Posts
That statement though, struck me as an odd one. The great depression didn't run around with a gun literally killing people. No one actually died directly from the depression at all.
People did die, yes, but what they died of was due to two main things. The first despair, and the second a lack of their needs being met (food, shelter, clothing).
I find it most disheartening when Christians are the ones responding with the type of rhetoric that losing money or crashing economic systems automatically means a death sentence, because collectively the narrative of the Bible, over and over again, offers solutions to both of these issues.
We are supposed to be people of hope, people of the resurrection, who claim that even death has no dominion over us. Yet, we seem to falter at wavering economics. If our hope and trust come from our finances, we will be left wanting, even if there isn't a great depression.
There still is job loss, there are still medical emergencies that leave us unable to work at times, there are still various tragedies that end up costing more money than we planned for or imagined. Putting our hope in finances is shaky ground. It is, quite honestly, building our foundation on shifting sand.
There is an old hymn we sing regularly in our church that says "My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus blood and righteousness. I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus' name. On Christ the Solid Rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand". It would be a scary place to be in right now if what we were really meaning was "My hope is built on nothing less than capitalist economics". But our hope isn't placed in the economy, our hope is (or at least should be) placed in Jesus.
That might seem very pie in the sky when looking at job loss and the fear and anxiety that goes along with that, so what does that mean in the face of difficult times? It means that we look forward in hope despite our circumstances, but it also means that we share that hope with others. We pass the peace to a world living in anxiety. We are a non-anxious presence in anxious times. We love others well.
My 2 year old son might understand that better than I do. When I start to look at the world with despair, he pulls me back in to look at the world instead with wonder. He asks me to sing one more song, or read one more book, or says "I love you." He declares with joy "look at the trees! Look at the birds! Look at these little rocks." It's amazing the small things that can give hope in the midst of difficult times.
I've watched people give hope in these difficult days. Healthcare workers who are working around the clock despite their own exhaustion. School lunch ladies who put together kits of food to pass out to children in vulnerable places. Teachers creating zoom classrooms and spending hours putting together packets of materials. I've watched as friends have extended gifts to one another. I've watched as people have chosen to stay inside and play board games and read books versus put their neighbors at risk of a deadly virus. I've seen neighborhoods decorate their walk ways with chalk, and put displays in their windows to make the world a brighter place. I've had friends who are trained therapists and counselors offer their services virtually at no cost, to help people work through anxiety and fear with dignity. I've watched as my colleagues have spent hours calling congregants, creating meditation and devotion exercises, pray over people and with people, and stream sermons of hope to any who want to listen.
All of this and more is hope giving work. It's life giving work. These are ways to dispel the darkness and bring about light to a people on the edge of despair. This is the work of resurrection that the church is called to and that the church can do.
The second part, the meeting needs part, might feel more difficult or daunting, but it takes the same amount of creativity.
I told my husband, "One of the interesting things about the depression to me, is that there were still rich people." Maybe more interesting is that we tend to tell their stories as the heroes of that time. The ones who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps. Yet, this is a very different narrative than the one we find in scripture.
Story after story in the Bible tells us about the importance of generosity. The story of Lazarus and the Rich man, where the rich man got all his needs met on earth, and never shared with his poor neighbor Lazarus, and its the rich man that ends up in hell (he's definitely not the hero). The story in the old testament of King Eglon in the book of Judges, who was so obese the handle of a sword disappeared in his belly, which was a statement about someone with the ability to gorge himself while those around him starved to death, instead of being generous (among other things). The story of the rich young ruler who went away sad because Jesus told him to sell everything he has and give it to the poor. The system in the Old Testament law of gleaning, where part of crops must be left for the poor. The story of the widow of Zarapheth who had so little flour and oil that she was planning to make a last meal for herself and her child, before starving to death, but shared it with Elijah out of obedience to God and ended up having her needs met day after day after day. The system of Jubilee where debts are forgiven and land is restored, that while never being lived out the way it should, was still a directive from God. The church in Acts 2 that shared everything in common, and so everyone had their needs met. I could go on and on and on. Story after story after story.
God cares deeply for the needs of people, because people are the beloved of God. The way that God meets those needs most often, is through the generosity of the people of God.
We've been told a lie by our culture that tells us that what we have is ours. We worked hard for it, we deserve it. What God tells us is that everything is God's. Everything is a gift, and because everything is a gift, we are to generously share with those around us.
When you have more than you need, you build longer tables. We are to be people of longer tables.
It might seem that we don't have anything to share, but often that's because we fail to have an imagination. If we have a guest room, we can share it. If we have 2 coats, we can give one to someone who needs one. If we have a years worth of toilet paper, certainly we could spare some rolls for our neighbor without any. If we know how to bake bread, we can share that knowledge with others who need to know how in days when there is no bread on the shelves or no money to buy it. If we have a 20 lb bag of rice, we could certainly find a way to share it with others.
We are going to need to be people with a kingdom imagination, to create ways we can share with others. There has been no shortage of imagination these days, with how we are learning to share digitally with one another. What if we could take that creative energy, and think of ways to share more deeply and more creatively with those around us who have needs? To share with those who are facing job losses or insecurity?
Scarcity is a myth deeply woven into our society. It tells us we need to buy more, to protect what we have at all costs, and to build up stores for ourselves. But this is not the narrative of the people of God. Our narrative is to be one of risky hope and generosity. Where we give out of a deep trust that God cares for the sparrow and will care for us too. Where there is always enough, when we share the little bit we have with those around us.
Let us be the people of God that we are called to be. Let us be people of risky hope and generosity.
