Radical Trust (MPLS)

1 Kings 17:8–24

Then the word of the Lord came to him, [ Elijah ] saying, “Go now to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and live there; for I have commanded a widow there to feed you.” So he set out and went to Zarephath. When he came to the gate of the town, a widow was there gathering sticks; he called to her and said, “Bring me a little water in a vessel, so that I may drink.” As she was going to bring it, he called to her and said, “Bring me a morsel of bread in your hand.” But she said, “As the Lord your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die.”

Elijah said to her, “Do not be afraid; go and do as you have said; but first make me a little cake of it and bring it to me, and afterwards make something for yourself and your son. For thus says the Lord the God of Israel: The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the Lord sends rain on the earth.” She went and did as Elijah said, so that she as well as he and her household ate for many days. The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord that he spoke by Elijah.

After this the son of the woman, the mistress of the house, became ill; his illness was so severe that there was no breath left in him. She then said to Elijah, “What have you against me, O man of God? You have come to me to bring my sin to remembrance, and to cause the death of my son!” But he said to her, “Give me your son.” He took him from her bosom, carried him up into the upper chamber where he was lodging, and laid him on his own bed. He cried out to the Lord, “O Lord my God, have you brought calamity even upon the widow with whom I am staying, by killing her son?”

Then he stretched himself upon the child three times, and cried out to the Lord, “O Lord my God, let this child’s life come into him again.” The Lord listened to the voice of Elijah; the life of the child came into him again, and he revived. Elijah took the child, brought him down from the upper chamber into the house, and gave him to his mother; then Elijah said, “See, your son is alive.” So the woman said to Elijah, “Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth.”

We don’t have to look far these days to see signs of desperation: earthen dams burst in Libya and flood waters swamp villages, destroying homes and families; fires driven by hurricane-force winds burn down an entire city in Hawaii; immigrant families walk 3,000 miles from Venezuela to Texas in hopes of finding safety and security. These might not be our stories, but my hunch is that most all of us have experienced at least some of the desperation that’s a part of them. And when we do, we’re not always sure if we’ll be able to pick up the pieces of our lives and go on. One way or another, it takes trust.

Right before our Bible reading this week, we hear about the desperation of a man named Elijah. Elijah lived in the ninth century B.C. Ahab was the king of Israel, which was the name of the 10 northern tribes. The nation had split in two at the end of Solomon’s reign. Things were a mess. Kings often did whatever they pleased. Does that sound like any of the leaders you know? In Ahab’s case, he married Jezebel, an evil and idolatrous woman. Jezebel and her family were committed to the worship of Baal, and Ahab readily embraced this new faith.  

Into the mix steps Elijah. Elijah was called by Israel’s God, Yahweh, to be a prophet. First up: he’s to warn Ahab that what he was doing was destroying the heart and soul of the nation. So, Elijah took a deep breath and then pronounced that because of Ahab’s evil ways, it would not rain in the land until Elijah said so. I can picture Ahab, Jezebel, and the royal court bursting into laughter: “Who does this hick from the backwoods of Gilead think he is, anyway?” The next thing you know, Elijah was fleeing back to Gilead and into a mountainous wilderness. He was afraid of Ahab and Jezebel. He was going there to hide.  

Ahab and his friends might not have even remembered the upstart prophet from Gilead, except that the spring rains never came the following year. And as the summer wore on, it was soon evident that a widespread drought was upon them. Elijah was tucked away in his hideout beside a mountain stream. He was fed by a flock of scavenger ravens. But as the drought deepened, everything became more serious. The crops didn’t grow. People got hungry, and pretty soon they were starving.

Elijah was also affected. Eventually his stream dried up and the ravens quit coming.  What was he going to do?  Could he trust that God would provide for him?  As the story unfolds, we learn that trust—at the heart of it—is leaning into God’s goodness. It’s believing that God really does care, despite all appearances to the contrary. But here’s the hard part: trust usually comes slowly, and it must be confirmed in our lives over and over again.

You know what I mean. Should those people in Libya rebuild their dams and trust that next time they will be safe? Should that city in Hawaii rebuild their homes and businesses and trust that it will never happen again? Should immigrant families keep coming, even though there’s a good chance they’ll be turned away at the border?

Seeing these things on TV is one thing, but oftentimes the desperation we feel is closer to home. An older man just heard the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s for his increasingly frustrated and confused spouse.  Now what? Will there be any place for him to turn?  Back in 2007, Diane Waarvik was working in Care Ministry here at Bethlehem. She still is, by the way. Diane began to dream of ways that families, with loved ones experiencing cognitive decline, could lean into God’s goodness in life-giving ways. So, Diane teamed up with Julie McChesney and Gretchen Porter. They began talking about “respite care,” using volunteers from the congregation to give primary caregivers some badly needed time away. 

