Last week, I was bombarded by thoughts about giving and receiving.
Everyone seemed to be talking about it. In church, the children’s sermon included this quote (not sure of the source):
“The greatest good you can do another is not to share your riches, but reveal to them their own.”
THAT got me thinking.
Then, a few days later, my daily Henri Nouwen devotional joined in – three days in a row:
~ “Let’s never give anything without asking ourselves what we are receiving from those to whom we give, and let’s never receive anything without asking what we have to give to those from whom we receive.”
~ “Giving is very important . . . . But receiving is just as important, because by receiving we reveal to the givers that they have gifts to offer.”
~ “Receiving is an art. It means allowing the other to become part of our lives. . . . Receiving with the heart is, therefore, a gesture of humility and love.”
Even the daily scripture readings were in on the conspiracy. Jeremiah was talking about sharing with the needy; Romans said we must receive the spirit of adoption – of knowing that we are children of God – in order to give as fully as we were meant to give; John recounted Jesus’s offer of Himself as the Bread of Life, and reminded us that the Father has promised to receive all who call on Him.
I may be a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, but even I can take a subtle hint occasionally.
I’ve been trying to ponder all of it prayerfully this week. Where am I so intent on giving that I have shut myself off from receiving? What gifts lie in those around me, waiting for my hands to be open? Where has my giving become more about feeling needed and magnanimous, rather than focused on the good of the receiver? Where am I unwilling to admit that I need to receive?
All very ouch-y topics. Perfect for Lent.
I’m afraid I have no deep revelations to share with you. All that pondering produced only this paradoxical statement:
I must receive so I will have something to give.
I must give that my hands will be empty and open to receive.
If that sounds like fantastic poem fodder, you’re right; but, as I began to scribble these musings into what would become this week’s poem, I found myself thinking about Palm Sunday.
This Sunday, we celebrate the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. The city was thrilled to see him: they rolled out the red carpet, basically, spreading their coats on the ground for him to walk on and waving palm branches and shouting “Hosanna! Hosanna!”
Only a few days later, those same crowds would be shouting “Crucify him! Crucify him!” – but the paradox was already spinning on Palm Sunday.
“Hosanna”, you see, is a paradox in itself. Its original meaning is a plea: “Save! SAVE NOW!” The crowds, though, were using it as an exclamation of praise: “You are the one who can save! Save us! You are able to save! Save us now! Blessed is the one who saves! SAVE!”
As the week’s events would prove, however, the hands and hearts of the crowds were not open to receive the true gift. They were intent on giving thanks for the gift they thought they needed – the one they expected Jesus to give to them. When He offered love and life and freedom from sin and death, they were shouting too loud to hear.
Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.
As we step into Holy Week, may we all have courage to lean into that tension – the moment of paradox, caught between our need to give and our need to receive – and speak a new, pure “Hosanna”.
Lent #5 – Palm Sunday
To give, and to receive –
But which comes first?
The former’s rep outshines the latter
Still, the maxims fail to mention
How a chicken springs forth
without an egg.
I give – but whence arose the stock?
I receive – but are my closed barns over-full?
Perhaps now is the time of inventory
– now, while the city flings wide her gates
to receive her King with abject adulation
But this pouring-out of praise somehow makes no dent
in the packed-in, pressed-down vision
barring every door
So, once again, the Savior finds no room.
Let us take stock
So, perhaps, when next the palms come knocking
It won’t just be my coat I’m laying down
To snatch it up again once glory passes.
For I am gift
each breath an in-spiration
each moment a new present
that, first, I must receive.
And I am given
each thought a passing vessel
each word a string-tied parcel
that must be shared in order to exist.
Between them, in the tension
of giving praise, receiving help
inviting Lambs while yielding Kings
This awkward space of end-and-start
plea-and-praise
death-and-life
you-and-me
Here alone can birth begin
Hear, alone, the moment’s fruit
Embodied in a bloody, trembling cry:
Hosanna.
Thank you, Ruth. Challenging thoughts for this week.
Rare to have these things in such challenging proximity. Important to reflect on the paradoxes and live n the tension they produce. How good and great is our God!!?