Dinner in the Desert

Mark 8:1-10

I was just watching a program on the city of Petra, Jordan,* an ancient town in a place where there was no apparent water, except for occasional catastrophic flash floods. Somehow the people who carved it out of the native stone were not only excellent craftsmen but also great engineers. Excavations have revealed watercourses and dams that helped to both fill watercourses and aqueducts but also provide for a way of lessening the effects of flash flooding. Petra became a center for trading and respite for caravans passing through with their goods and purchasing provisions. They were known as a trading center for frankincense and myrrh

Petra was a long way from just about anywhere, hence its importance as a trading site and place of refreshment from the sun and desert heat. Traders had to carefully calculate what provisions and how many of each would be needed to get the caravan to the next oasis or trading center.

I was surprised to learn, many years ago, that not all deserts are vast sand dunes. Around Petra, as well as in Arizona, the Sahara, and other places of little moisture, the desert can also be a place with sparse vegetation, mountains, and hard-packed soil that would require a pickaxe to get through it.  I used to live in the high desert of Oregon (yes, Oregon has a desert) where the desert bordered on the Columbia River.  It might have been this kind of desert in which Jesus performed the miracle we know as the “Feeding of the Four Thousand.”

What would make people follow an itinerant preacher into such a countryside with no café, Starbucks, Fish’n’chips, or Subway anywhere close by?  Towns would often have stalls in the marketplace where prepared food was as well as items that could be carried along for cooking on the road, but evidently, there was no town close to where they all found themselves. If they had brought food with them, it would have been eaten by the third day, and just like an army, a group of followers marched until the food ran out. Evidently, Jesus, in the minds of the people, was someone worth following.

Jesus was aware that the people were hungry, most of them having eaten the last of the supplies they had brought with them.  The disciples were all in favor of sending them home, but Jesus reiterated that they were a long way from home and probably would not make it back without assistance. Then the disciples asked the question I’ve been pondering, “How can one feed these people with bread here in the desert?” It certainly would have been impossible for people to bake bread made of sand and salt water, and even stone soup would not have nourished them enough to give them the strength to journey very far. 

So Jesus asked the disciples how much food they had with them. I don’t think they were particularly happy about being asked about stuff they had brought with them for their own meals but answered that they had among them seven loaves of bread and a few fish. Jesus took the food, blessed it, and then began passing it around to the crowd of about 4,000 people.  Everyone ate, and at the end of the meal, the scraps gathered up came out to seven baskets of leftovers. 

Seven is considered a most favored number in Judaism, a symbol for holiness and sanctity. Seven reminds us of the days of Creation, days in a week with the seventh day being the Sabbath, the number of days in many Jewish festivals, and all things in association with God, it isn’t surprising that Jesus would bless seven loaves and that the gathered-up bits and pieces would equal seven baskets.

Did the people expect a miracle? I imagine they were as surprised as anyone could be when confronted with a sudden fulfilling of a need at a time when it would be most unexpected. It would be like suddenly encountering an oasis after a long, tiring trek through sand and caliche. Were they grateful for what they received? It would be hard not to be, given the circumstances. What about the disciples?  Shouldn’t they have expected something like this after having seen Jesus do unexpected things? Still, despite any reluctance to share with others, their bellies were as full as anyone's, and if they were still hungry, bite-sized leftovers were still available.

Not everyone has had an opportunity to walk, hike, ride, or drive through a desert, but no matter how one does it, they must prepare for the trip. I can’t expect to meet a fellow traveler to bail me out of trouble if I forget extra water, bread, a map, or a compass. I could survive for a while on such a trek, but if I become lost, get too hot, dehydrated, and depleted of energy-providing things, it could be my last journey and, very possibly, I will become food for foraging carrion birds. Jesus wasn’t going to let anything like that happen to the people who followed him, and spiritually, he still does that for any of us who seek his help.

Jesus knew what it was like being in the desert with no provisions. Remember, he spent forty days there, by himself, except for the tempter who waits for all of us. I may walk through an emotional or spiritual desert, but Jesus will walk with me, showing me where to go and how to survive. I can count on that. I don’t think I’ll have to rely on sand bread or stone soup with Jesus along.

God bless.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, February 15, 2020.

