St. John’s Lutheran Church
10 November 2024 + Advent 1 (Lectionary 32b)
1 Kings 17:8-16
Rev. Josh Evans
Sometimes, there are no words…
Sometimes, there are so many words.
Over the past years and months and weeks,
there have been a lot of words,
and debates, and posts, and signs.
Over the last week, I’ve seen a lot of words.
Words of shock and disbelief.
Words of fear and anger.
Words of grief and despair.
To be perfectly honest, I struggled with these words for this morning.
What to say at such a time as this.
How to speak words across difference:
For many, words of solidarity and comfort.
For others, perhaps, words of revelation and challenge.
Searching for the “perfect” words –
as though such a thing is even possible.
But, for better or worse, these won’t be the last words I have to say.
And no sermon can have all the words, let alone all the “right” words.
One of my high school English teachers would often assign us something called “Words, Words, Words.” To look for a particularly powerful or meaningful word or phrase in whatever book or story we were reading, to remind us:
Words have power.
Words have power to shape policies that affect people’s lives.
Words also have power to encourage, to comfort, to resist.
Some of the words I keep coming back to,
in the sea of words and posts this past week,
are these words, shared on Wednesday morning by Venice Williams,
a minister, community leader, and woman of color
living and serving in Milwaukee.
Words that have clearly resonated with others,
now shared over 42,000 times on Facebook:
You are awakening to the
same country you fell asleep to.
The very same country.
Pull yourself together.
And,
when you see me,
do not ask me
“What do we do now?
How do we get through the next four years?”
Some of my Ancestors dealt with
at least 400 years of this
under worse conditions.
Continue to do the good work.
Continue to build bridges not walls.
Continue to lead with compassion.
Continue the demanding work
of liberation for all.
Continue to dismantle broken systems,
large and small.
Continue to set the best example
for the children.
Continue to be a vessel of nourishing joy.
Continue right where you are.
Right where you live into your days.
Do so in the name of
The Creator who expects
nothing less from each of us.
And if you are not “continuing”
ALL of the above,
in community, partnership, collaboration?
What is it you have been doing?
What is it you are waiting for?
Words are a starting point.
But right now, more than ever, what we need are more than words.
The words we say are important,
but on their own, they’re just that: words.
“Thoughts and prayers.”
The gospel must be and is more than words,
as we strive to follow the example of Jesus
in building beloved and resilient communities of care.
This Advent, we are looking at a few words,
starting with care.
The care of a widow in desperate circumstances,
who herself extends care to a perfect stranger:
It seems a little presumptuous,
care-less even,
that Elijah would march into the house
of an impoverished, hungry, dying mother and son
and demand a meal,
because God told him so.
(There was probably a better way to introduce himself.)
No wonder she balks at him.
After Elijah backs up and explains what maybe he should have led with,
the woman ultimately concedes to care for him –
giving him a bit of bread to eat and water to drink.
Her impossible circumstances don’t stop her from caring
and ultimately meeting the basic needs of this stranger –
after this stranger, in his own clumsy way,
backtracked and noticed her basic needs.
Maybe, she even cares because of her own impossible circumstances,
recognizing in this perfect stranger –
as they continued to talk and get to know each other for those “many days” –
impossible circumstances of his own.
Recognizing the necessity of mutual care in such times as these.
Maybe care looks like feeding a perfect stranger.
Or maybe it looks like one of our neighbors I talked with just this week on the phone – who, like a modern-day parable of the Good Samaritan, came to the aid of her own perfect stranger, an elderly man whom she found in the cemetery experiencing a medical emergency, and made sure he got the care he needed – and went out of her way to make sure even his vehicle would be safe while he was in the hospital.
Beloved, let us care for one another like that.
Even now. Especially now.
Let us keep on extending to others
the care of a God who cares for us.
Keep on doing the work of the church, together –
to feed the hungry and give the thirsty a drink,
to clothe the naked and care for the sick,
to welcome the stranger and visit those who are in prison (Matthew 25) –
for that is where Christ is:
“ … at the heart of human life;
near to those who suffer;
beside the sinner;
among the poor;
with us now.” (ELW Eucharistic Prayer IX)
This Advent, I invite us back to a faith that is more than words,
a faith that cares for one another, here and now,
a faith that loves our neighbor as ourselves,
a faith that acts and advocates for the most vulnerable among us.
Because, ultimately, ours is a faith that hopes and strives
for how the world can be
in spite of the way that it is –
in the name of the One who is coming
to make all things new.
