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Humility as God’s Ho Ho
There is a wonderful, even magical, story in the Old Testament. It involves Elisha, one of the famous prophets in history, and the widow of one of his colleagues. (II Kings 4:1-7) The widow comes to him in crisis, telling him that a creditor was about to take her son as a slave because she could not pay her debts. In fact, all she had left was a small amount of oil in a jar.
Elisha, in what seems like an unusual bit of advice, tells her to ask all of her neighbors for empty jars, then take her two sons with her into her home, close the door and start pouring her small portion of oil into the jars. As she does what he asks, (I can only imagine what she was thinking to herself) the oil somehow increases until it has filled all of the jars. Since oil is a valuable commodity she now has enough oil not only to purchase her son’s freedom, but to support her family for the foreseeable future. It is a miracle story, one we would all like to claim for our own lives when times are hard and resources are thin.
I was pondering this story during my prayer time, letting the truths of it soak into my heart. At the time I was particularly grateful to God for letting me see a plan he was laying out for me to move from my condo and my current life style in a “happening neighborhood” to a simpler and smaller life style in a “green” development in a more racially and economically mixed neighborhood. It was a major move for me and reflected a change in priorities, values and commitments.
Yet, I was grieving this move from a place I loved, on the bank of the Mississippi River, with gorgeous views of the city. I was also going to miss the regular contact with the neighbors I had come to care about. And facing this new neighborhood brought its challenges too. I was a bit fearful of the potential for crime in a lower economic neighborhood, even though I had friends there and a welcoming church waiting for me.
But the unmistakable truth alongside the fear and the loss was the clear sense that God was calling me to this new home. He had already provided human “angels” to help me make the transition. I had mentors and friends in this new place. I felt as if I was moving to a new way of being, feeling a renewed energy in my life, seeing a vision for my place in the world. I felt God paving the way, providing me with the people, resources, and a willing spirit.
So while I was reading this story, I could identify with God’s largess and could even see this move as a way for me to help multiply God’s love, like the widow’s oil in the story. I was praying for God’s guidance about how to share the abundance of grace—God’s oil—poured into my life. I felt much like the widow, that even though I was in a difficult transition and my future was unclear, God was supplying for me in generous ways. I felt so grateful and honored to be in this place of abundance with God.
In the quiet of my prayer I heard a voice from that place within me where God dwells. The voice chimed in, “Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, my dear one. You are not the widow in this story. You’re the empty vessel.” The voice sounded light-hearted and gentle like it was singing a nursery rhyme or something like that, starting on a high note and descending like a slide. The message was clear and challenging, yet I could sense a chuckle behind the challenge.
Just like that. Few words. TRUTH. Humility. Loss of ego again. No gentle approval of my claim to be the widow in the story, just a gentle truth with a chuckle. And, of course, God was right. My ego would love to be the widow, the unsung star of the story, and I would love to identify with God’s largess for me. I’d love to have the small amount of oil in my own vessel multiply and be of great worth. I love redemptive endings and being part of them.
But God was clearly telling me that being an empty vessel was more closely attuned to my current state, or needed to be. The vessel represented the acceptance of my emptiness, my dependence on God to fill me, which was really my new calling.
Empty, waiting to be filled, unsure, dependent, surrendered; new words that I was not totally longing for, but now learning to live into. In the story, the empty jars were also a gift from God, a sign of hope for the widow, who must have been elated that her neighbors would give them to her, even though she was unsure what would happen once she got them. So I became a vessel, willing to be given, willing to be part of a miracle of love. I am of value precisely because of my emptiness. I was not moving to my new neighborhood to simply pour out my gifts but to be a vessel, willing to be, to learn, to receive, to love. We are all of immense value in our emptiness—an emptiness that God knows how to fill so much better than we do.
As soon as I heard those rhythmic words, “Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah. You’re not the widow; you’re the empty vessel.” I knew God was messing with me again, in that familiar way, gently nudging me off of my pedestal, bringing me to a richer, simpler and even more profound truth—empty vessels are more likely to be filled. It was what I needed to be—an empty vessel. I could feel the gentle humor, the loving nudge. It felt familiar. I could hear the chortling chuckle. I could imagine the twinkle in the eye, the sly smile that accompanied those words, “Empty vessel.”
One of my friends would call this experience one of God’s Ho-Hos. I like that. And, as a result of this God Ho-Ho, I felt a joyful sense of expectation in my emptiness.
End Note: I did not make that move to a different neighborhood, since I could not sell my condo in the economic environment of the time, but I felt the significance of being open, willing and eager to move. And the empty vessel image is still meaningful to me. several years later.
