repairers of the breach, to step into the hurt places of the world and to weave things back together, with God’s help. Always with God’s help.

But that work –that work that is not all about me and what I must complete- but is about caring for others – is draining. So we must also practice self- care. We must nurture ourselves pro-actively so that we can be there for others rather than just shutting down or isolating when things get tough.

Today’s psalm says:

“It is in vain that you rise so early and go to bed so late; *
vain, too, to eat the bread of toil,
for he gives to his beloved sleep.”

As a young adult, I loved New Zealand Prayer Book’s “Night Prayer” which has this verse built in towards the beginning. It helped me release stress I carried to bed. I remembered that I am beloved in God even when I don’t complete all the tasks I strove to finish in the day.

One of the last prayers in that same Night Prayer goes this way:

Lord,
it is night.

The night is for stillness.
Let us be still in the presence of God.

It is night after a long day.
What has been done has been done;
what has not been done has not been done;
let it be.

The night is dark.
Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives
rest in you.

The night is quiet.
Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,
all dear to us,
and all who have no peace.

The night heralds the dawn.
Let us look expectantly to a new day,
new joys,
new possibilities. [2]

Today, as we grieve Justin, Daniel, Alaina, Cody, Blake, Jake, Kristin, Mark, Noel, Ron, Sean, Telemachus, and Ian, how can we be still, and restored, on this Sabbath day, so that we can rise up tomorrow and be a part of healing our world?

(Silence)

In your name we pray.
Amen.

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[1] John McCrae, “In Flanders Field,” https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/flanders-fields.

[2] John Williamson, New Zealand Prayer Book. Found at: http://liturgy.co.nz/lord-it-is-night.