“What kind of fast?”
In Chicago, there are panhandlers
at every intersection. It used to be
only the major ones, but these days it’s every single intersection. And that feeling, when you are rushing to
your next destination, or it’s raining outside, or you just don’t want to be
reminded that there are people out in the world that are in need of help while
you live in relative luxury, or you gave your last loose cash to the person at
the previous intersection, and you are just super tired of have the same old
argument inside your head – does this person really need my help, or are they
just seizing a good opportunity to play on people’s sympathies? … it gets to be
a constant irritation. It is one of the
prime things I do not miss in moving to Hastings.
And because of this constant
irritation of person after person asking you for money, it becomes easier to
just ignore their request, and ignore their presence. Try to look ahead, or be focused on the radio
when they pass your drivers’ side window… pretend like you haven’t seen them.
I used to volunteer for a place
called the Night Ministry, an organization that provides conversation and
relationship with homeless folk. Each
night, a bus goes out with volunteers and stops at 3 locations, offering
coffee, sometimes food or socks or toiletries, but most importantly
relationship with people who are not homeless – the volunteers. Dignified conversation that helps to make a
homeless person, a survivor who manages life on the street, feel normal and worthy
of human interaction. It helps them remember
what it felt like as a participant in normal every day life, when their
struggles on the street tend to render them an outside observer.
The Night Ministry’s focus is on
conversation because when you ask someone who has experienced homelessness
about the hardest part of their ordeal, they often say it wasn’t the cold
nights, or having their belongings stolen or confiscated by police, or worrying
about tomorrow or dealing with hunger… it was the feeling of being invisible to
others that was the most difficult to endure. The lack of eye contact. Being passed on the street without any
acknowledgement. Having people pretend
they hadn’t just heard the question, “could you help me today?”
Silent treatment is sometimes the
worst. I’m sure we all can remember a
time when the silent treatment from a loved one stung. But to be ignored long-term, to not be seen
at all – this is the ultimate method of dehumanization, of robbing someone of
their human worth.
In this Isaiah text, the people are
crying to God that their sacrifices seem invisible. “Why do we fast and you do not see?” They are complaining; they are feeling
ignored. And, to a certain extent perhaps
God is doing it to the people. But
perhaps it is because they are doing it to each other.
God here is changing the definition
of ‘fast’. No longer should it apply
only to what you put in your mouth; in fact, the fast God requires is something
that is TRANSFORMATIVE for the ENTIRE community. Every one of these fasts mentioned by God is
about what it happening between individuals.
·
loosen injustice, break the
chains that keep people leashed to oppressive situations;
·
share our bread, house the
homeless, cover the naked;
·
not to hide yourself from
your own kin?
What about that last one – hiding
from your own kin? Kind of odd, the idea
that God is saying, “don’t spend too much time in your Mancave.” In those times, with large extended families,
hiding from your kin well be everyone in your tribe – everyone in your
community. In the Old Testament, “Hiding
oneself from one’s own kin” means pretending that some people do not exist or
that care will be given to the needy by someone else.
The prophet Isaiah is talking about
a new kind of fast, and this fast transforms the community to result in good,
or ‘right’ relationships across the community.
Relationships that are not only polite, but compassionate… not only
kind, but fair…
God is requiring us to SEE our
neighbor, to recognize their existence, their worth, their struggle and their
hardship. This sight, this
understanding, will inspire ethical practices rooted in and flowing from the
divine love of God. Isaiah seems to be
saying, as the one seeking God responds to the needs of another, so God will
respond to the one who seeks. When we
live out a life of love in accordance with scripture, God will answer us when
we call.
Its one thing to see that someone
is in need… it’s another to understand why that person is in need. The kind of sight we need to truly loose the
bonds of injustice is that kind that helps us walk in another person’s
shoes.
One of my church inspirations back
in Chicago, Kimball Avenue Church, does an interesting exercise every year
during Lent. Lent is often considered a
personal time to give up something we like, focus ourselves on God, and reflect
on the idols that we have been told we cannot live without. This small
church invites people to fast – but as a communal Lenten fast – one they call a
“Lenten Compact” – that focuses them not only on their relationship to God, but
also on their relationship to their neighbors with an eye towards those who are
bound by the chains of injustice. Every
year has a different theme.
The first year they choose to
loosen the bonds of their attachment to the material world. They made a
congregational agreement not to buy anything unnecessary – anything outside of
food and needed toiletries – for 6 weeks.
Every Sunday, they discussed where this felt challenging, what discipline
it required, and how it impacted their relationship with God – and each
other. They learned that when a member
of the congregation needed something they couldn’t buy, another would loan it
to them, therefore increasing their interdependence and sense of community.
One year, they completely gave up
plastic in order to learn about caring for creation. The congregation augmented the effort with
films and readings on the harmful impact of plastic on the planet, and
discussed how integrated plastic is in every part of our lives. A few years ago, they charged into poverty
and the challenges of supporting oneself on minimum wage – and refrained from
buying any fast food – food from places that don’t pay a high enough wage for
someone to live on. Last year they
looked at the issue of homelessness and gentrification of their neighborhood –
and what it was like to try to live in public housing that the city of Chicago
keeps shuttering and tearing down.
By taking the Lenten “fast” out of
the personal realm and into the community realm, Kimball Avenue Church has the
opportunity to reflect on their struggle together, growing as a community as
they recognize the challenges of our modern idols – convenience, cheap goods
and material happiness. Through
dialogue, they are able to support each other in the fast that God would choose
for us – not to ‘hide’ from our kin’ - therefore deepening their devotion to
their faith and God’s commandments. And
the discipline of learning and discussing one topic for 6 weeks helps them to
really “see” into people’s lives and struggles – to fully understand why
some of their neighbors are in need. In their words, Kimball Avenue is “calling
our church to a true fast—one that is not just the act of denying oneself of
something because that is not enough—but a fast that moves us toward justice
and reconciliation.”
What would we learn if we chose to
try a Lenten Compact? Would we learn
more about the people who come to the church for emergency assistance, or about
the experience of children in foster care or families struggling with
addiction? Would we learn more about
each other and new places to go to for strength? Would we learn more about the
fast that God would choose for us, and feel closer in our humble walk with
God?
I believe a fast like this would,
indeed, help us see our neighbors, ourselves, and a faithful life with God more
clearly. As you journey through this
Lenten season, I invite you to reflect on the things we see and what we keep
hidden – from ourselves, from our kin, and from God. And
consider what it might be like to bring them into discussion in a communal
lent.
Amen and Amen.
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