Author: Bulk Importer

It is my sixteenth birthday, and I am eating sushi at my favorite restaurant with my parents when I tell them that I would like to explore the possibility of taking a year in between high school and college to do mission work. This is unheard of in my family, and they say they are not sure and will think about it. I am nervous, but somehow I know it is right. He changes their hearts.

I have just turned 18, and find an orphanage online. I beg my parents to let me visit over break, just three weeks. A month later I am on a plane. I am so excited. I am so scared of being alone, but I know He is going with me. I fall in love.

I graduate high school having made the commitment to teach kindergarten for a year at a school in The Middle of Nowhere, Uganda. In August I get on the plane. I’m apprehensive, and I cry most of the way because I miss my mommy and my boyfriend. I am eager, but so uncertain. I trust Him. I teach 138 children how to speak English and to love Jesus.

It is October and I am just not sure I can do it anymore. I live in the smallest room I have ever seen in the back of a pastor’s house. I am more uncomfortable than I had bargained for. No one understands—not people here, not people at home. I am tired. But I am prideful, and I am not going to quit. I don’t like this. But I know He has a plan. I learn. I grow. He is there.

It is December, and God has spoken very clearly about opening a ministry that sponsors 40 of the orphaned children in the village where I am working. This involves moving into a different house, alone. It is big, and I cannot imagine how God will fill it up. I am lonely and I am anxious. But I am still trusting. He fills the house, and we now have 150 children sponsored.

It is January and I am looking at a little girl, crushed under a brick wall with no one to care for her or her younger siblings. I offer to take the three home with me until we find them a better placement. I am not really sure what to do with them, but I know they are God’s children. They stay.

It is three days later and the littlest looks at me and calls me mommy. My heart might break in two. Something clicks. I am even more scared than I was the day I stepped on that plane, but I know. Today I have 13.

I have to deliver a baby, give a boy stitches, pull a tooth, and give an injection. I am petrified. But no one will do it if I do not. He is present. He holds my hand. They are all fine.

It is August, and I must get on a plane back to America to go to college, as I have promised my father. I do not remember how to be a teenager or what it is to be normal in Brentwood, Tennessee. I will have to leave my babies. I will have to make new friends. I am sad, and I am terrified. He wraps His arms around me. He puts just the right people in just the right places, and they help me, and they make me feel at home.

First semester is over, and He speaks clearly to me that I cannot serve two masters. “Go home,” He says, “and stay.” I am uncertain, but I want to be obedient. He squeezes tighter. I am thankful.

I have to look at my loving parents who have given me everything and tell them that I will not go to college right now, because I feel God wants me to be in Uganda. I know how disappointed and how angry they will be. I am more scared than I was when I got on the plane and more scared than I was when I took my first children. But I know that this is the plan. They love me anyway.

It is February and my daughter’s biological father comes to take her away. My heart breaks in half, and I am not sure I will ever be able to get out of my bed again, let alone foster another child. I am more than devastated, but I want what is best for her, what He wants for her. She comes back, and her biological father learns about Jesus.

It is March, and a lame little girl is brought to my gate. She is undoubtedly mine, but I am still anxious. What if I can’t do it? I don’t know what to do with a special needs child, especially as my thirteenth child. I am criticized and ridiculed. I wonder. I trust and praise God for her sweet little life. She starts to walk.

I find myself in a village full of starving people that for some reason seem to want to kill me. God says to serve them anyway. I am not sure how it is going to work, or if it is safe. I can’t figure it out, but I know He can. Twelve hundred Karamajongs, the poorest of Uganda’s poor, are now served hot meals daily.

We keep taking in more children until there are 400 in our program. There is no way we will raise enough funds, but by now I have stopped worrying. He has always provided. Blessings rain from the sky, and all 400 children go to school.

