Hannah - keeper of the faith

A reflection on 1 Samuel, chapter 1: Sunday, 19 November 2006

Once upon a time in a land far away there lived a woman all on her own. Perhaps I should explain: about the time - long before you and I were born, or our parents, or even their parents; about the land - it was far away, far enough for us not to have visited, even though some have tried; about the woman - because there is no story without the woman; but most of all I should explain about her living on her own.

You see, she lived on her own with other people. By which I mean she shared her home, her hearth, her bed with others, but she was still on her own. It’s possible to live with others and be alone. It’s possible to rise and eat and work and sleep surrounded by family and friends and still be on your own. Perhaps you know what I mean.

The woman’s name was Hannah - you had guessed that by now - and her aloneness was not comfortable: not for her, not for the man who loved her, and certainly not for the woman who feared her. When worth is measured in baby boys, then “barren” is a desperate word. It seems that Elkanah loved her all the same, even loved her more, at least that’s the way the story reads, but still barren was who she was. She knew it, and he knew it, as did her rival.

Oh, he tried to make it comfortable. Each year, a double portion of the sacrificial lamb, to comfort, to reassure, to let her know that he saw more than emptiness in her. But her emptiness couldn’t be hidden. Her emptiness became both the cause of the other woman’s delight and the cause of her anguish. How could he love her? She was empty where Penninah was full; she was desolate where Penninah was fertile; she had no sons while Penninah had ensured a lineage, a heritage, a source of confidence in times to come. But still, he favoured the wrong woman.

What does an empty woman do in times like those?

Perhaps a woman who keeps the faith might go to pray. If all else fails, perhaps the One who closed the womb might also be the One to open it. A long time ago that’s how it was seen, and even now.

Now Hannah was one who kept the faith. And so she prayed, and her prayers were answered at once.

I wonder what a modern practitioner of science might say to Hannah’s answered prayer. Do you think there might be murmurings of “mind over matter”?

Eli the priest, once reassured that the woman is empty rather than full of wine, sends her on her way: “Go in peace, and may God grant your desire.”

Peace, of course, is the very thing which an empty woman lacks. While others rise in the dark of night to attend infant cries, while others chase the rebellious offspring or mop the fevered brow, at least they have the peace of knowing their worth. For they are the mothers of sons. But in barrenness there is no peace.

“Go in peace”. An easy thing to say; a harder thing to do.

But Hannah is one who keeps the faith. Perhaps Eli’s words are a gift.

Perhaps the empty woman is already no longer empty. She is not full of child, but perhaps she bears the seed of hope. She goes away hoping to find divine favour now lodged inside her womb. And she is no longer sad.

Faith and hope are not strangers.

Faith and hope go hand in hand into the face of death. There is light in the darkness. There is resurrection to follow death. Dying to self leads to rising in Christ.

Have you noticed how often this story is told? Hannah, Ruth and Naomi, a blind man beside the road, Lazarus from a tomb, Jesus from the tomb.

And in our time: Bonhoeffer, Martin Luther King, Mother Teresa – life from death in the slums and the streets, faith and hope hand in hand.

And now we are keepers of the faith.

Help us,
O Keeper of Faith,
to keep the faith entrusted to us,
faith in a world worth saving,
faith in a dream worth sharing,
faith in a heritage worth keeping
even as we reinvigorate it
to have meaning for us now.
Help us keep faith in You,
and help us not to lose faith in ourselves,
for faith is the substance of our hope,
and hope, the assurance of love.
Praise to You, O Faithful One,
now and forever.
Amen.

(source of prayer – Miriam Therese Winter, WomanWisdom)

Poverty and abundance

A reflection on Ruth 3:1-5,4:13-17 and Mark 12:38-44: preached on Sunday, 12 November

I’ve spent a fair bit of time in the last few days trying to work out where to start with this reflection. Initially, I was drawn to the scandalous bit. You know, start “shock and horror” and go from there. But then I thought, if I was going to talk about poverty and abundance, perhaps I should open by reflecting on my own experience of poverty, or rather my own inexperience of poverty. Then again, it’s important to note that these are women’s stories – stories about women, for women. Again I could speak about this from the depths of my own inexperience of being a woman. So where to begin?

