Creating space

There were 17 of us in a small room, gathered in a circle, sitting around a blanket with a plate of bread, a plate of fruit and a glass of wine. We had just finished listening to Bishop Juan Alberto speak of his country with such eloquence and passion. He had been telling us of the problems in Colombia, giving us what was essentially an introductory course on a long and complicated history of conflict, and how the theology of the Methodist Church sought to work to bring about peace. Essentially the message was this:
“We are all children of God, and God’s grace should be extended to each and every person on that basis. We are called to look after one another, especially the most vulnerable in our midst, no matter who they are, no matter who we are. We might be some of the most vulnerable too, but in that case, we look after each other.”

With this fresh on my mind I sat down to communion. It was a communion unlike any other I had ever experienced. For starters, it was in Spanish, translated into English. Second, we were sitting on the floor, not standing in a circle or sitting on chairs or benches, but on the floor. Third, it was the most moving communion I have ever experienced – mixing politics with intimacy and faith.

I remember the communion prayer being different than any I’d ever heard: giving thanks for the land and the workers of the land that produced the fruits of the harvest. These workers being campesinos and campesinas, small time farmers who eke out a living from the bit of land they work, as opposed to the major land-owners whose ever expanding farms are consistently being used for export and thus making food more expensive for Colombians. More we gave thanks for the ones who sold the fruit of the harvest and processed it in Colombia, for their own people. It was a political prayer, that lifted up some of the most marginalized.

When it came time to share the bread and the wine, we were encouraged to rip off a chunk of bread, dip it in the wine, and give it to someone else. We fed each other in that way, ensuring no one was left out. We were physically nourishing one another with God’s grace. It was powerful and intimate experience for me, to be handed a chunk of bread, the wine dripping from it in a moment of friendship, of solidarity, of giving and receiving. For me, God’s grace was palpable.

We did the same thing with the fruit after communion; giving fruit to each other, in some cases breaking open a piece of fruit and passing it around, particularly if it was a new food to us. Again, we ensured that we had all been fed.

I find there is something amazing that happens when we break bread together – not just celebrating communion, but at family meals and feasts, and there is something amazing that happens when make sure that there is enough food for everyone. It’s in those moments that we make room for God to enter in, where God can be felt and where we create space for God to work.

Elijah’s story is another story of nourishing and caring for the most vulnerable in our midst, and it deserves retelling, with the background information to give it a little more depth.

You see, Elijah was a prophet to Ahab, the king of the Israelites. Ahab did something he wasn’t supposed to do: he married a foreigner, Jezebel, and to make matters worse, he started worshiping her god Baal, who was known for bringing rain to nurture the crops. Thus Ahab neglects God and his own ways of worshiping. Elijah, speaking on God’s behalf tells Ahab he’s in the wrong, and to prove his point says that God will send a drought in all the land, effectively undermining any of Baal’s power. Not surprisingly, Elijah feels the need to leave Israel for a while and hide from Ahab and Jezebel’s wrath. Under God’s direction he heads to a place known as Wadi Cherith, or a stream that runs into the Jordan River during the rainy season, but which dries up come summer. Elijah stays there, being fed by ravens for a while until the wadi dries up. Elijah still needs to say away from Israel and so now he trusts in God’s plan B: going into his enemy’s homeland and trusting a widow to provide for him.

You might say “so what?” but here’s the thing, widows, orphans and strangers are among the most marginalized people that we find in the Hebrew Bible. They find themselves on the edges of society with no social security net. Those who deign to feed and care for them tenuously connect them to society, but since there are few who are related to them, widows, orphans and strangers are often forgotten. No one really has that responsibility, except that we find it stated over and over again in the teachings that these people are the ones we need to care for. The widow and her son, who would be considered an orphan, since his father, the provider of the household had died, have next to nothing. In fact, the widow tells Elijah that they’re on their last meal and expect to die in the near future. Elijah, a stranger in enemy territory asks if she would share anyway, trusting that God would provide. Indeed God does provide, extending the food in the jar for as long as is needed – it’s nothing fancy, it’s rather dull and boring even, but it’s enough so they don’t starve.

Then tragedy strikes and the child dies. The widow is overwrought with grief, not only because this is her son, but because she knows that the only way she will get by in her old age is to have an adult male look out for her – she had hope that her son would be able to provide for her, and now that it gone. Elijah pleads with God to restore the child, and God does.

In sharing her meager meal, what she thought would be her last meal with Elijah, the widowed woman offers him life and hospitality. In praying for her son, Elijah offers hope. It’s a fragile bond of trust amongst some of the most vulnerable, but the result of that bond brings about tangible things: shelter, nourishment, hope for the future, and friendship – as Elijah stays there for quite some time. In offering that hospitality when it would likely have been easier to brush past someone, the widow, her son and Elijah create a space where God can enter in, they create a space where God can work.

85 years ago on June 10^th three different denominations along with a handful of other pastoral charges came together in the grief that comes with the end of one thing and the hope and trepidation of a new creation. They came together to form the United Church of Canada. It was the result of a number of small, struggling congregations coming together and recognizing that if they joined forces instead of debating differences, their churches might flourish. Some didn’t join, some felt that it was too difficult, and my grandfather still shakes his head in incomprehension at the thought of union, no point in changing something if it was already good. For those who opted for it though, it took careful negotiating, and a parliamentary act, but on June 10^th 1925 the United Church of Canada was born. It flourished in the 1950s and 60s, and I hear echoes of that here, when the elders say how the church used to be packed on a Sunday, not just for one service but for two. And then something happened. I’m not sure what exactly, but all across Canada churches started growing smaller, less people come to worship, and our Elders dying off. So we celebrate the 85^th birthday of the United Church from a place of seeming vulnerability. Even so, we celebrate it. As we hold the Elders who have passed on in our hearts, as we mourn the loss of our church hall, and hold on to the hopes of what a new hall might bring, as we know that this congregation is much older than the 85 years of the United Church of Canada, we celebrate the anniversary of the United Church, and we do so in worship, in a way that brings churches together across the distances of time and space: we celebrate through communion.

The bread for this communion is special. It contains locally milled flour from the 13 conferences across Canada that make up the United Church of Canada. The flour from these 13 conferences was combined and then repackaged and sent out to every congregation in the country along with a recipe for bannock. The bannock represents a common loaf, something that is being shared across the country in celebration of the church’s anniversary. We break bread together, in solidarity with our brothers and sisters across the country, celebrating the past and creating space for God to come in and work in and through us. Thanks be to God.