I am 20 years old, and I have 13 children and 400 more who all depend on me for their care, who are all learning to love Jesus and be responsible adults and looking up to me. The reality of it all can be a bit overwhelming at times. It is, however, always pure joy. There is a common misconception that I am courageous. I will be the first to tell you that this is not actually true. Most of the time, I am not brave. I just believe in a God who will use me even though I am not. Most mornings, before I even get out of bed I am overwhelmed with His goodness, with his plan for my life; I stand in awe of the fact that He could entrust me with so much. Most days, I don’t have much of a plan. I don’t always know where this is going. I can’t see the end of the road, but here is the great part: courage is not about knowing the path. It is about taking the first step. It is about Peter, getting out of the boat. I do not know my five year plan; even tomorrow will probably not go as I have planned. I am thrilled, and I am terrified, in a good way. So some call it courage, some call it foolish, I call it faith. I choose to get out of the boat. To take the next step. Sometimes I walk straight into His arms. More often, I get scared and look down and stumble. Sometimes I almost completely drown. And through it all, He never lets go of my hand.

[Adapted from the original blog post: http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/2009/08/it-is-my-16th-birthday-and-i-am-eating.html]

Katie Davis is the founder of Amazima Ministries (http://www.facebook.com/pages/AMAZIMA-MINISTRIES/133121766698849?v=info), which serves the most vulnerable in Uganda through education, feeding, vocational outreach, discipleship, and medical care. Follow Katie on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/people/Katie-Davis/1513020117) or Twitter (http://www.twitter.com/#!/katieinuganda).

Christopher L. Heuertz and Christine D. Pohl. Friendship at the Margins: Discovering Mutuality in Service and Mission. Resources for Reconciliation. Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2010. 160 pp. $15.00.

Christopher Heuertz, international director of Word Made Flesh (an organization devoted to serving Jesus among the poorest of the poor), and Christine Pohl, professor of social ethics at Asbury Theological Seminary, team up to provide a compelling volume on friendship and ministry among the world’s poor, particularly the extreme and most vulnerable of the poor.

A programmatic statement that describes the thrust of the book is as follows: “Friendship with people who live on the margins of the larger society, who are generally feared, excluded or overlooked, invites us to reconsider the meaning and practice of mission” (73). In effect, this book calls the church to view relationality and gospel as necessary conditions of each other. Appropriately, the writing of the book itself is a product of friendship, as the authors’ brief narrative on how they came to collaborate on this book wonderfully recounts.

Pohl and Heuertz discuss several key commitments inherent in the very fabric of the gospel. Such include the rejection of any type of ministry or benevolence that flows in a mono-directional way, simply a transfer of resources (spiritual or material) from “giver” to “receiver.” They also challenge the notion, often prominent in mission practice (look at missionary living arrangements and social practices!), that social distance between donors and recipients is a tolerable, good, or even necessary arrangement. Rather, ministry assumes relationship.

At the heart of this book, however, is the call to refuse to view others as “objects of charity” in ministry (26). They warn about the possibility (reality in many places!) of communities that have been saturated with missional activity but where the good news has not been embodied in a consistent presence of love, concern, and friendship. It is in such situations where “folks know that they have been targets of one more program” (73). Such is not ministry, gospel, or friendship, but religious marketing.

Ministry that follows in Jesus’ footsteps, instead, is about seeing the “Other” as friend. A person becomes a friend when they are “not seen as a project or needy recipient but as a fellow traveler” (102). This counters any tendency of reducing people to “targets” or “converts,” a constant temptation in our consumerist, marketing-driven culture.

As for specific practices, Pohl and Heuertz suggest that the core of friendship involves, among other things, eating together and sharing ourselves as much as we share our resources. Such practices can help move ministry from a “need/solutions” paradigm to one of sharing joy and sharing life (50).

This is an important book. In fact, for me it passes the litmus test of good theological literature—it made me rethink my own practices, both personal and ministerial. The authors illustrate in anecdotes and theoretical discussion concrete strategies for forging such real and gospel-laden friendships.

