There Will Be Food Waiting

Message for the Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, Year B (8/8/2021)

1 Kings 19:4-8

It’s hard to know what to say when we’re faced with another person’s pain. And sometimes, when we don’t know what to say, we say careless and even harmful things. Usually we mean well, but if our motivation for speaking is to relieve our own discomfort, then we can inadvertently rub salt in the wounds of the person we intend to love.

When Kate Bowler was diagnosed with stage IV cancer at the age of thirty-five, doctors gave her a thirty percent chance of surviving the year. “It’s just like a bomb went off and everything around me is debris,” she explained in a radio interview, “And I’m thinking, ‘Oh my gosh, did I actually maybe expect that everything was going to work out for me?’”[1] In the wake of the devastating news, in the midst of her grief and fear, Bowler received a wide range of feedback from loved ones and strangers alike, some of which was helpful, some, not so much.

In the first appendix to her 2018 memoir, Everything Happens for a Reason And Other Lies I’ve Loved, Bowler enumerates and responds hilariously to a number of comments people in crisis regularly hear. “Absolutely never say this to people experiencing terrible times,” she cautions. “1. ‘Well, at least…’ Whoa. Hold up there. Were you about to make a comparison? At least it’s not… what? Stage V cancer? Don’t minimize.”[2] And another: “‘It’s going to get better. I promise.’ Well, fairy godmother, that’s going to be a tough row to hoe when things go badly.” And, my personal favorite, the well-worn phrase that is her book’s namesake, “Everything happens for a reason.” Bowler’s reply? “The only thing worse than saying this is pretending that you know the reason.”[3]

The list of what not to say is long enough to make us question if there’s anything we can say to care for a person whose life is falling apart. But, in the second appendix to her book, Bowler suggests that, in fact, there is. There are six items on this list, but for our purposes today, you only need to hear one: “‘I’d love to bring you a meal this week. Can I email you about it?’ Oh, thank goodness,” she muses, “I am starving, but mostly I can never figure out something to tell people that I need, even if I need it. But really, bring me anything. Chocolate. A potted plant. A set of weird erasers… Send me funny emails filled with YouTube clips to watch during chemotherapy. Do something that suits your gifts. But most important, bring me presents!”[4]

When someone is in deep distress, even basic self-care can take a back seat to the pressures of the moment at hand. Even basic needs can go unmet, and a simple act of provision can go a long way: Here, have a meal, a coffee, a bottle of wine, whatever it is you need to get through the day.

This wisdom echoes the wisdom that emerges from today’s first reading from the book of First Kings, part of the famous Hebrew Testament story of the prophet Elijah’s flight from King Ahab and Queen Jezebel through the wilderness to Mount Horeb where he encounters God in “a sound of sheer silence.”[5] Elijah has just won a great victory for God, calling down the fire of the LORD in the sight of all of Israel and slaying the 450 prophets of the false god, Baal, prophets who had curried favor with the queen.[6] Upon hearing of these events, Jezebel becomes enraged and vows to kill Elijah, who flees as far south as he can, leaving his servant behind at Beer-sheba.[7]

Our first reading today takes up the story there: “[Elijah] went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die: ‘It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.’ Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, ‘Get up and eat.’ He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again. The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, ‘Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.’ He got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God.”

It’s not entirely clear what brings Elijah to his moment of despair beneath the broom tree. You might think that he’d be pleased with the efficacy of his prophecy and his triumph over the false prophets. You might think that he’d be happy, but he’s not. Publicly, he’s a hero, but privately, he’s suicidal: “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life….” This isn’t akin to the sulking complaint of Jonah beneath his tree, Jonah, the reluctant prophet who resents God for showing mercy to Nineveh.[8] No, there’s a sincerity in Elijah’s cry that makes us wonder what has brought him so low.

We can’t underestimate the power of fear. True prophets often rightly fear for their lives, and the stress of persistent fear can take a severe emotional toll. Neither can we discount the role that post-traumatic stress might play. You can’t kill hundreds of people and expect not to be wounded in your spirit. But, whatever the cause of Elijah’s depression, it’s real, and it’s debilitating.

How does God respond? Not by sending an angel with the message, “Well, at least I haven’t let Jezebel kill you yet.” Not by sending an angel with the message, “It’s going to get better.” Not by sending an angel with the message, “Everything happens for a reason.” Not by sending an angel with any pious message at all, but rather with a cake and a jar of water. “Get up and eat,” the messenger of God says, and Elijah does. Notice that the angel then lets him fall back asleep for a time before encouraging him to eat again: “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.” Eat this bread. Drink this cup. Take what  you need to get through these next forty days.

The promise is not that faith will make your life easier. The promise is that when you’re down and out, God will send someone with provisions. “In the midst of grief,” Nadia Bolz-Weber insists, “all anyone can really do is be with us and make some casseroles. …I’m here. Don’t be afraid. Let’s eat.”[9]

I hope you grabbed a sheet of paper, a pen, and an envelope when you came in this morning. If not, they’re at each door to the sanctuary – get them now. You can share a pen with a neighbor if need be.

Maybe you know what it’s like to need accompaniment and nourishment when you’re at your lowest, and if you don’t know, maybe you can imagine. In the next few moments, I invite you to write the names of two people you will call if ever you find yourself in a truly hopeless place – two people who you trust to meet you in your wilderness and insist that you take what you need to get through the day. You can certainly name family members and friends, but your list might also include a teacher, healthcare provider, or therapist. Go ahead.

Now, below the first two names, write a third name: Pastor Nate Sutton. Finally, fold your paper in thirds, seal it in the envelope, and when you get home, put it somewhere you’ll regularly come across it as a reminder. And, should the worst-case scenario come to pass, open the envelope, read the names, and start dialing.

There’s no easy way out of suffering, friends. But, there is a promise: Whenever you’re ready to lift up your head and reach out your hand, there will be food waiting.

[1] www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2018/02/08/583774624/what-not-to-say-to-the-terminally-ill-everything-happens-for-a-reason.

[2] 169.

[3] 170.

[4] 173.

[5] 1 Kings 19:12.

[6] 1 Kings 18.

[7] 1 Kings 19:1-3.

[8] Jonah 4:1-3.

[9] “Grief and Casseroles,” www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wxU0CyA2Nk.