In our readings this morning we heard about two widows, both have only one child … a son … and in both stories the son died and then is brought back to life … in one case by Elijah and in the case by Jesus. On the one hand these are two stories about the miraculous power of God … through Elijah and Jesus … to bring life out of death … with the emphasis on miraculous. However, I believe there is at least one other lens through which to read these stories.
3 Pentecost
June 5, 2016
In the name of the God of all Creation,
The God alive in each of us as God was alive in Jesus,
And the power of God known in the Spirit.
Amen.
June 5, 2016
In the name of the God of all Creation,
The God alive in each of us as God was alive in Jesus,
And the power of God known in the Spirit.
Amen.
In our readings this morning we heard about two widows, both have only one child … a son … and in both stories the son died and then is brought back to life … in one case by Elijah and in the case by Jesus. On the one hand these are two stories about the miraculous power of God … through Elijah and Jesus … to bring life out of death … with the emphasis on miraculous. However, I believe there is at least one other lens through which to read these stories.
I think most of us know that the word “compassion” comes from Latin roots meaning “to suffer with.” The “C-O-M” as a prefix means “with.” So “compassion” literally means “suffer with” another. And there are other words like this: “companion” means to “eat bread with” … “pan” being the Latin for “bread”; “comfort” meaning to “strengthen with” … and so on. However, the books of our New Testament were written in Greek, not Latin, so where we see the word “compassion” in our readings … such as our reading from Luke this morning … we have to look at the Greek word that is translated as “compassion.”
“When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, "Do not weep." … that Greek word has 13 letters and in the middle of the word there are these letters in sequence: G – K – N – I – and Z … actually Gamma, Kappa, Nu, Iota, and Zeta … and it is not a fraternity or sorority. ("splagcnizomai.”) It is a word that does not easily roll off one’s tongue … at least not mine … and therefore I’m not going to even try to pronounce it.
Anyhow, whereas when most people hear the word “compassion” they think of one’s heart being moved, this Greek word has its roots in the noun referring to one’s bowels, heart, lungs, liver or kidneys, which in that day were believed to be the center of human emotions. This unpronounceable Greek word that is translated as “compassion” essentially means “to be moved as to one’s bowels”. This kind of compassion is a quaking of our intestines and internal organs … it is a gut-wrenching kind of feeling. It is a deep-seated moving of compassion that literally begins to rattle the very foundations of the person experiencing the emotion.
This Greek word is used 12 times in the New Testament. In the story of the Good Samaritan it is translated as “pity,” but in the story of the Prodigal Son it is the “compassion” that the father has for his son when he sees him from afar … a gut-wrenching quaking of his being.
And throughout the gospels Jesus is a man of “compassion.” As he walked through the villages and saw the crowds afflicted with sickness and disease, "he had compassion on them." When he saw the hungry, "he had compassion on them." When thronged by a "large crowd" of the lame, the blind, the crippled, and the dumb, he told his disciples, "I have compassion for these people." And when he left Jericho followed by yet another "large crowd," and two blind beggars screamed for help, "Jesus had compassion on them" and healed them.
This is the kind of compassion that churns one’s gut. And that is what happened in this morning’s story about the Widow of Nain. Remember, most women in the time of Jesus only had an identity through their husbands. And this woman was already a widow … she had lost her husband. Now she had also lost her only son. As if her fragile life wasn't hard enough, she fell further down the economic scale of protection and provision. All she had to live for and to live by was gone. Perhaps the "large crowd" that accompanied her was indicative of the depth of her tragedy. So Jesus’ compassion was not just for a woman who was grieving over the death of her son, it was also about the plight of this woman in her society.
This story of the widow of Nain is an echo of the story of the widow of Zarephath and Elijah. In that story, from our first reading in the Book of First Kings, the prophet Elijah was sent by the Lord to the region of Zarephath, which is modern day Jordan. The reason for his journey was that King Ahab of Israel had married Jezebel … a worshiper of Baal. We’ll hear more about Jezebel next week. But Jezebel convinced Ahab … a Jew … to also worship Baal and this, of course, displeased the Lord. So the Lord … in retribution … sent a drought upon Israel and then told Elijah to prophesy to the people about worshipping only the Lord. No wonder King Ahab blamed Elijah for the drought. And so Ahab sought to do harm to Elijah … and Elijah went into exile in Zarepheth.