Taken seriously, the authors’ suggestions could reshape how many of us view ministry and practice evangelism. Their brief but powerful sections “Facing our Tangled Consumption Patterns” (61) and “Is the ‘Plunder from the Poor’ in My House?” (55) should be required reading for all who engage in ministry and mission as they force us to take inventory of our own complicity in certain forms of global injustice.

The chapters are full of rich and challenging personal anecdotes, but also include mature and wise discussions of weighty theological challenges and ministry issues. Also, they include a brief but helpful study guide.

I do not know if over the past few years I have read a book as compelling and critical as Friendship at the Margins. Buy it. Teach it. Put it into practice.

Chris Flanders

Associate Professor of Mission

Graduate School of Theology

Abilene Christian University

Abilene, Texas, USA

Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert. When Helping Hurts: How to Alleviate Poverty without Hurting the Poor . . . and Yourself. Chicago: Moody, 2009. 230 pp. $14.99.

Good intentions are seldom sufficient to insure effective development: indeed, considerable harm has been done in the name of helping. Authors Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert attempt to bolster good intentions with a theology of poverty and development and a handful of contemporary development principles in their primer, When Helping Hurts. An excellent introduction to Christian humanitarian development—accessible and mainstream in its development views—it brings development into holistic Christian mission and aligns it with contemporary development thought. The book is well-suited as an introduction to mission support groups—missions committees, non-profit boards, short-term mission teams, church leaders and members—who are exploring humanitarian activities in missions and ministry.

Under Brian Fikkert’s leadership, the Chalmers Center at Covenant College (Lookout Mountain, Georgia) has garnered a reputation for Christian-based education and training in micro-level development. When Helping Hurts is the second book of national note to come from its faculty, the first being Christian Microenterprise Development (David Bussau and Russell Mask, Paternoster, 2003).

When Helping Hurts is divided into three parts, with each part containing three chapters. Part one provides a theological glance at poverty which largely adopts Bryant Myers’s (Walking with the Poor, Orbis, 1999) framework reflecting a motif of restoring broken relationships with God, self, others, and creation. Starting from a biblical framework avoids an exclusive or competing view of spiritual versus material brokenness, and includes both as subject to the redemptive work of Christ. A biblical framework also draws attention to the criticality of surfacing perceptions about the causes of poverty that shape development policy and practice as well as helpers’ self-perceptions, including “god-complexes.” The authors offer a brief historical context of Evangelicals being repelled by early twentieth-century social Christianity. (Humanitarian engagements among conservative branches of the Stone-Campbell movement appear to follow a similar trajectory, but for somewhat different reasons.)

The second part of the book addresses basic development principles. The authors begin by differentiating among relief, rehabilitation, and development and outlining the appropriate role for each. This issue is important since sustainable impact and delivery are critical considerations in effective ministry organizing; too often, Christian humanitarian practice has applied short-term responses to long-term issues. The authors proceed to introduce an asset-based approach to development (How can we build upon assets?) in contrast to the common needs-based approach (How can we remedy deficits?). They also introduce the notion of co-participant roles in contrast to paternalistic roles. These perspectives are widely endorsed in development practice and deserve additional careful unpacking and application.

The third part of the book attempts to apply the theological and development insights offered thus far to short-term, domestic, and international missions and humanitarian efforts. The authors are largely critical of short-term missions, although they offer a few suggestions to minimize their harm. They provide examples of community development (including job preparedness, financial literacy programs, and individual development accounts) and introduce microfinance and business as mission. These topics require considerable additional development before they would be actionable. The authors recognize the complexity of development contexts and responses which prevent such an introductory work from exposing the reader to the kaleidoscope of unique contexts and participants.

