“Faith and Gaza”
Hebrews 13:1-3
Luke 14:1, 7-23
I didn’t set out to preach today about Gaza, human-caused starvation, or Israel. I didn’t set out to make a whiplash-producing pivot from a nature-focused sermon series to the terror of war, from the truth of poetry to the unsettling reality of the facts, from feel-good preaching to the kinds of questions that are likely to make us uncomfortable.
I didn’t set out to do any of that.
But when I read the scripture lessons you just heard—lessons straight out of today’s readings from the Revised Common Lectionary—I couldn’t not think of starving children and adults in Gaza. I am not trying to build a case for or against anything other than following the teachings of Jesus—but, as many of you know, if I have the Bible in one hand, there’s a very good chance I have some version of a newspaper in the other. I cannot read our scriptures without asking how they apply not only to our personal lives but also to this beautiful and broken world God so loves. And I try not to read or study our scriptures without opening my heart as well as my mind.
So here we are, even as our hearts are freshly broken over the school shooting in Minneapolis. Here we are, when the eyes of the world seem to have moved on from starvation in Gaza. Here we are, with the world such a mess that many of the “what does it mean to live faithfully” questions I’m going to raise this morning could just as well apply to any number of situations in our country and the world.
And yet few of them are as straightforward as famine in Gaza. I mean, the last time I checked, most people still thought forced starvation was wrong.
Before I go any further, let me say that this sermon is mostly going to be raising some provocative questions—not only about what to do in particular situations but also about how we think about following Jesus.
For example: In a world that is literally on fire, how do we decide where to focus our actions? How do we decide which actions to take? What guides those decisions—whether an action will make a difference, whether it’s just the right thing to do, whether it will inconvenience us or disrupt various systems, whether it comes from the perspective of the privileged or the oppressed, or some combination of all of that? How do we discern what is the faithful thing to do in any given situation, regardless of whether it will make a difference?
These are big and important questions, and we’re going to try to bring them to what I believe is one of the great moral and spiritual crises of our lifetimes, which is the famine—now an official declaration of the United Nations—if not the genocide, of the people of Gaza.
I do not intend to offer answers to these questions, but rather to invite us all to prayerfully explore them together. Nor am I going to cite lots of statistics or share one particularly heart-wrenching story out of thousands. We’ve all seen the photos of skin-and-bones children. We all know what is happening—with the complicit moral and military support of our own government.
But I will share with you a few points of reference, statements and actions that have challenged me:
The first comes from the public statement made last week by Churches for Middle East Peace, a coalition of more than 30 national church denominations and organizations. Here is part of its response to the UN’s famine declaration:
“This is not a natural disaster; this famine is entirely man-made. It is the direct result of the Israeli government’s systematic restriction of humanitarian aid, a policy that amounts to the deliberate starvation of a civilian population. … [T]he world has failed to act. … This is a moral outrage, an affront to God, and a violation of everything humanity holds sacred. … CMEP calls on the global community to take proper and immediate action. This must include urgent pressure, including the complete halting of arms sales to the State of Israel until it ends its destructive policies, lifts its restrictions on humanitarian aid, and agrees to a permanent ceasefire in Gaza. Anything less is complicity in mass starvation.”
The second perspective comes, in part, from a well-known and much-loved minister and wise one in the United Church of Christ. Because of Israel’s policies of deliberate starvation in Gaza, she asked:</p.
“What if the whole church went on a hunger strike? What if we came together deliberately not to eat, but to feel the lack of eating and deny ourselves the necessary nourishment and simple pleasure of food and the human solidarity it creates when everyone sits down to eat? What if we refrained from coffee hours and potlucks and bake sales until it ends—including no more Eucharists? What it the only food we serve is food for the hungry and poor and that during this period of self-imposed deprivation we increased our efforts to feed others while also doing all in our power to end the atrocities in Gaza? What if for once we stood by hungry while others get to eat?”</p.
The third perspective comes from Detroit, where last week a group of interfaith clergy members and other community leaders announced that they were fasting in solidarity with Gaza. One person had fasted for a month before taking three days off for health reasons and then resuming his fast; another person said she had been fasting one day a week.
A fourth perspective comes from Jesus and his parable of the great dinner. It was a grand occasion, but one after one, all the invited guests declined the host’s generous invitation. They were too busy, they said; they had more important things to do. The host then extended the invitation to the hungry, the unhoused, the disabled, and those otherwise pushed to the margins of society. When those people came and there were still empty seats at the table, the host demanded that even more invitations go out. “I want my house full!” he said.</p.
Reading this parable in the context of famine in Gaza and some reactions to it, I noticed a couple things:
Jesus did not suggest that people should not have fancy wedding banquets or throw big parties when there are people who don’t even have enough to eat or a place to live. He did not call for an end to all celebrations as long as anyone was suffering. What he seemed to say, was, Celebrate. Enjoy this precious life God has given you. But if you’re going to throw a party, invite the outcasts. Celebrate not only yourself and your friends, but especially the people who been left out. Share what you have not only with the people who can re-pay you, but also with the folks whose circumstances and gratitude will change you for the better. Realize that all you’ve been given, all the privileges you enjoy, are not only for your own well-being, but also so that you can make things better for the less-fortunate.
All this reminded me of my experiences of working with Sojourners Magazine and the intentional Sojourners community in the 1980s. All of us were paid, not according to title or responsibility, but just the bare minimum we needed to pay the bills of a very simple lifestyle.
And so the joke became: How do you recognize Sojourners folks at a party? They’re the ones holding handfuls of toothpicks—meaning their meager budgets and simple lifestyles leave them so hungry that they’ve raided the hors-d’œuvre table.
Looking back, I’m not sure what our symbolic solidarity with the poor accomplished, if anything, beyond leaving us hungry and making us feel like we were doing something and maybe—maybe—making us more aware of and sympathetic to their circumstances.
All I know is that all these years later, I’m more interested in actual solidarity and less interested in purely symbolic actions. I want my actions to make a difference, but I also understand that one of the biggest differences my actions can make is on my own heart, and my own mind.
And so, speaking only for myself, I will say that I am not at all moved to stop celebrating Communion, because I think Christ’s table is where all people come together as one—to feast not on food, but on love and presence. Speaking only for myself, I will say that I am considering whether some form of fasting would help me keep my heart open to the suffering of the people of Gaza, and still I wonder what communal and public actions might be more effective in calling attention to this moral, spiritual, and political crisis. I have donated money to the Gaza Soup Kitchen, World Central Kitchen, and Churches for Middle East Peace. And still I wonder what our church should be doing.
What do you think?
“Our faith,” said Churches for Middle East Peace in another recent press release, “seeing the image of God in each and every human being, calls us to feed the hungry, offer drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, care for the sick, and visit those in captivity. We therefore urge all parties to act with urgency to save lives and prevent this catastrophe from further deepening, and to work to address the core issues so that a long-term, durable and just peace can be achieved.”
If we believe the words of Matthew 25, every hungry and starving person in Gaza is Christ himself. Will we feed him?
May we never fail to care for the lost, least, and left behind, and may we discern together how best to love our neighbors in Gaza.