Anyhow, Elijah ends up living on the roof of the home of a widow in Zarephath. His “rent” is being paid for by the Lord … an endless supply of meal and oil to feed her, her son, and Elijah. But then the widow’s son became ill and stopped breathing. Elijah took him to his roof-top chamber and did an ancient version of CPR and the son came back to life.
It is a wonderful story, but it really has nothing to do with compassion. Maybe Elijah is motivated out of sympathy, but the text doesn’t mention that. It really seems to be a story about the power of God to convince the widow that Elijah is a legitimate prophet of the Lord.
In the same way, the story about Jesus could be seen as a miracle story to show his divine powers, and compassion is only a footnote … an excuse for the action to bring the widow’s son back to life.
That may be, but what interests me is Jesus’ compassion … that gut-wrenching compassion that comes out of a sensitivity of the other’s need. In this case it comes from the question, “What must this woman be feeling? What would it be like to be in her shoes?” And therefore it would mean that Jesus would not only know in his head, but feel in his gut the fear and pain this woman was experiencing.
A question that Caren often asks about these stories and about the teachings of Jesus … a question that really has no answer but a curiosity nonetheless … the question is “How does Jesus know this? What was it Jesus knew … out of his own life experience … that made him so sensitive to others in this way? How did Jesus gain the wisdom that comes through in his teachings and parables?”
Some would say it comes from direct communication with God. Others say that he was born with this divine power and infinite wisdom. However, I believe it comes from his own life experience sometime in those 30 years before he began his ministry. I believe Jesus was a keen observer of the world around him … perhaps even in his family of origin. Perhaps Jesus was mentored by a wise sage he met along the way. But we’ll never know because we don’t have that part of the story.
Now I believe that we are all compassionate people to one degree or another. Some people are more sensitive to others’ pain and suffering, and some people are more willing to respond with compassionate action, but I believe that all of us have experienced not only the heartache of seeing another suffer, but also that gut-wrenching feeling that accompanies the deep connection to another who is in pain, or who is oppress, or is homeless, or hungry. Psalm 149, which we also read this morning, gives us a hint of those that God feels worthy of our compassion … the oppressed, the hungry, the prisoners, the blind, those who are bowed down, strangers, and orphans and widows.
If this is what God wants of us … to respond to hurting and oppressed and hungry people with compassion. And if this is the model that Jesus set for us. Then why is that we don’t always respond with compassion? What is it that keeps us from acting compassionately?
“There but by the grace of God go I” can be read two ways. I believe most of us see another in some kind of pain and think that it could be us, and we are moved to compassion to address the suffering. But others respond differently. “There but by the grace of God go I” is a kind of “Thank God that isn’t me. I could be just like that, so I better protect myself so it doesn’t happen to me.” This is response is based in a fear of loss … loss of our security, maybe even our life … if not physically perhaps existentially. It is a fear that I might not be recognized as a person of value in my society … that I might not even be recognized as being alive. In this case the focus changes from the other to self and protection and security become paramount.
I certainly understand why some people have legitimate reasons for living in gated communities. Yet, at the risk of offending those who do, I believe those gated communities are a metaphor of how we try to protect ourselves from the social ills of the world “outside.” But having a gate and wall around our home is not all that different from those who build a personal space that will not be penetrated by something as silly as sympathy, or empathy, or compassion. These people worry that if they crack the door open just a little there might be a flood in which they are lost.
However, in spite of the protections we may seek, I believe that all of us are compassionate people, and the compassionate action that people I know affirms that we live in basically a compassionate world. Whether it is delivering a meal to an elder who can’t cook for themselves, or sending a donation to an agency that assists refugees in the Greece, this is compassionate action in our midst. A kind word to someone in grief is but a small act, but nonetheless powerful and deeply felt. Sharing food with a homeless man, helping others build a home for a single mother, and tutoring an underachieving child are all ways to respond to that tug in our heart … or the wrenching of our gut calling us to compassion.
Jesus responded to the widow of Nain by bringing her son back to life … and giving life again to the family. What of the world around you compels you to compassion? What tugs at your heart, or moves your gut in such a way that you are drawn to action … to bring life back to a person who has given up hope? If we are to take seriously what Jesus took seriously then we will overcome our fear and insecurities, open ourselves to be sensitive to others’ needs, and be committed enough to act.
