Luke 7:11-17        “Consider the Alternatives”

     Fiorello LaGuardia was mayor of New York City during the worst days of the Great Depression and all of World War II and was a rather colorful character.  On one cold night in January 1935, the mayor turned up at a night court that served the poorest ward of the city.  LaGuardia told the judge to go home for the evening and took over the bench himself.  Within a few minutes, a tattered old woman was brought before him, charged with stealing a loaf of bread.  She told LaGuardia that her daughter’s husband had deserted her, her daughter was sick, and her two grandchildren were starving.

     But the shopkeeper refused to drop the charges.  “It’s a real bad neighborhood, Your Honor,” the man told the mayor.  “She’s got to be punished to teach other people around here a lesson.”

     LaGuardia merely sighed.  He then turned to the woman and said, “I’ve got to punish you.  The law makes no exceptions.  Ten dollars or ten days in jail.”  But even as he was pronouncing the sentence, the mayor was reaching into his pocket.  He took out a bill and tossed it into his famous hat, saying, “Here is the ten dollar fine which I now remit; and furthermore, I am going to fine everyone in this courtroom fifty cents for living in a town where a person has to steal bread so that her grandchildren can eat.  Mr. Bailiff, collect the fines and give them to the defendant.”  And $47.50 was turned over to a bewildered woman who had stolen a loaf of bread to feed her starving grandchildren.

     Someone beautifully said, “Sympathy sees and says, ‘I’m sorry.’  Compassion sees and says, ‘I'll help.’”  When we learn the difference, we can make a difference.

     Today’s First Reading and Gospel both sound a clear call to compassion, that to care about someone else’s vulnerability is the most God-like thing we can do, for compassion is the nature of God.  In the stories of Elijah and of Jesus we see that it’s through compassion that miracles occur, that situations are changed for the better.

     Even in our own lives, if we think about it, the times when real hope entered the picture have often been those moments when somebody showed compassion.  But it’s so often difficult to show compassion.  Very often our instinct to care is in conflict with some other instinct – usually some urge toward self-preservation – and we see that in today’s readings too.  In each of these stories, there were some pretty valid reasons why people might have chosen to act differently than they did.  So I want us to go back and take another look at these stories, and consider the alternatives – because, whether we realize it or not, we’re considering the alternatives all the time in our own lives, and I want us to make the best choices we can, choices that will take us to where we want to go, and where God wants us to go in life, even if the route is sometimes counter-intuitive.

     The compassionate and generous response is never more counter-intuitive than when we’re in great need ourselves.  You may remember in the verses preceding our First Reading for today the widow at Zarephath demonstrates tremendous faith when Elijah asked for food.  Here it was the middle of a severe drought, she’s down to her last bit of flour and oil, and some man she’s never met, a foreigner from across the border whom she owes nothing asks her for literally the last bite of food from her child’s mouth.  If that were you, what would you say?

     So often we excuse our indifference to others, especially others far away, by saying “Charity begins at home” – and we’re right.  Our first responsibility is to those God has placed in our lives day to day.  But our concern should never end there.  Most of us have the resources to be a lot more generous than we are and to show a lot more care than we do… and the Zarephath widow challenges us to remember that sometimes even when we don’t have enough, compassion is still asked of us.

     No one would blame this woman for saying no to Elijah… yet, for some reason, she doesn’t.  She shares the last of what she has with this stranger, and somehow it’s enough to get them through the drought.  As tempting as it is to shut the door on the stranger and look after “number one,” the witness of Scriptures, and maybe our own experience as well, is that when we take the risk to be generous we never lose. 

     Sometimes, though, it’s hard to see what we can do.  After all that the widow had done for him, Elijah was devastated, and felt angry and helpless, when her son died.  There’s not much you can do when someone dies, is there?  Or is there?  What Elijah did was to take the matter to God.  He poured out his frustration.  And then he did the one thing he knew how to do to make it better: he prayed for healing, putting his whole self into it, symbolically pouring his own life into the body of the dead child.  And once again it was enough.  Out of his own helplessness, Elijah offered what he had, and it made the difference.

     It’s sometimes asked, “What can I do?  I’m only one person.”  But if all those individual persons who ask that would do one thing, a lot of good would be done.  Our sense of helplessness is often the greatest hindrance to getting something changed in the world, and even in our own lives.  Things look overwhelming and we give up even before we start.  But if we remember Elijah’s plea for a dead boy’s life, we’ll go back to doing and being the best we can where we are…. and it’s nothing short of miraculous where that can lead.  We’re not as helpless as we feel.  Compassion is always worth our full investment.

     But sometimes we get tired.  We want to limit our involvement.  We want to draw a circle around our energy and say, “I’ll do this, but no more.”  Surely Jesus must have felt that way with so many people wanting something from him; and in fact he did withdraw at times.  We all need to get away and recharge.  But Jesus also was noted for reaching out, and our gospel story shows him doing that.

     One day Jesus is traveling through the town of Nain and he happens to meet a funeral procession.  And Jesus recognizes that this funeral represented more than the loss of a loved one; it represented the loss of hope for the one left behind.  In that time and place, women were dependent on others.  If a woman had no husband or son, she was in a truly desperate situation and couldn’t feed or protect herself.  So when Jesus saw that a widow had lost her only son, he recognized that here was someone in dire straits; and the Scripture tells us “he had compassion for her.”  He saw her human need, and he couldn’t remain indifferent.  He did what he could do, which was give her son back to her.

     It’s been said that the opposite of love isn’t hate; the opposite of love is indifference.  If God is love, then God is not indifferent; and if we are people of God, then neither can we be indifferent.  True, we can’t do everything.  We may not be able to give lost sons back, but we can certainly do something that will help and show compassion for others.  To withhold the something we can do, to close down our compassion and refuse to see with our eyes, hear with our ears and be moved in our hearts, is to shut out and betray God, and to betray all that is most human and holy in ourselves.

     There are always alternatives to compassion, and often they seem justified.  But the witness of Scripture, and thoughtful reflection on our own lives, reveals that it’s only where there is compassion that there is hope or strength or peace.  These miracles are always ours, to give and to receive, for the simple opening of our hearts.

                                                AMEN