What the heck, let’s start with the scandal!

Naomi says to her daughter-in-law: “observe the place where [Boaz] lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down… ” To which Ruth replies: “All that you tell me I will do.”

So Ruth went and uncovered Boaz’s feet.

Have you ever wondered about that? Have you ever paused to consider why Naomi would want her beloved daughter-in-law to do that? She’s just come back from the fields, from hours of back breaking work in the sun and the dirt, and her mother-in-law says, “Go and uncover Boaz’s dirty, smelly feet and lie down with him.” Does that make sense to you?

Perhaps it makes sense if we understand that the bible doesn’t always mean what it says. Sometimes the bible uses a polite word for something else. “Feet” in the bible doesn’t always mean feet! Ever wondered about those six-winged angels in Isaiah that used one pair of wings to fly, another pair to hide their faces, and the third pair to hide… their feet!

“Observe the place where [Boaz] lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down… ”

Does this surprise you? Does this shock you? Aren’t you just a little bit scandalised? But doesn’t it make sense now?

These are the lengths to which Naomi and Ruth will go in order to secure a future for themselves and a heritage for their lost husbands. These are the lengths to which resourceful, committed, intelligent women will go, breaking the rules, risking scandal and shame, so that they might honour the promises they have made to each other.

Attitude is everything.

In a world of limited good, those who have little must depend upon those who have a lot. In Jesus’ world, those who had little were entirely at the mercy of those who had an abundance. And generally the attitude of the rich was (and is) to preserve their riches, to only give away what they felt they could afford, and often to only give it away expecting to get something in return. And the attitude of the poor? Well, they had (and have) two choices – resignation (the hopeless acceptance of their lot) or hope (the refusal to concede that what is will always be what is).

Naomi and Ruth were poor – at least, they were poor in material terms, in societal terms; but they were rich in other ways – they were rich in their commitment to one another, they were rich in their resourcefulness, they were rich in their belief that things might be different, and they were rich in their willingness to risk scandal in order to secure a future for themselves and their kin. They were poor and yet they also had an abundance.

If we turn to today’s gospel story of the poor woman and her two small coins, we are immediately confronted by the different attitudes of those who are rich and those who are poor. Jesus drags the attention of his disciples to the generosity of the one who can’t afford to be generous. It’s an attitude thing:

“Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those… For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

Now, when we bring together these three extraordinary women, we find something here which pricks our consciences and which asks us questions about poverty and abundance in our own lives.

In the vast richness of Australian society, how much time to we devote to imagining ourselves to be poor? All the illusions of how hard-up we are while we live without having to worry about where our next meal will come from or whether we will have a roof over our heads at night. When we stop long enough to put aside the illusion of poverty, we know ourselves to be rich; but we also know that it is possible to be rich in the material things yet remain poor in the things that really matter: hope, love, forgiveness, peace, compassion.

These three women operate with an abundance of the intangible things of life. What must it take to give away all that you have? How much generosity? What an abundance of hope there must be to make oneself so vulnerable. What must it take to risk so much for another? How much love? What an abundance of hope there must be to make oneself so vulnerable.

Taken together, these women ask us, “How much hope do we have? How prepared are we to do something in order to realise that hope?’

I suppose that these are the questions I see confronting John and Mary (whose child Amanda was baptised in this service): how much hope do they have for their child’s future? And how far are they prepared to go in order to realise that hope? And these are questions for all of us, parents, grandparents, and single folk alike. What hope do we have for the future, and how far are we prepared to go?