*Edited 2/15/20 to correct location of Petra in Jordan rather than Syria, as originally published.

Paybacks

One of the blessings (and lessons) of Education for Ministry (EfM) is our weekly theological reflection, a way of discussing a topic through the lenses of tradition, culture, personal position, and action. Often one or more group members get insights, thoughts, and ideas that were like little revelations, making them see things differently and, possibly, changing their perceptions of even very familiar situations or words.

One night we were talking, and the subject turned to the treatment of slaves in the southern colonies. One thought that came out was the possibility of restitution or reparation to family members of deceased slaves as a way of trying to make amends. I’ve been thinking about this concept for a while and have been investigating what the actual words we’ve been using mean, as well as how the Bible would tell us to act.

Three words seem somewhat entangled in such a discussion: Retribution, the punishment for a wrong or criminal act; Restitution, restoration of something lost or stolen from an owner or giving payment for injury or loss; and Reparation, making amends or otherwise helping those who have been wronged. Restitution is also a legal process of compensation (usually monetarily) for damages while reparation/s are traditionally payments of time, effort, or money to do the same thing. Each word represents one facet of a process of attempting to right wrongs, whether done yesterday or decades, even centuries ago.

Concerning payment for those whose ancestors were sold into slavery by fellow African tribesmen to European slave traders and then transported to various parts of the world where slave labor was needed, it would seem difficult to me to define precisely who the enslaved ancestor/ancestors were, and how to honestly compensate them for the pain and suffering those ancestors and their descendants faced.

I wonder – is giving monetary restitution enough?  Or do we give the appearance of providing for people who have been wronged without really addressing the problem and trying to fix it?

The Hebrew Scriptures offered many ways and means for wrongdoing to be amended and forgiven, each specific to a particular person, group, or nation. Many times God punished the people for going against God’s will, each time featuring a flood, an expulsion from Eden, a separation from the tribe, loss of land and property, and even exile. When the people finally repented and returned to following God’s rules, God lifted the punishment and forgave the transgressions.

Jesus taught us to turn the other cheek, but not to be a total doormat either.  We are to treat others as our neighbors, whether they are residents or aliens in our land. We are to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the prisoners, care for the ill, children, and elderly, and to follow God’s laws. If we encounter evildoing, we are to do our best to counter it and remove it, returning ourselves and the land to righteousness under God. It sounds like a familiar tune for these days, at least to my way of thinking.

In culture, there seem to be strong feelings on both sides of the restitution/reparation/ retribution discussion. For Native Americans, almost every tribe has made a treaty with the US government, which has been broken time and time again by that government. Lands that were seized have not been returned, even though the areas are sacred to the tribes. There are still many tribes that suffer persistent poverty, lack of jobs, lack of healthcare, lack of education, and loss of lives by those who can’t see things getting any better for them. Veterans also suffer a high rate of suicide due to post-war trauma, lack of trust in the government who promised that veterans would receive care after their enlistments were over, and feelings of disconnect and alienation from family and community because of this lack of trust. Cultural groups have been marginalized and refused assistance when needed because they are “not white” and, therefore, not valuable in the greater community. There are so many examples that it is hard to limit it to just a few examples. All I have to do is look around to see them, and the feelings of frustration are heartbreaking.

Is it just monetary restitution or reparation that is needed, or are they only part of the cure? To whom do we need to make amends – like the Japanese interned in camps during WWII, the Jews who were ignored as they suffered and died in their ghettos and camps during that same war, the Native Americans who were slaughtered and infected with diseases to cull them from lands the whites wanted for themselves?

Perhaps we are all guilty of hubris, and words like restitution and reparation are empty words that sound nice but don’t really mean anything to us. The rich are taxed less and less, and the middle- and lower-classes are taxed more and more, often to having one or more in the family working two or three jobs (when they can get them at all), simply to make ends meet. Families, once touted as the foundation of our society, are fragmenting due to poverty, alcohol, drugs, frustration, and illness. What restitution/reparation will resolve their problems?  What amends will patch the breaches and bring families, communities, and nations together again?