© Copyright, Janet O. Hagberg, 2009.
Reflections on this essay
Which figure or symbol from the story would you be?
How have you felt God leading you into a new direction that is unknown?
Where has God surprised you with a new truth about yourself?
How have you experienced being empty and then being filled?
What is one of God’s Ho Hos in your life?
God laughing at us
“He uses complicated diagrams to make himself look really smart.” A few months my 12-year-old son offered to make a commercial about my consulting business. It turned out that my son had some fun with earnestness and use of complicated diagrams. Here’s the commercial he made:
I’ve learned a lot about spiritual formation and prayer from the author, Richard Foster. I recently heard a talk where Richard talked about one of the most transformational moments in his spiritual life–where he heard God laughing at him. Richard had been trying hard to discern an issue that he saw as an important ethical decision, about whether to wear a tie or not. In loving response, God laughed at him, which helped Richard laugh at himself.
As I’ve been very busy doing lots of work lately, I’ve had a sense that God is laughing at me, in inviting, challenging, loving ways. I can sometimes laugh at myself or others in ways that are cynical and distancing. I think God is asking me to listen, feel, and join God’s laughter–that can be unsettling, but also an invitation to intimacy and freedom. I’m leaving soon to help facilitate a gathering of 500 church leaders, where we’ll be listening for new things God is doing in their region. I pray that we may hear and join God’s disarming, healing laughter, at the conference and beyond.
Jesus looked at him and loved him[1]–the earnest young man who walked away.
He looked at him–straight through him probably. Jesus saw who this man was and who he was not. He loved him. Even though he probably knew that the man couldn’t follow him. At least, not yet.
“With God nothing is impossible.”
I don’t think that we hear the end of that man’s story. Just the burning question that brought him to Jesus: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus called it the Kingdom of God. This is a here-and-now kind of kingdom. Eternal life means “the life of the ages.”
What does it take to enter into and participate in the kingdom of God?
Everything and nothing.
Everything. The cost is everything you belong to. Nothing. You don’t bring anything in with you. Just you. It is a long, hard, slow process getting down to just you.
This earnest young man could not easily leave his life–his wealth–he belonged to it. And so he sadly walked away.
Jesus looked at him and loved him.
With God nothing is impossible.
God undoes us.
God mends us.
God is in the letting go.
It’s hard. It’s hard to let go of your belongings–the things that belong to you, the things that you belong to.
Frederick Buechner advises: “Don’t start looking in the Bible for the answers it gives. Start by listening for the questions it asks. . . ”
This story asks important questions– life-and-death questions.
What must I do? What is keeping me from participating in God’s kingdom here and now? What is keeping me from seeing what is Real? What am I belonging to that is holding me back from God? What am I having a hard time leaving behind?
Lately, I have been learning how to belong in my feet right where I am. I am learning to belong to God. I am learning that we all belong to each other. These belongings are life-changing. Maybe we need to let go of the small belongings in our lives in order to realize and experience our true Belonging.
What are my small belongings? The ones that I need to release?
Do I belong to my roles? To my church? To my job? To my home? To the expectations of my parents? To the opinions of others?
Do I belong to the past? To mistakes that I’ve made? To slights that I’ve received? To my accomplishments?
Do I belong to my plans for the future?
Do I belong to something unknown and better that always lies just ahead–out of reach, out of sight, but coming hopefully someday? Do I belong to the time when I will finally be able to [fill in the blank]?
Do I belong to my beliefs? About who God is? About who I am? About who others are?
Am I able to walk away from these small belongings-and most of them do not seem small–if they prevent me from experiencing God, from experiencing Life in the here and now?
Jesus looks at me and loves me. He invites me to leave behind my small belongings. He invites me to come, to follow, to find out about this Life that is eternal. This Life that has been and is right now and will be.
[1] Mark 10:21 (NIV)
Just me?
Is that all you really wanted?
Not my doctrines, ideas, or words?
Not all of the amazing things I could or should be doing?
Just me?
You don’t need me to succeed?
To be stunning or fascinating?
Miraculous or right?
Just me?
Life.
Real, wide-awake life
is waiting for me to lay down the trappings,
to release all that my hands are so tightly grasping,
so I can slip though this narrow gate
that will only fit
just me.
© J.L. Sanborn, 2015. All Rights Reserved.
Jessica is mom to three little-ish people and wife to a great guy. She used to do lawyer things. Now the future is wide open as she learns what it means to belong in her own feet. She writes about faith and becoming at https://jlsanborn.wordpress.com.