They were planning to offer this care two days a month, for five hours at a time. Early on they discovered that they couldn’t really “sell it” to caregivers by calling it respite care because—you know what we sometimes say—“I can handle it myself!” Thus, they started referring to it as “cognitive stimulation,” ways that loved ones could benefit from things like storytelling, music therapy, a friendly smile, and a warm hug.  

As The Gathering got up and running, you could describe it like this: primary caregivers and participants alike—along with those volunteering at The Gathering—were being challenged to lean into God’s care together, to trust that good things could come out of some of the smallest, most ordinary events in life. And they did!

Elijah was challenged to lean into God’s good care. But imagine his consternation when God sent him to a new location—100 miles away—to the little village of Zarephath. And here’s the rub: the town was just eight miles away from Jezebel’s hometown, and it was in the heart of Gentile territory. I can imagine Elijah grumbling at the assignment. Then again, unlike his time in the mountains, this may not have been a great place to hide out, but it would prove to be a terrific place to learn how to trust.

Picture Elijah walking into that village. He has to be wondering: Where will I stay? What will I eat?  And then he encounters a poor widow—a single mother—with problems of her own. Elijah asks her for a cup of water to drink. As the woman is getting it for him, Elijah also asks for a small cake of bread. It turns out that the widow is collecting sticks to light a fire so she can bake a cake with her last bit of flour and oil. She’s anticipating that she and her son will soon be dead. Before you know it, Elijah the Prophet is talking crazy. “Give me this little cake,” he says, “and keep trusting Yahweh. Your jar of flour and your jug of oil will not be depleted until the Lord sends rain upon the earth.”  

I don’t know how the woman did it. She couldn’t have supposed that her quiet, humble act would accomplish much of anything, but she did as Elijah requested. And then every day after that, as Elijah and the widow and her son ate the little cakes of bread, they were reminded that God could be trusted—for another day. And every day their faith grew. Oh, the lessons of trust may look small, but so much of our well-being depends on learning those lessons! 

Eventually volunteers stepped up to help with The Gathering. And then primary caregivers, with a bit of gentle nudging, started bringing their loved ones. The schedule expanded to weekly gatherings. This became a regular part of Thursdays at Bethlehem. Sometimes the caregivers needed to run errands, but more often than not, it seems, they simply needed a break. And perhaps they also needed others to acknowledge their challenges so they didn’t feel so alone. Hugs and friendly faces and encouraging words became every bit as important as the break in their regular routine.  

Friends, you probably know that the ministry of The Gathering recently ended. The work of the volunteers was celebrated this past Thursday. Stories were told. Thanks was shared. A variety of factors went into the closing, including: the death of George Floyd and the increasing sense of crime in the city; the rise of Covid and the need for separation; advances in health care that provide many more daycare programs for adults in need. 

Sad as the ending was, however, no one can discount the lessons of trust that were learned along the way, and the quiet, humble acts that accomplished far more than any could have imagined. Trust—radical trust—grows with the small steps of faith of ordinary people like you and me, small steps of faithful obedience when we are attentive to the opportunities God gives us. There is no act of faithfulness too small to be used by God.

The story in Zarephath comes to a critical juncture. The widow’s son dies. There’s more crazy talk—and action—from the Prophet. Evidently Elijah trusts in a God who notices even when a sparrow falls. So, he asks to take the child to the upper room where he’s been staying. He cries out to God in agony, essentially asking why?  He stretches himself over the child three times. And he cries out to God again: “Let this child live!” And lo and behold, the child miraculously revives. And the mother responds in wonder, “Now I know that you are a man of God!”

As we come to the ending of our Old Testament story, it’s important that we realize that this is not an ultimate story. The boy will eventually die. The impermanence of God’s provisions—the water in the stream, the food from the ravens, the flour and the oil—does not negate their power and goodness, but they are merely a part of the difficult and joyful surprise of trusting God again and again.

Friends, have you been feeling desperate lately? No doubt, we all have days of desperation, when we worry if we’ll be able to pick up the pieces and go on. Can we trust that God really does care for us and will provide? Can we lean into God’s goodness a little every day?  

Toward that end Elijah, the widow of Zarephath and her son, those who brought loved ones to The Gathering and those who befriended them, all have been tutors on our own journey of learning to trust and the need to do it again and again and again.

Keep in mind, it takes a lifetime to learn this lesson. Along the way, our prayers may not be answered exacted as we hope. Still, we believe, God can be trusted! There is no action so small that God cannot use it. The rest of the story belongs to God. It always does. And who knows how God might take our ordinary, daily steps of faith and use them to do far beyond all we can ask or imagine. Amen.