Poverty: Validating Sign of One’s Preaching
Submitted by Michael Monshau on March 10, 2008 – 9:42 amNo Comment
The credible preacher is able to respond honestly to parishioners with the heartfelt words, “I know. Iunderstand.”
Mere reference to “the poor” can easily generate agitation for the typical U.S. Christian. Most often, one finds one’s self having to admit to a very great desire never to be poor. One might also want very much not only to be excluded from the ranks of the poor, but also to avoid poor surroundings. The concept of poverty can easily frighten, threaten, or disturb. Yet those who worship Christ must acknowledge that their Savior not only seemed to favor the poor and be very much at home in poor surroundings but that when he said, “Blessed are the poor…,” he made a firm offer of beatitude through the experience of poorness.
At first glance one might not be persuaded that association with poverty figures as prominently in the divine method as some of today’s gospel activists might imply, but a careful examination suggests otherwise. The humble location the Father chose for Christ’s birth, for example, is quite unambiguous on this point, as long as we keep in mind that in its contemporary form, our beloved Nativity crèche would most correctly take the form of several torn and stained pieces of cardboard stacked against the back wall in the alley behind a downtown bus station. Further, Christ’s teachings are often dressed in narratives featuring poor circumstances: the widow and her mite; the excluded leper; the beaten and robbed traveler; the hated tax collector; the woman caught in adultery; the widow whose only son has died; the blind, the lame, the sick. The list could go on and on, a long succession of stories featuring disenfranchised and excluded persons.
Note that if one wanted to learn about first-century Judean life by gathering details of the places and people that Jesus visited as reported in the Gospels, one would learn very little about life at court, life in the business centers, life in the academy, life in the homes of professionals, or life in any other location of comfort. Rather, from Jesus’ activities one learns that folks had very little to provide for themselves — by way of food — when leaving home for the day to follow a charismatic preacher; how very slight the financial resources were of poor widows; that folks had so little surplus they could not even prepare adequately for a grand event like a family wedding; that the criminal class was subject to torture and execution.
All of this suggests that somehow, membership in the impoverished class, participation in the lot of “the poor,” and fellowship with the marginalized provide access to achieving Christ’s plan for all of us. Strange as it may sound, in an unacknowledged form this insight is more than likely already part and parcel of our understanding. For example, in the midst of a family tragedy, whom would you prefer to provide pastoral care to your family members? Would you choose the greatest available expert in pastoral care, the pastor who is a friend of the family, or the pastoral minister who has also experienced suffering in his or her own family life? Many people indicate that the pastoral minister who understands human suffering as a result of personal experience is best equipped to accompany others in stress.
On a closer level, bring to mind an episode of your own personal suffering. What caused you pain? (Do not choose an episode that is recent; the human spirit is typically unable to deal objectively with pain that is fresh. Reach for a memory that is several years distant.) Now ask yourself if it is not true that as a result of having sustained that past suffering, you are today more understanding and more compassionate toward others experiencing similar kinds of distress. Is this true for you? Many people find themselves acknowledging that the vicissitudes in their own lives have formed them into people with greater understanding and compassion toward others.
To be poor means to be marginalized. On the surface level, we probably tend to limit the context of poverty to economic status, but poverty extends far beyond economic categories. True, the economically poor are among the real poor, but the real poor also include those whose well-being and status are compromised in the emotional, intellectual, spiritual, social, and political spheres. The lonely are poor; the oppressed are poor; the sick are poor; the chronically ill are poor; those of restless spirit are poor; the grieving are poor. The poor are all around us and they will always be with us. Very, very often they are us, and it is in the engagement of our poverty — in whatever forms it takes — that we have another opportunity to grow in our understanding and compassion toward others who also suffer. True, suffering can grow out of control and lead to bitterness or cynicism, and this happens even in the lives of God’s very dear friends. But the Divine Redeemer, he who entered into a world that knew far too much about suffering and pain and division, and taught it lessons of healing and comfort and unity, is the one in whose company our own painful experiences find redemption.
It is the job of the preacher to announce over and over again how suffering has led to compassion in the past and how it continues to do so in our present circumstances. Like the Lord’s teaching on the Eucharist, this is a difficult teaching calling for strength and validation from a chorus of witnesses. The preacher has the awesome responsibility of rehearsing for the community how the Crucified One risen to glory offers glory to the crucified of society today, by showing how their sufferings can be transformed into strength and love rather than sinking into the absurdity of despair.
A lesson for preachers across denominational lines as well as across generations can be drawn from the thirteenth-century friars, particularly the Franciscans and Dominicans. This was a period of chaos, distrust, and suspicion within the Christian world. Although the missions of the friars varied, the common thread that wove together the healing influence they exerted was that they embraced a radical commitment to the poverty of the Poor Man of Nazareth as a validating sign of their preaching, and it affected the hearing they received! In many cases, masses of people had ignored and even scorned the preaching of others whose lives of comfort were very much in evidence. The first and lasting agents of healing in that era turned out to be the friars, with their preaching and example, messengers who became poor voluntarily to grow in their intimacy with the poor Christ and to render him authentic witness. People found it possible (and even easy) to receive the instructive word of the poor Christ from preachers who were themselves poor.
The contemporary lesson to be drawn from this footnote from history is that endurance (either first-hand or shared) of the various occasions of poverty that are part of the fabric of life results in greater homiletic authenticity for today’s preacher. The credible preacher is one with a history of being with parishioners in the midst of any sort of human poverty and being able to respond honestly with words like “I know. I understand. Tell me about it.…”
Preachers love those words in Isaiah 52:7 and rehearsed in Romans 10:15, “How beautiful on the mountainside are the feet of those who bring good news!” Perhaps one’s first intuition is to picture those feet as running and skipping along. More than likely those poor feet actually arrive at their various destinations dragging, sore, and bruised. All the better! Outside of the context of faith, poverty is simply absurd. Within the context of faith in Jesus Christ, the experience of poverty can be the validating sign needed in support of one’s preaching efforts.