When Helping Hurts is an introduction. As such, it offers brief examples but no in-depth case studies or first steps toward development planning. Christian ministries and individuals engaging in poverty alleviation is the focus; the reform of national or international policy, institutions, or development efforts on a macro scale is left unexplored. A website supports the book (http://www.whenhelpinghurts.org), offering a study guide and inviting visitors to consider training courses from the Chalmers Center.

When Helping Hurts is an initial corrective to spiritual-material dualism, paternalism and dependence, material definitions of poverty, and generic development strategies. It offers caveats on short-term relief and missions and offers rudimentary principles for those unfamiliar with development studies. The volume hints that considerable development and theological resources exist on this topic and that both are worthwhile to explore when engaging in humanitarian ventures. Equipping should not stop with this book, but it is an excellent place to begin.

Monty L. Lynn

Professor

College of Business Administration

Abilene Christian University

Abilene, Texas, USA

James Butare-Kiyovu, editor. International Development from a Kingdom Perspective. WCIU Press: International Development Series 2. Pasadena: William Carey International University Press, 2010. 166 pp. $9.95.

There continues to be a coming together of the two dominant paradigms in missions going back to the Lausanne Congress on World Evangelization in 1974. The evangelistic emphasis underlying the unreached peoples paradigm is broadening to be more inclusive of the transformational development paradigm. No longer do Evangelicals wince at ministries of justice. Today’s gospel emissaries are blending the first words of Jesus (Luke 4:18–20) with the last words of Jesus (Matt 28:18–20) as they develop their missional theology. The church is out in the community and the world in force, be it adopting an underprivileged school, cleaning up the neighborhood, planting churches, or ministering to those with HIV/AIDS.

James Butare-Kiyovu is Associate Professor of Applied Linguistics at William Carey International University. He has edited an eclectic book, many of whose articles have been published elsewhere. With chapters on the last two centuries of missions (Ralph Winter), missio Dei (Eddie Arthur), economic justice (David Befus and Stephan Bauman), ministry to children (Luis Bush), shalom (Beth Snodderly), a prayer guide utilizing the Millennium Development Goals (Micah Challenge), the genocide in Rwanda (Butare-Kiyovu), and more, there is something here for everybody who has an interest in holistic mission.

In a seminar in 2007, Ralph Winter wondered aloud if there should be a fourth era of missions. He had previously written about three eras between 1800 and 2000 (the article is reprinted in this book), but was now suggesting a fourth one: the Kingdom Era. It was this concept that helped influence the titling of this volume.

Of special interest to readers of this journal is Eddie Arthur’s article, “Missio Dei” (49–66). Arthur traces the development of the concept through history, beginning with Augustine but especially emphasizing the period from World War II through the present. He concludes by linking missio Dei to trinitarian mission and stating that the concept saves the church from having to choose between either social change or fundamentalism (61).

David Befus and Stephan Bauman’s selection, “Economic Justice for the Poor” (89–100), begins with the biblical foundation for justice. After considering the church’s mandate for justice, they conclude with a series of twenty action steps. The following two quotations sum up the main thrust of these steps: “We need to invest in women and children with the message of economic justice as a means of transforming the next generation” (97). “We need to promote understanding of the negative ecological impact of economic injustice” (99). These twenty steps provide an undeniable agenda for mission in our time.

In his chapter, Luis Bush makes an eloquent plea for involvement in what he calls the 4/14 window. Bush, who had earlier coined the well-known phrase “10/40 window,” says that the top priority for missions should be working with children, those who range in age from four to fourteen. He points to the overlap between poverty, illiteracy, and hunger that wreak havoc on children, many of whom live in the 10/40 window. He writes about children at risk: “Millions are at risk from poverty, but millions are also at risk from prosperity! Many children and young people today have everything to live with, but nothing to live for” (129). Children are not to be targeted just so that they may have abundant and eternal life, but because they can transform the world (137).

