A Jewish folktale entitled "The King's Loaves" tells about two beggars who went daily to the palace to beg at the king's gate for bread.
Every day the king gave each of them a loaf of bread. One of the beggars always thanked the king for his generosity, but the other thanked God for giving the king sufficient wealth to give charitably.
The second beggar's words always hurt the king. So the king decided to teach him a lesson. The king ordered his baker to bake two identical loaves, but one concealed precious jewels. Then he instructed the baker to give the loaf with the hidden jewels to the beggar who always thanked the king for his charity.
The next day the baker went to the king's gate and handed the two loaves to the beggars. He took great care not to confuse the two, for he feared the king's wrath. When the beggar with the special loaf felt how heavy and hard it was, he concluded that it was poorly made and asked the other beggar to exchange loaves with him.
The second beggar, always eager to help a friend, agreed. Then they went their separate ways. When the second man bit into the loaf, he discovered that it was filled with jewels. He thanked God for his good fortune, grateful that he would no longer have to beg for his bread.
The next morning the king was surprised to find only the first beggar at the palace gate. He had the baker brought before him and asked him, "Did you mix up the two loaves I had you bake?"
"No, your majesty," answered the baker. "I did exactly as you asked." Then the king turned to the beggar and asked, "What did you do with the loaf you received yesterday?" The man replied, "It was hard and poorly baked, so I gave it to my friend in exchange for his."
Then the king understood that all his riches had indeed come from God, and that only the Holy One can make a poor man rich or a rich man poor.
God is the giver of all bread and all possessions.
Bread is not merely food; it is also a metaphor for all that God has given us. In the fourth petition of the Lord's Prayer, we ask that God "give us this day our daily bread." In this petition, we are not simply asking God for a loaf of bread, but we are acknowledging that it is indeed God who gives us all that we need to survive: breathe, life, food, shelter, all our possessions, health, our family and friends. Everything.
We are bread for one another when we welcome a stranger and when we walk with someone through an illness. We are bread for one another when we love those who are most difficult to love and when we defend the defenseless. We are bread for one another when we teach and when we forgive. And finally, we are bread for one another when we share the bread we have been given.
["The King's Loaves," an Afghanistani folktale from The Classic Tales: 4000 Years of Jewish Lore, Ellen Frankel, ed., New Jersey: Jason Aronson, Inc., 1989. Quoted in the sermon "We are Bread When" by Rev. Beth Warpmaeker, 2000.]
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Rest and Renewal
In the deep jungles of Africa, a traveler was making a long trek. Laborers were engaged from a tribe to carry the loads. The first day of the trip the tribesmen marched rapidly and went far. The traveler had high hopes of a speedy journey. But the second morning these jungle tribesmen refused to move. For some strange reason they just sat and rested. On inquiry as to the reason for this strange behavior, the traveler was informed that they had gone too fast the first day, and that they were now waiting for their souls to catch up with their bodies.
[posted by Dr. Renita J. Weems in her blog, SomethingWithin.com. "Rest is a Radical Notion," posted 6/23/09)
[posted by Dr. Renita J. Weems in her blog, SomethingWithin.com. "Rest is a Radical Notion," posted 6/23/09)
One and a Half Followers
The story, as told by Megan McKenna in her book, Parables, is from the Sufi tradition of the Muslims and it involves a Muslim caliph. It should be noted that a “caliph” is like a Jewish rabbi or teacher. It should also be noted that in Islamic law, when people are counted, men are counted as one and women are counted as a half. The name of this story is “One and a Half Followers.”
Once upon a time a man became the head of the Ottoman Empire, the sultan of the desert, rich and powerful in his vast domain. As he grew in power many of his advisers began to warn him about this caliph who had hundreds of thousands of followers. They spoke of the danger to the sultan: that if the caliph sided with his enemies he could overthrow the sultan and rule in his stead, or he could organize his own followers and revolt. But the sultan ignored them and went about the business of running his kingdom.
Years passed and there were uprisings and coup attempts and tries at assassination and the name of this one caliph kept coming up. Finally the sultan decided to act on these accusations, and he summoned the man from the desert. He met him alone, at the edge of the desert. And the caliph came on his great steed, dismounted and knelt with his head on the ground. He then arose and said the ancient oath of loyalty: “You, sir, are my master. Whatever power I have in the desert, you shared yours with me. Whatever knowledge and wisdom I have in the desert, you taught me. I will gladly give my life that my master may live.” He said this with his hand over his heart, solemnly and before Allah.
The sultan embraced him and looked at him with delight and exclaimed: “I’ve wondered how you are, my friend! Do you know that my advisers are always warning me about you, the man with the hundreds of thousands of disciples? They do not know that you were once my disciple and still are, and so all of your disciples are mine.” They talked of the good old days in the desert and the times of closeness and struggle.