Maybe the story of the widow of Nain is about the divine power of Jesus … a miraculous power that is shown in his bringing the widow’s son back to life. However, for me the story is about the power of compassion … the Latin “suffering with” compassion, and the Greek unpronounceable experience of a deep-seated moving of compassion that literally begins to rattle the very foundations of who we are.
It is with that compassion that can break through the walls and gates we put around us and compel us to action. If we are to take seriously what Jesus took seriously then we must be open to that gut-wrenching experience of compassion to all those in our world … near and far … and respond with real and tangible compassionate action.
Amen.
I think most of us know that the word “compassion” comes from Latin roots meaning “to suffer with.” The “C-O-M” as a prefix means “with.” So “compassion” literally means “suffer with” another. And there are other words like this: “companion” means to “eat bread with” … “pan” being the Latin for “bread”; “comfort” meaning to “strengthen with” … and so on. However, the books of our New Testament were written in Greek, not Latin, so where we see the word “compassion” in our readings … such as our reading from Luke this morning … we have to look at the Greek word that is translated as “compassion.”
“When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, "Do not weep." … that Greek word has 13 letters and in the middle of the word there are these letters in sequence: G – K – N – I – and Z … actually Gamma, Kappa, Nu, Iota, and Zeta … and it is not a fraternity or sorority. ("splagcnizomai.”) It is a word that does not easily roll off one’s tongue … at least not mine … and therefore I’m not going to even try to pronounce it.
Anyhow, whereas when most people hear the word “compassion” they think of one’s heart being moved, this Greek word has its roots in the noun referring to one’s bowels, heart, lungs, liver or kidneys, which in that day were believed to be the center of human emotions. This unpronounceable Greek word that is translated as “compassion” essentially means “to be moved as to one’s bowels”. This kind of compassion is a quaking of our intestines and internal organs … it is a gut-wrenching kind of feeling. It is a deep-seated moving of compassion that literally begins to rattle the very foundations of the person experiencing the emotion.
This Greek word is used 12 times in the New Testament. In the story of the Good Samaritan it is translated as “pity,” but in the story of the Prodigal Son it is the “compassion” that the father has for his son when he sees him from afar … a gut-wrenching quaking of his being.
And throughout the gospels Jesus is a man of “compassion.” As he walked through the villages and saw the crowds afflicted with sickness and disease, "he had compassion on them." When he saw the hungry, "he had compassion on them." When thronged by a "large crowd" of the lame, the blind, the crippled, and the dumb, he told his disciples, "I have compassion for these people." And when he left Jericho followed by yet another "large crowd," and two blind beggars screamed for help, "Jesus had compassion on them" and healed them.
This is the kind of compassion that churns one’s gut. And that is what happened in this morning’s story about the Widow of Nain. Remember, most women in the time of Jesus only had an identity through their husbands. And this woman was already a widow … she had lost her husband. Now she had also lost her only son. As if her fragile life wasn't hard enough, she fell further down the economic scale of protection and provision. All she had to live for and to live by was gone. Perhaps the "large crowd" that accompanied her was indicative of the depth of her tragedy. So Jesus’ compassion was not just for a woman who was grieving over the death of her son, it was also about the plight of this woman in her society.
This story of the widow of Nain is an echo of the story of the widow of Zarephath and Elijah. In that story, from our first reading in the Book of First Kings, the prophet Elijah was sent by the Lord to the region of Zarephath, which is modern day Jordan. The reason for his journey was that King Ahab of Israel had married Jezebel … a worshiper of Baal. We’ll hear more about Jezebel next week. But Jezebel convinced Ahab … a Jew … to also worship Baal and this, of course, displeased the Lord. So the Lord … in retribution … sent a drought upon Israel and then told Elijah to prophesy to the people about worshipping only the Lord. No wonder King Ahab blamed Elijah for the drought. And so Ahab sought to do harm to Elijah … and Elijah went into exile in Zarepheth.
Anyhow, Elijah ends up living on the roof of the home of a widow in Zarephath. His “rent” is being paid for by the Lord … an endless supply of meal and oil to feed her, her son, and Elijah. But then the widow’s son became ill and stopped breathing. Elijah took him to his roof-top chamber and did an ancient version of CPR and the son came back to life.
It is a wonderful story, but it really has nothing to do with compassion. Maybe Elijah is motivated out of sympathy, but the text doesn’t mention that. It really seems to be a story about the power of God to convince the widow that Elijah is a legitimate prophet of the Lord.