The most unique and practical entry is supplied by the Micah Challenge, “Prayer Stations Guide on the Millennium Development Goals” (143–54). The Challenge transforms each goal into a prayer station. At each station there is a comment on the specific goal, a hands-on activity related to the goal, prayer suggestions, and a brief Scripture passage.

The book’s weakness, in addition to the annoying misspellings in the references and the bibliographies, is its lack of progression from chapter to chapter. There seems to be no logical flow to this book. It is as if the editor could not decide whether his book should be a biblical study, an overview of development theory in missions, or a collection of random case studies.

Doug Priest

Executive Director

Christian Missionary Fellowship International

Indianapolis, Indiana, USA

Richard Stearns. The Hole in Our Gospel: What Does God Expect of Us? The Answer that Changed My Life and Might Just Change the World. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2009. 303 pp. $15.99.

Richard Stearns has accomplished something very significant with The Hole in Our Gospel. Stearns presides over the US division of the well-known Christian humanitarian organization, World Vision International. Out of his experiences before and after assuming that post, he writes a moving and challenging call to all who identify themselves as Christians to move beyond common reductionisms and embrace the whole gospel of the kingdom of God. Specifically, he challenges the spiritualized gospel that overlooks Jesus’ good news for the poor and oppressed regarding their actual life circumstances—and therefore overlooks the church’s responsibility as proclaimers of that holistic message.

In keeping with the intention to reach a very broad audience, the book is written on a popular level. Stearns compellingly weaves together autobiography, narrative, biblical commentary, and statistics, making for an enjoyable but gripping read. The personal touch of his own story of calling, resistance, and revelation exudes humility, conveying to the reader that he writes from a place of empathy rather than judgment. In this way, he is able to make the bold claim that the very gospel the reader may have heard or accepted might be an incomplete and therefore falsified version of Jesus’ message and claim on the would-be disciple. In fact, the answer to the overlong subtitle is, “God asks us for everything” (1)—a claim the affluent American Christian audience that Stearns targets could easily dismiss as hyperbole were it not for the finesse of his presentation.

The main idea of the book, then, is that the very essence of Christianity—the gospel—has been profoundly misunderstood by the majority of believers, in the Western world at least. This is, of course, a deeply theological claim that requires substantiation. Yet, it is a claim that the less accessible theological literature already widely confirms. Stearns admits he does not have theological training, though he evinces a familiarity with at least the contours of the corresponding academic discussion. In fact, the book fairly represents the emerging scholarly consensus on the holistic nature of Jesus’ kingdom message. The result is that the real contribution of the book is its ability to communicate more widely and effectively than other kinds of publications, which it accomplishes spectacularly.

Though there is a logical progression to the book, the sense of structure is minimized by the interjection of personal stories throughout, as well as the fact that some of the autobiography is not chronological. The movement begins with the problem (Part 1: The Hole in My Gospel—and Maybe Yours). It then brings the reader through a corrective (Part 2: The Hole Gets Deeper), an introduction to the need for the whole gospel (Part 3: A Hole in the World), and a look at the church’s common failure to respond (Part 4: A Hole in the Church). Finally, it ends with a challenge to practical action (Part 5: Repairing the Hole). It is a good introduction to the concerns of Christian charities and developmental organizations, from the core beliefs that motivate them to the challenges they face. Stearns’s portrayal of the struggle to bringing churches into substantial partnership may be particularly illuminating for readers from church traditions that have been historically reticent to allow parachurch organizations to do what ought to be the church’s work.

As someone who has become jaded about the emotional ploy of so many “sponsor a child” television commercials (of which World Vision has aired its share), I greatly appreciate the line that Stearns walks between guilt and motivation. In large part, the book’s emotionally convicting stories strike me as his personal testimony to the way that committed praxis has shaped his theology. That is a significant point by itself. The chapters on the “hole in the world” are especially well done, conveying the rather overwhelming statistical data in an understandable and humanized way, while at the same time managing sensitivity to the hopelessness that the information can instill. Another very helpful section is the brief discussion of the historical parting of the ways between liberals and conservatives over the social gospel. Stearns makes it clear that neither side came away with the whole gospel according to Jesus, helping some move beyond that dispute and conscientizing others to historical forces that shape their assumptions.

