Giving with open hands

This Sunday, we'll observe our regular first Sunday of the month Children's Service, and also meet after the service to talk about the results of the "GPS" (God's People Serving) Committee's work on our mission statement. I hope you'll plan to stay after the service to give your input on the mission statement the group has drawn up. I love it!

This Sunday's Gospel has the story of the Prophet Elijah being sent to a widow in Sidon. It's in the middle of a drought, which sent to punish king Ahab for worshipping his wife's pagan God, Baal (Jezebel, who happens to be from Sidon herself). Elijah goes in order to be fed; God doesn't tell him why he's going, or what he's supposed to do when he gets there. Just go, God tells him. She'll feed you. And so he goes. Elijah's mission unfolds as he arrives--as it turns out, he winds up with something to give the widow as well, but at first, it's not clear whether she'll "get" anything out of the deal. He goes to receive.

It's a counter-intuitive mission. This week, I started re-reading a book I first encountered a long time ago, called Poustinia, by Catherine Doherty. I picked it up again because Doherty is mentioned in Thomas Merton's Seven Story Mountain, which we just finished at our daytime book group. Doherty, an immigrant from Russia, started the Madonna House Apostolate, an intentional Christian community where Thomas Merton stayed briefly in Harlem before entering the monastery.

Doherty's unique insights are the combination of a life formed in the Orthodox spirituality of Russia, but oriented outward through the influence of Roman Catholic social justice teaching. In her book, she talks about the Russian tradition of the urodivoi, the fool for Christ: the one who gives away everything--really, everything--and begs for alms. Like Elijah, the fool goes out in order to be fed. The fool is able to support him or herself, but instead throws their life on the mercy of others, spending the day in prayer and pleading. She tells the story of one such person her father knew, who went to the slums and personally gave away all his money (which he'd dramatically just converted to bags of gold and silver). The father met the man years later, begging outside a church, still there, still praying, still with nothing. Why have you done this, the father asks, "I am atoning for the men who have called Christ a fool during his lifetime, and during all the centuries thereafter."

This is a challenging notion for us--it cuts at the heart of American notions of accomplishment and worth--not to mention practicality. Doherty writes, "If you want to see what a 'contribution' really is, look at the Man on the cross. That's a contribution. When you are hanging on a cross you can't do anything because you are crucified." The fool for Christ goes to be crucified with him; Elijah's mission was similar. Was he sent to the woman to be a burden? God miraculously gave her the food to give Elijah, but neither knew in advance what the outcome would be. Their mutual faith created the gift. What if we gave with such open hands? What would we receive, even if we gave all we had?