In the same way, the story about Jesus could be seen as a miracle story to show his divine powers, and compassion is only a footnote … an excuse for the action to bring the widow’s son back to life.
That may be, but what interests me is Jesus’ compassion … that gut-wrenching compassion that comes out of a sensitivity of the other’s need. In this case it comes from the question, “What must this woman be feeling? What would it be like to be in her shoes?” And therefore it would mean that Jesus would not only know in his head, but feel in his gut the fear and pain this woman was experiencing.
A question that Caren often asks about these stories and about the teachings of Jesus … a question that really has no answer but a curiosity nonetheless … the question is “How does Jesus know this? What was it Jesus knew … out of his own life experience … that made him so sensitive to others in this way? How did Jesus gain the wisdom that comes through in his teachings and parables?”
Some would say it comes from direct communication with God. Others say that he was born with this divine power and infinite wisdom. However, I believe it comes from his own life experience sometime in those 30 years before he began his ministry. I believe Jesus was a keen observer of the world around him … perhaps even in his family of origin. Perhaps Jesus was mentored by a wise sage he met along the way. But we’ll never know because we don’t have that part of the story.
Now I believe that we are all compassionate people to one degree or another. Some people are more sensitive to others’ pain and suffering, and some people are more willing to respond with compassionate action, but I believe that all of us have experienced not only the heartache of seeing another suffer, but also that gut-wrenching feeling that accompanies the deep connection to another who is in pain, or who is oppress, or is homeless, or hungry. Psalm 149, which we also read this morning, gives us a hint of those that God feels worthy of our compassion … the oppressed, the hungry, the prisoners, the blind, those who are bowed down, strangers, and orphans and widows.
If this is what God wants of us … to respond to hurting and oppressed and hungry people with compassion. And if this is the model that Jesus set for us. Then why is that we don’t always respond with compassion? What is it that keeps us from acting compassionately?
“There but by the grace of God go I” can be read two ways. I believe most of us see another in some kind of pain and think that it could be us, and we are moved to compassion to address the suffering. But others respond differently. “There but by the grace of God go I” is a kind of “Thank God that isn’t me. I could be just like that, so I better protect myself so it doesn’t happen to me.” This is response is based in a fear of loss … loss of our security, maybe even our life … if not physically perhaps existentially. It is a fear that I might not be recognized as a person of value in my society … that I might not even be recognized as being alive. In this case the focus changes from the other to self and protection and security become paramount.
I certainly understand why some people have legitimate reasons for living in gated communities. Yet, at the risk of offending those who do, I believe those gated communities are a metaphor of how we try to protect ourselves from the social ills of the world “outside.” But having a gate and wall around our home is not all that different from those who build a personal space that will not be penetrated by something as silly as sympathy, or empathy, or compassion. These people worry that if they crack the door open just a little there might be a flood in which they are lost.
However, in spite of the protections we may seek, I believe that all of us are compassionate people, and the compassionate action that people I know affirms that we live in basically a compassionate world. Whether it is delivering a meal to an elder who can’t cook for themselves, or sending a donation to an agency that assists refugees in the Greece, this is compassionate action in our midst. A kind word to someone in grief is but a small act, but nonetheless powerful and deeply felt. Sharing food with a homeless man, helping others build a home for a single mother, and tutoring an underachieving child are all ways to respond to that tug in our heart … or the wrenching of our gut calling us to compassion.
Jesus responded to the widow of Nain by bringing her son back to life … and giving life again to the family. What of the world around you compels you to compassion? What tugs at your heart, or moves your gut in such a way that you are drawn to action … to bring life back to a person who has given up hope? If we are to take seriously what Jesus took seriously then we will overcome our fear and insecurities, open ourselves to be sensitive to others’ needs, and be committed enough to act.
Maybe the story of the widow of Nain is about the divine power of Jesus … a miraculous power that is shown in his bringing the widow’s son back to life. However, for me the story is about the power of compassion … the Latin “suffering with” compassion, and the Greek unpronounceable experience of a deep-seated moving of compassion that literally begins to rattle the very foundations of who we are.
It is with that compassion that can break through the walls and gates we put around us and compel us to action. If we are to take seriously what Jesus took seriously then we must be open to that gut-wrenching experience of compassion to all those in our world … near and far … and respond with real and tangible compassionate action.
Amen.