I saw a billboard a few years ago that said, “Don’t make me come down there” and was signed “God.”  Maybe that is what it is going to take to straighten things out. Who knows? The only thing I can think of to do is treat people as I want to be treated, help someone whenever I can do something for them, and encourage others to do the Jesus thing of following the Beatitudes and obeying God. We have many problems to fix and accruing more every day.  However we do it, we need to get started. God demands that of us.

God bless.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, February 7, 2020.

St. Brigid's Day

Everyone is familiar with the celebration of Saint Patrick on March 17. He is considered the patron saint of Ireland (along with St. Columba), but there is also St. Bridgid, whose commemoration we celebrate today.

Bridgid was born in 451 A.D. to a Christian mother who was a slave to a married chieftain, thus rendering Bridgid herself a slave. When the chieftain found Brigid’s mother was pregnant, he sold her to a Druid. After her birth, the infant and then the child was unable to tolerate anything from the Druid’s kitchen. In the end, it is said, they had to get a white cow with red ears to provide food for her, and this cow’s milk was the only kind of food she could tolerate. At the age of ten, she was returned to her original master, the chieftain, who was also her father.

From all accounts, Bridgid was a very kindhearted child, seeing needs, and trying her best to fulfill as she was able. If she met someone who needed shoes, she gave her own or would help herself to her stepmother’s clothes and shoes when needed to help the poor. If she found hungry people, she gave from her father’s storehouses and gave away staples like bread, butter, and other goods so that the hungry could eat.

Finally, the chieftain had enough and took her to the court of the King of Leister, with the hope that the king would buy her. At the court, somehow, she acquired the king’s jeweled sword, which she gave to a poor man to barter with so that he could feed his family. Oddly enough, the king was a Christian who recognized the spirit of generosity in the young girl, asked her father for her freedom, and stated that her mercy was greater than any others before God. Her kindness seemed to be unending and, although a terrible trial for her family, it was a great help to those for whom she acquired goods.

She returned to her mother and the Druid’s house after she gained her freedom, and it is said that she prayed that her beautiful face would be made ugly so that no man would wish to marry her. She had taken a vow of chastity, and had also heard St. Patrick preach. It is said that the saint heard her final vows in the monastery and that Patrick used the form of final vows and consecration for a male. His monks, aghast at his error, hurried to tell him of the mistake he had made but Patrick responded that she was destined for great things.

Bridgid went on to found two monasteries, one for men and one for women. In addition to the usual monastic works, she also established a school for the arts, including illumination and metalworking.  She remained in contact with Patrick for the remainder of her life, a life that ended in 525 AD.

Where are the St. Bridgid’s among us? I am not sure that many would go to the lengths Brigid did, taking things from her wealthy family and others to supply the needs of the hungry, the naked, or the needy.

Many of us, if not most of us, have much more than we need. I know I have drawers full of things that I may use again one day, but possibly not. I’m wary of throwing stuff out because as soon as I do, I seem to need the same item sometime in the next few weeks and have to go out and repurchase it. There are books that I know I should get rid of, but it is tough to get rid of theology books; they don’t seem to be in high demand like Harry Potter or romance novels or even a bunch of cozies. Still, I have things that I need to get rid of, and I might benefit someone else, so maybe I ought to practice being St. Bridgid in the coming weeks and find homes for things that I won’t use or wear again to make room for some zen to move in.

Generosity is a gift from God; we receive his God’s grace abundantly and without asking. Isn’t it about time that we started practicing passing that grace on in whatever tangible ways we can? If money is tight, perhaps contributing cookies to a bake sale to benefit charity work, helping at a food bank, or maybe making peanut butter sandwiches to pass them to beggars on the street corners who proclaim their hunger. Perhaps they’re just scamming, but at least it’s a token way of trying to meet a small bit of the world’s need. There are lots of ways we could do this if we just would.

Jesus said, “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.” Bridgid certainly was compassionate, and beloved for acts of kindness. Maybe we never make ourselves saints, but a few good works certainly wouldn’t hurt in this world where such actions seem to be becoming fewer and further between.

This week I will do some St. Brigid work. It’s the least I can do. Maybe I could knit some scarves for people standing out on the street in the cold. Heaven knows I have a lot of spare yarn to use up.  And do I actually need multiple t-shirts in different shades of blue that have been hanging in the closet for a year or more? 


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café on Saturday, February 1, 2020.