The author’s theological training aside, any book written for such a broad audience will inevitably oversimplify some things. With a view to the book’s purpose and style, that cannot be a criticism but must be an observation. This volume is a wonderful starting place for renewed reflection on the gospel, but the church cannot stop here. Notably, there is an overrealized eschatology evident in Stearns’s presentation. His rhetoric is probably justified, because the church is already so hesitant without mentioning the “not yet” aspect of God’s kingdom, but we must faithfully represent Jesus’ total message nonetheless.

There is also a Christendom mentality in the book, and Stearns actually refers to “Christendom” explicitly (216, 238). His vision for what could happen if all of Christendom were mobilized into generosity and service is a hopeful one, and an organization like World Vision cannot discriminate in its acceptance of donors and sponsors—nor should it. Yet, theologians in the late modern era have decried Christendom for good reason. Stearns needs to consider the implications of affirming Christendom on the basis of its economic potential, lest he sell out the whole gospel he intends to reclaim.

With these cautions registered, I heartily recommend the work as a vital and timely contribution. May the church ever return to a vision of the whole gospel!

Greg McKinzie

Missionary

Arequipa, Peru

Visit http://www.cudaperu.org to learn about the developmental ministry happening in Arequipa.

Most of us know that a sick person needs someone to care for them. This seems to be the reality everywhere. Yet, there is another truth many people may not know—that of the sick person caring for others.

Those who are familiar with world events might know about the catastrophe that occurred in Rwanda in 1994, a genocide where around a million people were killed in only one hundred days. No one could imagine the future of a country left with brokenhearted people, orphans, and perpetrators of genocide. Obviously, the next thing to happen was for the people and the country to fall down without hope to get up again. Many of us were left with very deeply wounded hearts. This was my story.

I was born in Rwanda. When I was a young boy, I was so embarrassed by the hatred and ignorance that the former government and people had of my people group because of our ethnicity. I wondered if we had been created like other people. My question was, why are we hated for nothing? I could never find a satisfying answer.

I was born into a large family. Of seven children, I was the fifth. When I was only 5 years old my father died, and we struggled to survive with just my mother. Eight years later, she also died. At age of 13 I was an orphan.

Honestly, I did not enjoy my childhood. It was full of pain.

When the genocide took place against my ethnic group in 1994, I was 14 years old. To be honest my thought was that we were completely abandoned by everyone in the world, including God. From the morning of April 7th until April 20th, my siblings and I were stuck about one mile from the escape to Congo. We were one mile from freedom and life. Despite our effort, we did not manage to cross that one mile because of the rebel groups on the roads. Not to be able to pass one mile was the biggest shock of my life. By the grace of God I survived—but not without great loss. Before April 20th, 1994, I was the fifth born in my family; afterwards, I was the oldest.

The day after losing my siblings, as I was exiting the country, I looked back on the hills and thought, “How could anyone on earth not despise this place?”

One month later, I came back to Rwanda, passing through Uganda. Post-genocide Rwanda was an undesirable place to live. At 14 years old, I wondered how to continue to live in a situation of such pain, with no home and no family or friends. It seemed that everything was destroyed, and I did not have any idea of what to do next. I felt that my responsibility was to be a father for my remaining younger sister and brother. It was very strange to have such a feeling of fatherhood for my sister who is only three years younger and my brother who is only five years younger than me.

Later, my sister and brother went to live with my aunt, and I went back to boarding school. During the holidays I did not have a home; instead I was left jumping from home to home among different relatives, then going back to school. It was a challenge to find someone to read my report card. It made me feel such pain not to have a family. Within such a story of pain, I didn’t have any idea of where things were heading.