For me, there is something which lies behind the questions I raise. After all, it is possible to be filled with hope and expectations for personal riches; but without belief in the never-ending supply – the abundance – of God’s grace, personal riches mean very little. The world is full of people who are rich beyond dreaming but whose lives are full of emptiness and despair. Without something beyond ourselves, something which calls us beyond ourselves, then we are poor indeed.

But those whose lives are transformed by the living God, who are nurtured and sustained by the overflowing abundance of God’s grace, they are the ones who go beyond themselves to transform the world through love and kindness and compassion. Out of the abundance of grace they give all that they have so that all might live. Amen.

A time for prayer

A reflection on “Water… a time for prayer”, Ruth 1:1-18, and Mark 12:28-34; preached Sunday 5 November 2006

We arrived in Clermont in January 1997, when the country was displaying all the signs of the longest dry spell in recorded history. Our last hundred kilometres was through “the long paddock” – the cow cockies’ shorthand for the roadside where cattle had been turned loose to graze because the real paddocks were bare. I sought to reassure my daughter that the gaunt grey shapes of the Brahmans were not indicators that the end was nigh, but my words simply betrayed my ignorance of just how bad things really were.

A few days later we went visiting. The prospect of a property with an eleven kilometre driveway kindled our imaginations, but again reality bit into our naivety. We were taken aback as Bill’s cows rushed to greet us – cows smart enough to realise that vehicles were the source of the molasses and hay which was keeping them alive, but not smart enough to tell the difference between the feed truck and the new minister’s station wagon.

Further out we called at “Tricorner”, a carefully selected block of prime dirt – black soil so rich and so deep that the homestead had to be built on a concrete raft floating fifteen feet over bedrock. The owners had not been there long and their first year had been a good one: wheat going nearly three tons to the acre without fertilizer. But in dry times the next season saw half of that, and the year after half of that, and the year after half again.

But the saddest story was Martin’s (not his real name). His was one of the older properties, gracing the surrounding district with its name and history, a block of great beauty and immense richness – when the rain fell. Martin was a man of great faith. Shortly after we arrived, I met him in town and he spoke passionately of his love for the Lord and his deep-seated belief in the power of prayer. Repentance for his sins and earnest supplications claiming the promises of scripture would win him through. No, it had hardly rained for six years, but his faith and perseverance were sure to be rewarded by his Lord.

There was a certain fragility, however, to Martin’s claims. Six years with little or no rain in answer to his petitions meant a heroic battle to stave off doubt and uncertainty. When the end came it was not pretty. In faith, in confidence, in response to the weather bureau’s predictions and the ag. consultant’s advice, Martin planted sunflowers. And nothing happened. A week without rain, another week, a month. And almost overnight, the property was sold and Martin was gone.

Three weeks after that it rained – not much, but enough to bring the sunflowers from the soil. There was follow up rain, too – not much, but enough for a crop. A drive past Martin’s old property revealed paddock after paddock of golden, nodding sunnies, a crop like the good old days, a crop to fill the silos, to keep the property going another year at least, a crop to pay off some debts and to keep the bank manager from the door.

And Martin? Well, it’s a small world, and it was inevitable that he would hear what had transpired. Rain had fallen, but not for him. Martin had what we dismissively call a “breakdown”. At least he didn’t do what many farmers have done over the years – take the rifle down from the wall and go for one last walk down to the machine shed. But Martin was a broken man.

You and I both know that it rains on the just and unjust alike. The bible tells us that. Conversely, it fails to rain with the same lack of discrimination. Martin’s prayers presumed that God plays favourites, that the faithful will be singled out, that we just have to have enough faith. But it doesn’t work like that. After all, if it worked like that we’d all be believers.

How does prayer work?

I’m not sure just how much my prayers change God. What I do know is that my prayers change me. I could dress that up in religious language and say that through my prayers the Holy Spirit aligns my will with God’s will. Perhaps that’s what happens. Whatever the mechanism, prayer changes me.

Somehow, I am altered. When I attend to God (and surely that is what is happening when I pray) when I attend to God, I am changed.

