A Handful of Meal and a Couple of Sticks
DATE: November 8, 2009
SCRIPTURE: I Kings 17:8-16
I've been reading a book written by Alan Johnson, one of my predecessors here at Saugatuck. Many of you remember his bright and energetic ministry. I've known Alan for quite some time, in fact, he and I were classmates at the Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation while Alan was serving here as co-pastor with his wife Martie McMane. I knew you long before you knew me!
His new book is titled Encounters at the Counter. For a period of time Alan worked as a customer service rep at the counter of the retail outlet for a bread company in Boulder, Colorado. The book discusses what he learned about hospitality in that position, and how churches can apply some of the principles and methods employed by business as they welcome visitors.
The bread company had a policy of offering customers a free slice of any of their many types of bread. It was Alan's job to slice the bread, and then to help customers choose what bread or breads they might like to buy. Some folks came in just to get the free slice, but many others bought loaves to take home, or sandwiches to eat in. The company saw the bread slices as a small investment in good customer relations. Alan saw it that way, but also, as a way to connect with people and to share a bit of life along with a bit of butter. He writes: "The bread counter at the store is like a table at which food is available and at which people gather to be fed by stories and relationships as well as actual food." (4) It's a fascinating read, peppered with some wonderful stories of his encounters with customers.
One person who came into the store looking haggard and concerned. Alan gave her a warm welcome, and then offered her a slice of bread—and a glass of water. The woman smiled, and as she went into the shelves to see what breads were available, Alan followed to help her out. "You seem a little down," he said. She sighed, and then told him that her daughter was stuck in Maine. She had just flown in from Israel, and due to thunderstorms in New York, was unable to complete her flight. Alan's customer was very worried—and it didn't help matters that it was the anniversary of 9/11. "I am so nervous," she said. "She took a deep breath," writes Alan, "and went back to the bread board. I offered her a piece of challah that we had made for the Jewish high holy days. After awhile she said, ‘You made my day.' I shook her hand and [said] ‘shalom' as she left with a smile." (124)
Alan didn't really give her all that much—a slice of bread, a few kind words, a smile. But his giving her what he could, small as it was, made her day! Transformed a time of worry and concern into a time of feeling surrounded by shalom and enveloped in peace.
Our lesson from I Kings is also about bread and water—and a woman who gave what little she had to welcome a stranger.
The prophet Elijah is on the run during a time of drought in Israel. The King and Queen, Ahab and Jezebel, had put him on their most wanted list. If he were caught he would most certainly lose his life. So he hides in the desert. At first he is miraculously led to one of the few functioning wells in the region, and there fed by ravens who daily bring him food each morning and night. But the well runs dry and the ravens stop coming. So God tells him to go to Zarephath, where a widow will take care of him. Now in that culture a widow would have been a very unlikely source of help. Women were defined by their relationships, first to their fathers, then to their husbands, and finally to their sons, if they had any. To be widow meant to be without status. It also often meant being desperately poor, since widows without adult sons, like the widow in our story, could not inherit property.
When Elijah enters the town of Zarapheth hoping to find food and water, he meets a widow at the gate who is gathering sticks. He asks her for help—for something to eat, for something to drink. But she has next to nothing. "I have nothing baked," she says when he asks for a morsel of bread, "[In fact all I have is] a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son that we may eat it and die." (I Kings 17:12) Talk about down on your luck!
But Elijah persists. Don't be afraid to help me out, he says, in fact, if you give me something to eat, God will never let that jar of meal be empty, and the jug will always be filled with oil. You will be taken care of until this drought finally comes to an end.
So here she is, down to a handful of meal and a couple of sticks. Yet she reaches out in compassion and acts on faith. She believes this bedraggled stranger when he tells her her food stuffs will not run out. She trusts Elijah, makes him some bread, he eats, the widow and her son eat, and the grain and the oil keep on coming.
She had very little. Less than little. But she is willing to risk it, willing to share it, and as a result, it is turned into much.
Sometimes it may feel like we are up against great odds. The widow was fighting against all manner of cultural limitations. Yet she was willing to step out in faith, give what she could—and in the end, she saved the prophet's life—and her son's and her own as well.
Like the cultural limitations of ancient Israel, sometimes the mandates of government in our own day and age can seem unassailable. But Shane Claiborne and his colleagues were willing to put what they had into a fight to protect the homeless of Philadelphia.
The city government had passed legislation banning all homeless persons from sleeping in the city parks, leaving many with no place to lay their weary heads. They then took it a step further, and banned all food from the parks—making it impossible for folks who wanted to help feed the homeless to do their work. Ironically, one of the city parks is named Love Park.
Claiborne and his colleagues decided to take action—to use what they had to try and make a difference. One hundred of them got together in Love Park and held a worship service—complete with communion—technically breaking the law. After all, communion bread is food. Claiborne writes: "[W]ith clergy and city officials supporting us . . . most of the police sat back and watched, not daring to arrest us, especially during communion. Then we continued the ‘breaking of bread' by bringing in pizzas. . . . [A]nd then we slept overnight in the park with our homeless friends." (The Irresistible Revolution, 232-236)
This went on for several weeks, when finally the authorities moved in and arrested Claiborne and his friends. When they appeared in court, Claiborne wore a t-shirt that said "Jesus Was Homeless." The judge hearing the case said he hadn't realized Jesus was homeless. And then, to the surprise of many, found them not guilty. "[I] f it hadn't been for people who broke unjust laws," the judge said, "we wouldn't have freedom. We'd still have slavery. That's the story of this country from the Boston Tea Party to the civil rights movement. These people are not criminals; they are freedom fighters." (Ibid)
A bit of bread, a little wine , a few pizzas, and a willingness to put it all on the line. And because they invested what little they had in helping others, homeless persons in Philadelphia were given new hope.
You may not think you have much to offer God—or anyone else for that matter. You may think you haven't got much more than a loaf of bread, or a handful of meal, or a pizza or two to share. But that isn't the point. The point is how do you use it? For when you do use what you've been given to help others, you can transform someone's day from one of worry and concern to one of peace and goodwill. You can help someone else regain their rights. You may even save a life. All it takes is a handful of meal and a couple of sticks—and a whole lot of faith. Faith that God will indeed use you and your gifts, no matter how small, no matter how insignificant they may seem. A handful of meal. A couple of sticks. And faith.
Amen.
John H. Danner