Toward the end of the day the sultan asked him: “Just between you and me, how many followers do you have?” The caliph pondered the question and finally said, “One and a half.” The sultan reacted angrily and said, “Who do you think I am? Why would my advisers warn me about someone with one and a half followers? Well we’ll find out just how many you do have.”
The sultan ordered his soldiers to arrest the caliph, and threw him into a dungeon. He sent a message throughout the desert saying that their master, the caliph, had fallen from grace with the sultan, and that if they didn’t all show up on a certain day he would be beheaded. Unbeknown to anyone else, he had a tent set up on the edge of the desert and had thirty sheep put into it and a dozen of his best soldiers. And he waited for the day to come.
The caliph was dragged from his underground prison, and he and the sultan waited at the edge of the desert, the caliph in chains beside his old master. And they came by the thousands before dawn, on camel, horseback, ass and donkey and on foot until as far as the eye could see there were men, women and children. The sultan turned to the caliph and sneered: “One and a half followers. Who then are all these people?” The caliph said nothing. Then in the silence as the sun rose, the sultan stepped forward and spoke loudly. “This man, your master, has fallen from grace. If ten of you are willing to give your life so that your master might live, then step forward. Otherwise, I will behead him now.” And he drew his sword.
There was a terrible silence. People started sweating and finally one man stepped forward and put his hand on his heart and said the ancient oath: “Sultan, this man is my master. Whatever power I have in the desert, he shared his with me, and whatever knowledge and wisdom I have in the desert he taught me. I will gladly give my life so that my master might live.” The sultan snapped his fingers and the soldiers marched him up to the tent, took him inside, and dropped the flaps. They slit the throat of three sheep and the blood began to seep down through the sand.
There was a murmur in the crowd and some started slipping back into the desert. Not a lot, but enough so that you’d notice. The silence and the heat stretched. Finally the sultan spoke again. “That’s only one. I need nine more, or your caliph dies.” Again the silence deepened, and the tension became terrible. Finally, a woman stepped forward, and even the sultan groaned outwardly. She put her hand over her heart and spoke the oath: “Sir, this man is my master. Whatever power I have in the desert, this man shared his with me. Whatever knowledge and wisdom I have in the desert, this man taught me. I will gladly give my life so that my master might live.”
The sultan snapped his fingers again, the soldiers marched her up to the tent and took her inside. They slit the throats of three more sheep, and the blood started to gush down on the sands. And the crowd panicked and all bedlam broke loose. They ran back into the desert the way they had come. By sundown no one was left as far as the eye could see, only the sultan and the caliph in chains.
The sultan bent and set his friend free. He lifted him up, apologized and said: “I’m sorry. You were right. You only have one and a half disciples. How terrible you must feel! All this time and work and that’s all you have.” The caliph stood and looked at his old master and said: “Sultan, I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that the man is my one follower and the woman is the half.” “Of course,” the sultan replied. “Well, you’re wrong,” the caliph said. “The woman is my one follower and the man - he is arrogant and naive, but he has possibilities. He’s my half.”
The sultan sputtered and said: “But the law...” and he couldn’t finish. The caliph said: “Sultan, discipleship has nothing to do with the law; it has to do with love and devotion. Let me explain. When the man stepped forward he didn’t believe he was going to die. He thinks everything is a test. He has a lot to learn. But when the woman stepped forward, she knew she was going to die. She is my one follower.” And the sultan was quiet.
The story begs the question: “Which one are you? Are you the man who is arrogant and naive and thinks everything is a test but has some possibilities? Or are you the woman who knows that if you follow a master you will die? Or are you one of the hundreds of thousands who just think you are somebody’s follower?”
It was Dietrich Bonhoeffer who said: “When Jesus bids us come and follow him, he bids us come and die. The question is: what do we die for, whom do we die with, and whether or not we come after Jesus into Jerusalem.
[from Parables: the Arrows of God by Megan McKenna (Orbis Books, 1994)]
Once upon a time a man became the head of the Ottoman Empire, the sultan of the desert, rich and powerful in his vast domain. As he grew in power many of his advisers began to warn him about this caliph who had hundreds of thousands of followers. They spoke of the danger to the sultan: that if the caliph sided with his enemies he could overthrow the sultan and rule in his stead, or he could organize his own followers and revolt. But the sultan ignored them and went about the business of running his kingdom.
