Rev. Betsy Aldrich Garland
I Kings 17:8-24
June 6, 2010

Scarcity & Abundance

This story about Elijah, a prophet second only to Moses in Jewish tradition, begins in I Kings 17, in the northern kingdom of Israel in the 9th century during the reign of King Ahab, 900 years before the birth of Jesus of Nazareth – a really old text. Ahab, who worshipped not Yahweh but Baal, was considered the most evil of the kings of Israel. In this story, Yahweh has had enough of Ahab and his wife Jezebel’s rule by intimidation, so Yahweh chooses Elijah to be Yahweh’s champion, to prophesy to the people that there will be a famine, unless they repent of their evil ways. To protect him, Yahweh sends him out of the country, out of reach of Ahab. Eventually Elijah ends up in Zarephath, Gentile country, where he is tended to by a widow, a non-Jew, a Canaanite, a worshipper of Baal.

To understand the story we need to know that it was several centuries later before the idea of a universal God took hold. These were the a-god-behind-every-rock-and-tree days, when gods were identified with a particular geographical area and ethnic people. So Elijah has traveled to Canaanite country, to Baal-worshipping country. He is outside of Israel, outside of Yahweh’s “catchment” area, to use marketing terms. That Yahweh cares for him, provides for him, in a foreign land is a new, emerging understanding of God in this text.

We also need to know that widows were an at-risk class in the ancient world, along with orphans and foreigners. Without a husband or a son to protect and support them, they were in a precarious position. It’s no wonder that widows show up frequently in Biblical texts as the object of God’s compassion. In fact, the gospel lesson for today from Luke is a parallel story of Jesus’ restoring the son of a widow.

In this lesson from I Kings, Elijah is hungry, thirsty and tired. He has been hiking all the way around Israel, staying out of Ahab’s jurisdiction, being fed by ravens, waiting for the famine to get Ahab’s attention. When the creek runs dry, he is on the move again, and this time Yahweh sends him to Zarephath where he comes across a widow who is gathering sticks outside the city gates to make a fire for her last meal and that of her son. He must know she is a widow, for only a woman alone would have been in such a vulnerable position, off by herself, fending for herself.

Elijah asks her to bring him something to drink and something to eat. The widow responds that she has almost nothing, only one last meal for herself and her son. The clue about her mental state comes in verse 13, “Do not be afraid;...” We don’t know if she is afraid of the stranger Elijah – or afraid of her perilous situation. But she does as Elijah asks and brings him bread to eat and water to drink. And then, a miracle occurs – Elijah’s first – there is enough meal and oil to feed all of them for many days. And when the widow’s son appears to die, Elijah resuscitates him, proof in that ancient world that Elijah is indeed a true prophet.

And so, a second understanding emerges in this text: God’s gifts extend not only to an Israelite outside of Israel, but also even to one who doesn’t worship Yahweh, who is not an Israelite. God’s kindness extends to strangers, no matter where they live and whom they worship.

The pivotal event that precludes God’s blessing of the widow and her son, is her generosity toward the stranger Elijah. She acts out of her scarcity, using ordinary things – a little meal and some oil – which, as she shares them, become life-giving. This story brings to mind other Biblical acts of extraordinary generosity, like the widow’s mite and the feeding of the 5,000, where, when one shares, God acts to sustain life, even to those who are outside the bounds of normal society.

The Elijah encounter with the widow reminds me of Providence Journal reporter Mark Patinkin’s account when he was on assignment to cover the famine in Biafra a number of years ago. He wrote of meeting with a tribal leader in the desert, a man wizened with wind and sun. They sat outside his tent, goats grazing nearby, communicating through an interpreter, enjoying tea with all due solemnity. Then the tribesman took out a small piece of meat, saved for just this occasion, cut it in half and gave the bigger piece to Patkinkin. It was all he had, and he offered it to the stranger from half-way around the world. Patinkin responded with what he had in his pocket – his beloved jackknife from his Boy Scout days that he took everywhere, some chewing gum.... Generosity breeds generosity.

Why do you suppose that’s so, I wondered this week after reading this text? Then I realized that, when we share what we have, even if it’s meager, the sharing of our resources builds community – and community brings life and blessings for all.

Unfortunately, too many people operate today with an attitude of “Whoever dies with the most toys wins.” Or “What in it for me?” I’ve got my health care, so I’m going to vote against the public option. I’ve got a job, so who needs extended benefits. I’ve got a roof over my head, a decent education, a pension, a you-fill-in-the-blank, so you’re on your own! Whatever happened to generosity?

So what if you’ve grown up on the street, sleeping on friends’ couches, never had a permanent home. Can’t concentrate in school? Too bad. You’re just stupid; no teacher is going to waste time on you! So what if you’ve never recovered from the nightmares of Vietnam or the Gulf War, or Iraq or Afghanstan. Get over it! Get a job. So what if you were beaten by your father and tossed out of the house because you’re gay, or even pregnant by your father, or you-fill-in-the-blank. Hate yourself? Well, you asked for it! Too many of us have been at the end of our resources – whether it be too little meal or oil – or the end of our rope. Who is there to care?

There are forces in this world that lead to destruction – and forces that lead to blessing. Acts of generosity replenish our resources. “Give bread to those who are hungry,” writes Methodist Bishop Pagura of Argentina who works for human rights on this continent and beyond, “and hunger for justice to those who are fed.”

The story of Elijah and the widow of Zarephath teaches us that God cares for all of us, no matter our nationalities or religions or native lands, no matter our social or economic status. That God uses whatever we have to offer to replenish the world – no matter that it is of little consequence in the eyes of the world – when we reach out to strangers and outcasts and those whom we think don’t deserve our help. In the depths of our scarcity lie the seeds of our abundance.

“Do not be afraid,” Elijah says to the widow (I Kings 17:13b). In response, poet Maren Tirabassi writes this prayer of the heart:1

A handful of meal,
a jug of oil,
a breath of life,
a note of song,
half a smile from a friend,
a letter folded and
refolded again,
pine needles under feet,
the smell of city
after long rain,
a child’s prayer—
the little enough.

I was just going
to kindle these bits
left of my life
and consume
my last hope,
but you came along
asking me to give
rather than give up,
and I decided
to share my
next-to-nothing
with your hunger.

Taste my sweet cake
even through it is small,
taste tomorrow
with me—I think
there is enough.
Something shared
is never empty;
something poured
will never run out—
a table of meal,
a laughter of oil,
a handful of life.

Amen.

1. Maren Tirabassi, An Improbable Gift of Blessing, p. 137.