Elijah is both an historical and a mythological figure for Jews. On the one hand he is a prophet whose story is recounted in I Kings and II Kings. Elijah raised the dead, brought fire down from heaven, battled King Ahab and Queen Jezebel (and her prophets of Baal), and ascended into heaven by way of a whirlwind. According to a prophesy in Malachi, he will return to earth just prior to the coming of the Messiah. Some thought that in his time John the Baptist was Elijah.

In Jewish mythology Elijah frequently appears disguised as a beggar who helps people in times of need. He provides money for people who are faithful and poor. Many Jewish families at their Passover and/or Sabbath Meal leave one empty place setting at the table for Elijah.

The story we heard today from I Kings is part of a much larger saga. Elijah found a place to stay in a foreign country when he was fleeing from his nemisis, King Ahab and Queen Jezebel. When the widow’s son died Elijah’s heart broke, and through an elaborate ceremoney, brought the child back to life again. When you hear this story perhaps, like me, you remember the words of James, "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God is this: to serve widows and orhapns in their affliction and keep oneself unstained by the world."

Jesus clearly is an heir of Elijah. In the story we read earlier the heart of Jesus is opened to the grieving widow. She had already lost her husband, now she was losing her son. Every parent can understand the terror of this situation. It’s not the way things are suppose to be. Children are to bury their parents, not the other way around.

The young man was not just a son for this poor woman. He was not just her companion and friend. He was also her future; her retirement, her social security. The woman was bereft in the present and bereft in the future.

Jesus didn’t know the woman, but from a distance, while the parade of mourners passed, he had compassion for her and throwing caution to the wind he moved forward, and touched the casket. When that happened, Luke reports, the pall bearers stopped. Of course they stopped. No one touched a casket because it had the mark of death on it and it was ritually unclean. Jesus was willing to do this because of his compassion.

Compassion causes people to do strange and wonderful things. As you may remember, our word "compassion" comes from two Latin words that mean: to suffer with. The ultimate act of caring is to share in the suffering of another. When we share we are in solidarity with the other. Compassion is often translated to mercy in the New Testament. Compassion, which may begin as a feeling, is quickly translated into an action, if it is true compassion, as we see in these stories:

+ Jesus feels compassion for the ten lepers who approach him for healing. He heals each of them.

+ The Father, who is clearly God, sees his prodigal son return and has compassion for him. He runs to meet him and then throws a welcoming party like few you have seen.

+ Several thousand people followed Jesus to a deserted place. He had compassion on them because they were like sheep without a shepherd. First, he taught them and then he fed 5,000 of them with just a few fish and two loaves of bread.

+ A blind beggar, Bartimaeus called out to Jesus, "Have compassion/mercy on me," as he walked the road out of Jericho. "What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus asked. The beggar replied, "Master, let me receive my sight." And he did.

Ours is a compassionate God. One who cares deeply for his children, particularly when the children foolishly put themselves in harm’s way. He offers no lectures on compassion, but what he does is to treat them compassionately. Our conclusion: Jesus, the Son of God, is the compassionate one.

The goal Jesus has in mind for us is not just that we admire his compassion, but that we become compassionate. "Be compassionate," he says to his disciples, "just as your heavenly father is compassionate."

And we are. Sometimes our compassion is dramatic. In Friday’s USA Today the founder of the paper, Al Neuharth, reported on a kidney transplant that took place at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota on June 4. The donor was James Abbott, age 58, the president of the University of South Dakota. The recipient was the university’s chief diversity officer, Bruce King, age 44. The story actually began two years ago when King was diagnosed with end-state renal failure. Abbott discovered that he had the same blood type – O positive, and therefore was a possible match. However, the hospital would not accept him because of his weight and blood pressure. So, President Abbott went to work on his own health, knowing there were no other prospective donors at the time.

Evidently, the story has played large not only in South Dakota, but in Mr. King’s neighborhood in Chicago. They are amazed that Abbott, a white guy, is trying to help save the life of a black man from a poor section of the Second City.

We can only pray that the transplant that took place this past week continues to be successful. I don’t know much about James Abbott, but I know what he did was Christ-like.

Most often our compassion doesn’t make the papers. It is quiet. It goes unseen by most people. No doubt someone in your life is sick. Perhaps they are very sick, even at the point of death. You are looking for a way to express your deep concern. Hospice patients tell me that they have two surprises. The first surprise is the absence of dear friends who suddenly disappear from their life. They avoid visiting their old friends at this critical time. Perhaps they are uncomfortable being with someone who is obviously dying. The second surpise is how others who were missing in their life now reappear. Some drive long distances. Some appear frequently.

Are you one who doesn’t know what to say in moments of death? Know this, your friend is not looking for great words of wisdom. They are looking for solidarity. They are awaiting people who will stand beside them, keep in touch. They have people who know all the technical terms, who can speak all the medical jargon. What they need are friends, peferably old friends, who are simply present. That presence is a mark of compassion. Our presence is a form of suffering with our friends.

There are plenty of things to worry about today. Some worrry that our nation will fall behind others in the race for tehnology and information. I worry that we become blind to the hurts of our society. I worry that the affluent will turn their backs on the poor. I worry that fewer and fewer of our brightest and best are seeking vocations of service, opting for careers where big money can be made.

I was at a funeral in California this past week for an old friend. In one of my many conversations I asked a very bright man in his early 40’s about his job as a stock analyist. I know he is very successful and makes a lot of money. "I don’t expect to be doing this much longer," he told me. "Perhaps two years. There isn’t enough benefit for society in what I do. My wife is thinking about attending seminary, and I will go back to school in order to position myself to work for a non-profit, perhaps in the area of health-care." He went on to quote something John D. Rockefeller, the Bill Gates of a previous era, once supposedly said: "The first 1/3 of your life—accumulate. The second 1/3 spend. The third 1/3 – Give back." I don’t think it is wise to wait until the last third of your life to start giving back, but better the last third than not at all.

I worry that the voices for the poor, and the indigent, are few. We have too few voices advocating for universal health care, too few for the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breath free. We need people who practice pure and undefiled religion. Remember James? "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God is this: to serve widows and orhapns in their affliction and keep oneself unstained by the world."

The compassion of Jesus is the source of our compassion. First, we are the recipients of God’s compassion. Jesus suffered with us, had compassion for us, for while we were yet sinners, he died for us. He knows that we too often are homeless, so he has gone to prepare a place for us, that where he is, we can be also.

While we wait for the new home we have work to do. It is the work of Christ. It is the work of compassion. And there is plenty of work to do. Amen