The story of Ruth and Naomi is a profound example of how people are changed. We begin with Ruth, a Jewish wife and mother, taken to a foreign land (I hope you noted Elimelech’s pragmatism in the face of famine) and the story rapidly descends into tragedy. By the seventh verse of the opening chapter, Naomi has been widowed and her sons are dead. She is adrift in a foreign land without a single male relative to provide her with security and a place in the community. Equally, her daughters-in-law – Orpah and Ruth, having given up their birthright as Moabites and now widowed – are also without kith and kin to provide for them.

We should avoid romanticising what happens next. Naomi tries to reduce her problems by divesting herself of the liability of two daughters-in-law she simply cannot provide for. Just as practically, Ruth and Orpah resist, at least Orpah resists for a little while before deciding that her best bet is to attempt to find a Moabite man prepared to take in a used woman. And Ruth – well, Ruth utters those fabulous, famous words:

“Where you go, I will go;
where you lodge, I will lodge;
your people shall be my people,
and your God my God.”

And so begins the story of Ruth and Naomi.

What do we take from their tale? After all, God features very little in the book of Ruth. We don’t hear much about prayer; we certainly don’t hear of fervent supplications offered up and divine compassion miraculously revealed in response to faith. I’m sure that Naomi, as a faithful Jew, and Ruth, as a faithful convert, did pray. I’m sure that they called upon the name of the Lord, but the point of the story is not about how God is changed but about how Ruth and Naomi are changed.

They change. They do things differently. They attempt something neither of them has attempted before and, with great courage, they make things happen. Tragedy does not overcome them. There would be no story if they had not turned themselves around and together – note, together – confronted what had to be confronted.

Now I haven’t said much about this week of prayer, have I?

What should I say? That if we pray hard enough, God will have a change of heart and bring the rain? That if we just have more faith it will rain? That we need to repent of our sins and it will rain? That we just need to persevere a little longer – a little longer than poor old Martin, anyhow – and God will change.

Perhaps it might be more helpful to look at how we are called to change. The suggested reflections for this week of prayer call us to profound change: to be thankful, to change our ways, to care for creation, to act with compassion, and then to rest in order that we might be renewed. It is no longer a secret that there are direct and incontrovertible links between climate change and humanity’s wilful disregard of creation, and now we ask, “Is it too late for us to change?”

Surely Ruth and Naomi are to be our models – looking out for one another, demonstrating the total commitment that we need if we are to change our attitude to God’s gift of rain, demonstrating how far it is possible to go together to make things right. “I will go where you will go… Your people shall be my people.”

And here is the link to today’s gospel, Mark’s story of “which commandment is the greatest of all”:

Did you note something quite cute in Mark’s account of the scribe’s question? The scribe asks for one commandment; Jesus gives him two: Love God, and love your neighbour. And the one who does those two things is “not far from the kingdom of God”.

Praying for rain for me and for my needs is not the answer. Loving my neighbour is the answer. Recognising that the guzzling of resources that goes on in prosperous Western societies is stealing my Third World neighbour’s future. Being bold enough to say, “Your people will be my people”. Knowing that I have to change because if I don’t then the kingdom of God will slip further and further away.

I commend to you the material distributed by the Heads of Churches; I ask you to consider what changes we might make as individuals, as families, and together as the church in order to use God’s gift of water responsibly. I ask you to investigate for yourselves the true nature of what we face, because to love our neighbour means we need to be educated. You might like to visit your local library and read volume twelve of the Griffith review, or something by Professor Ian Lowe the president of the Australian Conservation Foundation, or even The weather makers by Tim Flannery.

We need to change. We need to do things differently. We must attempt something we have not attempted before and, with great courage, we must make things happen. It is not inevitable that tragedy will overcome us. But there may be no story if we do not turn ourselves around and together – note, together – confront what has to be confronted.

But, whatever else you do, please pray. And may God change us all. Amen.