Years passed and there were uprisings and coup attempts and tries at assassination and the name of this one caliph kept coming up. Finally the sultan decided to act on these accusations, and he summoned the man from the desert. He met him alone, at the edge of the desert. And the caliph came on his great steed, dismounted and knelt with his head on the ground. He then arose and said the ancient oath of loyalty: “You, sir, are my master. Whatever power I have in the desert, you shared yours with me. Whatever knowledge and wisdom I have in the desert, you taught me. I will gladly give my life that my master may live.” He said this with his hand over his heart, solemnly and before Allah.
The sultan embraced him and looked at him with delight and exclaimed: “I’ve wondered how you are, my friend! Do you know that my advisers are always warning me about you, the man with the hundreds of thousands of disciples? They do not know that you were once my disciple and still are, and so all of your disciples are mine.” They talked of the good old days in the desert and the times of closeness and struggle.
Toward the end of the day the sultan asked him: “Just between you and me, how many followers do you have?” The caliph pondered the question and finally said, “One and a half.” The sultan reacted angrily and said, “Who do you think I am? Why would my advisers warn me about someone with one and a half followers? Well we’ll find out just how many you do have.”
The sultan ordered his soldiers to arrest the caliph, and threw him into a dungeon. He sent a message throughout the desert saying that their master, the caliph, had fallen from grace with the sultan, and that if they didn’t all show up on a certain day he would be beheaded. Unbeknown to anyone else, he had a tent set up on the edge of the desert and had thirty sheep put into it and a dozen of his best soldiers. And he waited for the day to come.
The caliph was dragged from his underground prison, and he and the sultan waited at the edge of the desert, the caliph in chains beside his old master. And they came by the thousands before dawn, on camel, horseback, ass and donkey and on foot until as far as the eye could see there were men, women and children. The sultan turned to the caliph and sneered: “One and a half followers. Who then are all these people?” The caliph said nothing. Then in the silence as the sun rose, the sultan stepped forward and spoke loudly. “This man, your master, has fallen from grace. If ten of you are willing to give your life so that your master might live, then step forward. Otherwise, I will behead him now.” And he drew his sword.
There was a terrible silence. People started sweating and finally one man stepped forward and put his hand on his heart and said the ancient oath: “Sultan, this man is my master. Whatever power I have in the desert, he shared his with me, and whatever knowledge and wisdom I have in the desert he taught me. I will gladly give my life so that my master might live.” The sultan snapped his fingers and the soldiers marched him up to the tent, took him inside, and dropped the flaps. They slit the throat of three sheep and the blood began to seep down through the sand.
There was a murmur in the crowd and some started slipping back into the desert. Not a lot, but enough so that you’d notice. The silence and the heat stretched. Finally the sultan spoke again. “That’s only one. I need nine more, or your caliph dies.” Again the silence deepened, and the tension became terrible. Finally, a woman stepped forward, and even the sultan groaned outwardly. She put her hand over her heart and spoke the oath: “Sir, this man is my master. Whatever power I have in the desert, this man shared his with me. Whatever knowledge and wisdom I have in the desert, this man taught me. I will gladly give my life so that my master might live.”
The sultan snapped his fingers again, the soldiers marched her up to the tent and took her inside. They slit the throats of three more sheep, and the blood started to gush down on the sands. And the crowd panicked and all bedlam broke loose. They ran back into the desert the way they had come. By sundown no one was left as far as the eye could see, only the sultan and the caliph in chains.
The sultan bent and set his friend free. He lifted him up, apologized and said: “I’m sorry. You were right. You only have one and a half disciples. How terrible you must feel! All this time and work and that’s all you have.” The caliph stood and looked at his old master and said: “Sultan, I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that the man is my one follower and the woman is the half.” “Of course,” the sultan replied. “Well, you’re wrong,” the caliph said. “The woman is my one follower and the man - he is arrogant and naive, but he has possibilities. He’s my half.”
The sultan sputtered and said: “But the law...” and he couldn’t finish. The caliph said: “Sultan, discipleship has nothing to do with the law; it has to do with love and devotion. Let me explain. When the man stepped forward he didn’t believe he was going to die. He thinks everything is a test. He has a lot to learn. But when the woman stepped forward, she knew she was going to die. She is my one follower.” And the sultan was quiet.
The story begs the question: “Which one are you? Are you the man who is arrogant and naive and thinks everything is a test but has some possibilities? Or are you the woman who knows that if you follow a master you will die? Or are you one of the hundreds of thousands who just think you are somebody’s follower?”
It was Dietrich Bonhoeffer who said: “When Jesus bids us come and follow him, he bids us come and die. The question is: what do we die for, whom do we die with, and whether or not we come after Jesus into Jerusalem.
[from Parables: the Arrows of God by Megan McKenna (Orbis Books, 1994)]
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