Empty
By Dan Smolnik
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Following is another blog post written by Dan Smolnik, an ongoing guest in our community at Christ the Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, Hamden, Connecticut.
A state of being empty does not always stand in for that which is missing. Emptiness can provide space for opportunity, signal loss, and even serve as a platform on which we might compare the empty with the full. Biblical authors mastered this literary device and used it with stunning effect. This installment of A View from the Pew offers a brief survey of the language of emptiness and how it is deployed to demonstrate the imperative of faith in God.
My own experiences with the power of emptiness are somewhat more quotidian than the experiences of those in the Bible blessed and charged with making accessible the power of the Divine. At this very moment, I am confronting the impediment of the emptiness of this page.
A clean sheet of paper, such as the one set before me as I began this piece, is of two minds. At once, it presents both challenge and opportunity.
The empty page, in a sense, mocks me and defies me to fill it with my meager thoughts and reflections. The space seems to somehow already know my spare capacity for language and taunts me to confess my limitations to all of you. Would that I could have the ardor of Timothy or the spirit of Paul as I move my thoughts to writing. I find myself wishing instead for the repose of reading from Niebuhr or Augustine, who so skillfully met the challenge of the empty page, and being nourished by their work.
The blank page, though, reminds me that there is much work to be done, and maybe, just maybe, some of my thoughts will energize someone else in their faith. Emptiness can be a beginning, and not just a circumstance. Scripture is replete with carefully crafted examples of how being empty is more than a mere convenient metaphor. It is where the human condition intersects God’s plan for us.
Let’s take a look at three remarkable treatments of emptiness in the Bible.
In the Second Book of Kings, the people of God are being scattered and abducted from the promised land, first by the Assyrians, then by the Babylonians. There is little hope available. Desolation is the predominant theme.
Early in the book, Elijah is taken bodily to heaven before the very eyes of Elisha, whom God had commanded Elijah anoint as a prophet. Elisha despairs and tears his clothing in grief as he watches Elijah’s chariot of fire depart.
In the fourth chapter, an indebted widow of one of the sons of the prophets, in desperation, calls upon Elijah who answers her. Elijah instructs her to collect as many empty bottles and jars as she can from the neighbors and to pour her small amount of oil into them. Soon, the jars are all overflowing and Elijah instructs her to sell the extra oil to pay her debts and to reserve the remaining oil for her future needs and the needs of her sons.
The widow’s frenzied collection of empty jars must have seen as folly to the people of her village, who likely could see little use for them in hard times and, no doubt, wondered what the interest in them could be.
The widow herself took Elijah at his word in an act of faith and made the rounds of her neighbors collecting jars, without regard to their impressions of her state of mind and, for that matter, without a plan.
Once home, the emptiness of the vessels proved to be her great asset and she filled every one of them from her small jar of oil.
Emptiness, here, provided space for God to manifest His presence.
One looks into the void and asks not “what used to be here,” but rather, “with what might I fill this?” Observe that the question of action rests on the person holding the jar. The choice and opportunity are the blessings the jar holds.
Jeremiah offers a decidedly more dire prophecy to the Moabites, descendants of Moab, the son born of the coupling of Lot and his eldest daughter. After David had conquered and wiped out a third of the Moabites around 1010 BCE, Moab became a vassal state to Israel and paid them an annual tribute. After the death of Ahab, the king of Israel (r. ca 874-852 BCE) (who, not incidentally, is identified in 1 Kings as having done more to provoke God to anger than all the kings of Israel who came before him), Moab stopped paying its taxes to Israel and, in effect, went into open rebellion against them. For this failure (not to mention Moab’s history of paganism and hostility toward Israel), Jeremiah pronounces the end of the Moabites as a people. The prophet also evokes an image of jars – this time full ‒ which he foretells will be emptied of their wine and then smashed to bits. No hope remains that the broken jars will be refilled and no hope remains for the people of Moab. The emptiness is the end. The Moabites’ jars had been filled with the wine of arrogance instead of being reserved for the fruits of faith. After being conquered by the Assyrians in 582 BCE, Moab vanished from history.
Emptiness is not confined to experiential despondency. We observe it in others with varying degrees of edification. The Gospel of Luke contrasts the experience of the poor and the rich before God, with the poor being filled with good things while the rich are sent away empty. Here, the Greek word κενός (kenos) is used to invoke the simultaneous notions of spiritual emptiness and how one might describe a jar expected to be full but is instead found put back on the pantry shelf after its contents had been consumed.
The Gospel here is more instructive than prophetic. The Sermon on the Mount resonates within the passage. The language provides more comfort to the economically poor and spiritually seeking than it provides actionable warning to the wealthy. The poor are given to take comfort from the hope that they will be rewarded for their faith while they watch their economic oppressors get their comeuppance. This rhetorical juxtaposition can only be described by your correspondent as an instance of schadenfreude.
The state of being empty can offer promise, warning, or contrast. It can energize us to action, illustrate lost opportunity, or describe the challenge of faith. For me, this previously empty page is a vehicle for my hope, now shared with you.
Selah
Dan attends Christ the Good Shepherd Lutheran Church in Hamden, Connecticut.