When you harvest the crops of your land, do not harvest the grain along the edges of your fields, and do not pick up what the harvesters drop. It is the same with your grape crop—do not strip every last bunch of grapes from the vines, and do not pick up the grapes that fall to the ground. Leave them for the poor and the foreigners living among you. I am the Lord your God. [Leviticus 19:9-10 (NLT)]
When you are harvesting your crops and forget to bring in a bundle of grain from your field, don’t go back to get it. Leave it for the foreigners, orphans, and widows. Then the Lord your God will bless you in all you do. [Deuteronomy 24:19 (NLT)]
When we spotted some Sandhill Cranes last week, I recalled the cranes we frequently saw when we lived in rural Illinois. In the fall, flocks of them could be found eating the crop residue remaining from the recently harvested fields. As they gleaned the corn fields, I thought of the words in Deuteronomy and Leviticus directing the Israelites to deliberately leave some produce behind for those less fortunate—the people who wouldn’t have land of their own from which to harvest. Allowing the poor to maintain their dignity as they labored in the fields, rather than a handout, the gleaning was considered a rightful opportunity to improve their lives. The command to leave left-overs from the harvest for the poor was not to be taken lightly. In fact, if nothing remained in his fields following harvest, a landowner could be punished.
While laws aiding the poor were common in the ancient Near East, this Jewish law was unique because it specifically mentioned widows and orphans and benefitted not just the poor Israelites but also resident foreigners. In the story of Ruth, we see how it helped the widowed Naomi and her Moabite daughter-in-law by allowing Ruth to glean the fields of Boaz.
As I thought about leaving something behind for those less fortunate, I remembered the words of some non-believing friends who have no children and only distant (and wealthy) relatives. Knowing they can’t take their money with them, they joke about spending every penny before they die (and are doing their best to achieve that goal). Granted, this couple earned their money and it is theirs to dispose of as they wish but I was shocked when they vehemently declared, “No charity will ever get a penny of it!” While those relatives will get something, there will be no left-overs for the less fortunate from their fields—no scholarships for the deserving, funds for cancer research or treatment, humanitarian aid for refugees, food for the hungry, shelter for the homeless, safe places for the exploited, or empowerment for the poor.
The laws about gleaning taught the Hebrews not to be greedy with their blessings; they learned that a joyful time, like a harvest, is a time for generosity and compassion. Jesus continued in that vein when he commanded us to share our excess and to love our neighbor as ourselves. In our Judeo-Christian culture today, both faiths embrace the concept of sharing with and caring for others and encourage a willingness to give up what is rightfully ours to share with those less fortunate. Failing to be generous to those in need is no more an option for us as Christians than not leaving grain in the field was for the Israelite landowner.
I’m not a farmer—I have no fields, vineyards or olive trees—but I certainly have been blessed with more than I need. Remembering that time and talent are as a valuable as money, I imagine most of us have plenty of something that could be shared with those less fortunate. It has been said that the best thing anyone can give someone is a chance. For the cranes I’d see in autumn, the grain they gleaned gave them a better chance of surviving their long flight south. For the Judean poor, the part of the harvest deliberately left for them provided nourishment and an opportunity to better their lives. Do we have anything, even a few left-overs, to share that could give someone a chance?
Nowadays, we tend to think of “religion” as the institutionalized system of religious principles, beliefs, ceremonies, and practices to which we’re committed. The religion of which James spoke, however, isn’t limited to things like denomination or synod, liturgy, traditions, rituals, or special observances. Religion, as used by James, is the belief in, service to, and worship of God and encompasses our entire being. The ERV’s translation as “worship,” the NIRV’s as “beliefs and way of life,” the NTE’s and CEB’s of “devotion,” and even the Passion’s translation as “true spirituality” better capture James’ meaning. He is telling us that real religion is our way of life—the way we express our devotion to God hour after hour, day after day, in all that we think, speak, and do.
Created in 1947 by the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, the Doomsday Clock’s purpose is to show the world how close it is to destroying itself with technology. Midnight on the clock indicates world-wide catastrophe and the end of the world as we know it. When it was reset for 2022 last week, the good news is that it’s no closer to midnight than last year. The bad news is that we remain at doom’s doorstep with only 100 seconds until midnight!
Yesterday’s devotion got me thinking more about the movie War Room. Elizabeth is a woman whose marriage is crumbling and Miss Clara is a fervent prayer warrior. Clara could easily have done her “Christian duty” for Elizabeth by offering to pray for the young woman’s marriage in her “war room” of prayer. Instead, Clara asks Elizabeth to give her one hour a week and offers to teach her how to fight for her marriage with the right weapons. With her offer, Clara lays herself open to rejection, being called a busybody (or worse) and the inconvenience and challenges that come whenever we become enmeshed in another person’s messy life. In short, Clara does more than pray for this troubled woman—she takes action.
“They are to be pitied, not….” Not what? Author C.S. Lewis did not complete the sentence and I don’t think the omission was by accident. When I read the above passage, I thought of the words I (as a Christian) should use to replace the ellipsis; they are not to be reviled, hated, judged, condemned, berated, scorned, abused, or despised. Regretfully, my initial reaction upon running across the scum of the earth—the rapists, molesters, traffickers, exploiters, extorters, attackers, murderers, deceivers, hate-spewers, and tyrants that seem to populate our world—is more likely to be the exact opposite. Rather than a feeling of pity, compassion, mercy, forgiveness, or love, it’s one of outrage, loathing, and disgust.
My guests never get the first piece of pie or lasagna because it always turns into a broken, sticky mess with half of it remaining in the pan. They also don’t get the over-baked cookies, the frayed towels, chipped china, or last night’s left-overs. Since I would never serve a guest anything but the best I have to offer, why is it so tempting to give God less than our best?
Devotions of the Heart 