Giving Up

Text: 1 Kings 17:8-24

Perhaps you see this story in Kings as a story about power. If so, you would not be alone. The Bible makes lots of people think about power. A lot of the stories in it talk plainly about power. God is powerful. God’s power helps people be powerful. The power of the righteous is greater than the power of the unrighteous. Good is more powerful than evil. Even when it seems that evil is powerful, it turns out that good is more powerful. As in the story of the passion. Paul writes about the power of sin and the power of being baptized into the resurrected Christ. The people whose scripture is the Bible believe that in the end the power of God overwhelms and fills the universe.

All this talk of power makes some people squeamish. We modern types are not thrilled about talking about acting powerful or being acted on by someone else who is powerful. Though we do it—sometimes do act powerfully and we sometimes are jerked around by powerful others—we do not like talking about it. That is, we would prefer to think of ourselves as both humble and at the same time in control.

In the story of Elijah and the widow, there is a lot of ordering and demanding. God makes demands on Elijah. God makes demands on the widow, Elijah makes demands on the widow. The widow is pretty much at the end of the chain as well as being at the end of her rope. We might ask whether the demands on her are just and loving or exploitative and cruel. Some weird things happen here. One is that after the widow tells Elijah that she has nearly nothing and is about to die by means of despair, Elijah says to her, That’s fine. Go ahead and do that. But before you do, make me some food and serve it to me. And the widow does. Elijah has nothing. The woman has nothing. But even so, this is not a fair transaction among equals. So it is not a great story for those who feel that the world runs—politically, economically, or emotionally—on rational exchange between willing agents.

It is also not a great story for those feel that the way to safety and riches is by making sure that things go right. Making sure. That is, by taking and keeping control of things. This is not a good story for people—I’m one of them—who double check, figure out, and plan carefully. And then worry and fret about whether it will all work out. And perhaps it is not a good story for those who actually are in control—more or less—because they do live lives of abundance. None of those things describe the life of the widow of Zarepthath.

The story proceeds through a series of offers. Though they sound like commands (or demands, as I said), they leave open the chance that they will be disobeyed or refused. Elijah, who has already tried to hide away from God, could have tried to again. And the widow could have sent Elijah packing—which is probably what most of us would have done.

The offers to the woman, though, are made with the arrogance that goes with compassion. A sense that what I’m demanding is better for you. It puts us off, even if it is true. And it puts us off because the person making the offer does it from the position of power. Elijah has the power to feed the woman and her son indefinitely in exchange for just a wee bit of cake now.

The woman accepts the offer and does as Elijah said. It is not clear why. Perhaps she does it out of hope for food from the prophet. Perhaps she does it out of despair—why not, what else can she do? Or perhaps she does it because Elijah has distracted her from her troubles. As a parent might a child: go ahead and run away from home, but first how about a little soup and grilled cheese?

In all these stories today—the two episodes from Kings and the raising of the dead son in the Gospel of Luke—someone invites someone to do some thing. Elijah or Jesus. It sounds like a command. Give me some cake. Give me your son. Rise up. But it is a proposal, a proposition. And in all the stories, the offer is accepted.

In all the stories, the offer is the same: You have nothing. It is the end of the line. No food. No breath. I will give you plenty. Where there is no food, I will give you abundant food, unending. Where there is no breath, I will give you abundant breath, unending.

This is the conviction of our faith. Where there is sadness, God brings joy. Where there is fear, God brings peace. Where there is death, God brings life. Unending.

Is it necessary—I want to know this—is it necessary that to accept God’s offer of abundance that we must have nothing? Or must we purposely let go of everything first in order to accept? And if so, can we? Is this what Paul means in Romans when he talks about dying to sin?

We know that in those moments when things seem darkest that we are most open to listening for suggestions from God. When we are at wits end, or have suffered greatly, or can hardly move from our house because of fear. It seems at those moments that we have nothing. We know that our desire to “make sure” will be unrequited. That moment, when we realize that—that we are powerless—that moment is the bottom by definition. That is what the bottom is. It is as low as we need to go. We give up to God because there is nothing more for us to keep.

Can we do this without hitting bottom? It seems that God’s offer of abundant life is actually always open. But it remains just an offer—it remains unconsummated—as long as we want to keep our power. Can we become powerless enough to accept it? Is it even possible to just let things go by act of will? Isn’t that an oxymoron? Those who wish to save their life must lose it, Jesus taught us. The disciplines of our faith—prayer, song, sacraments taken in humility, serving others—are tools, tactics, techniques for giving ourselves away.

We all find ourselves in trouble sometime or other, some way or other. Then what? What happens then? To which horse do we hitch our wagon to get us out and on? Do we rely on ourselves and our attachments—things, friends, skills, attitudes, privileges, and energy—to make things go right? In that case, we have to ask ourselves: how has that worked for me so far? Are things going the way I want them to? Will a little adjustment here or there fix things right up? Or do we let go, saying to God: I cannot do this by myself. Things are out of control. I do not have the power. In that case, we have to ask ourselves whether I trust God when God says to us: Give me your self.

In his ministry, Jesus makes two kinds of promises. The first is that in giving yourself to God you get abundant life. Which includes sustenance and joy and peace and life. And the second is that Jesus shows us the way to do that.

God is powerful. We follow the way of Jesus not to take on the power of God for ourselves, but to be able to let go of our own claims for power in the light of God’s.