Many times I thought that my life would be miserable and hopeless because of what I had passed through. But God surprised me and turned that painful story into a good story. I committed to help others not to pass through what I had faced, and today I have a good life, full of compassion, peace, hope, and joy. Truly, my joy comes from using my broken story to redeem other broken stories. Since we started to serve and allow God to use our painful lives to bless others, we learned that orphans can be a blessing to others instead of a burden! Orphans could be generous like everyone else. There are several typical examples; one of them is a story of a young man called Jean Bosco Mugemana.

Bosco Mugemana is an orphan who lost his father in the 1994 genocide. He survived with his mother and three siblings. Three years later his mother died. He was eleven when he lost his mother, and he suddenly became the father of three. By the grace of God, they survived those struggles.

Two and a half years ago, I got to know him and met several people at his home. I asked if they were all relatives, and he explained to me that many of them were not. He told me that many of them were orphans like himself who had no place to stay. My next question was about where they got food. With a smile he responded, “God blesses us in our crops.” Even though I have been an orphan longer than him, I hold him as a role model of generosity and Christlikeness.

Xtra Mile Ministries has grown from stories such as Bosco’s and mine. The idea that those with no family could receive a family led us to form the Xtra Mile community. Its purpose goes beyond ordinary meetings; it is a family gathering. We share meals, study the Bible, solve problems, assist those who are sick, and also have lots of fun. Through this community, God has touched many people’s hearts. It was a dream for some of them to find a community where they would feel that they are free to share from their hearts.

But one community is not enough. Around the country of Rwanda there are thousands of orphans who need someone to visit and comfort them. The Xtra Mile Mobile Family is a group of people who are committed to be family to these orphans. To be in such a group requires the price of being away from our comfort zones. Sometimes it means walking many kilometers to arrive at the orphans’ homes. The cost of Mobile Family is simply to be like Jesus.

The typical trip involves an overnight (or multiple nights’) stay in someone’s house, some form of tangible blessing (building a fence or garden, for example), followed by a fellowship where the Word is shared in small groups. Orphans who succeed in school are rewarded with an Xtra Mile T-shirt. Finally, we encourage them to form their own community that functions as a family centered around Jesus and the simple values of XM (love, trusting in God, sharing, and patience).

Mobile Family includes volunteers who have families as well as orphans who are devoted to be family for those who live alone. When it started, few orphans participated, but today more than 90% of Mobile Family volunteers are orphans! How great it is to see orphans visiting and comforting other fellow orphans!

Through my relationship with Jean Bosco and other orphans like myself, I’ve learned that the worst poverty is in the heart and mind and that material poverty is much easier to solve. The only problem the world has is that it needs to know what God wants people to be like.

Jesus, at the house of a leper named Simon, tells his disciples the often quoted saying, “The poor will always be with you” (Matt 26:11). He is quoting Deut 15:11, which continues, “therefore I command you to be openhanded toward your brothers and toward the poor and needy in your land” (NIV). Far from justifying poverty, the indicative of the poor being in the land implies an imperative, even a command, to be “open-handed.” Jesus’ allusion to this Deuteronomy passage comes right after the parable of the sheep and goats, where Jesus tells his disciples that when they serve and care for those in “poverty” and “pain” that they are actually encountering and caring for Jesus himself. Jesus entered into the thunderstorm of humanity, identified with the impoverished, the poor, the weak, and the brokenhearted, and he invites us still today to encounter him there.

I have encountered Jesus in several orphans like Jean Bosco, who may be called very poor from many people’s perspectives, but their life makes more sense and is much closer than others’ lives to the image that Jesus commands.

My conviction is that God has blessed people with enough. There is enough for everyone’s need but not everyone’s greed. The next concern is to know how to use our blessings. Bosco took his struggles and made his home a home for those with no family.

What about you and me?

Charles Kabeza is the founder of Xtra Mile Ministries (http://www.xtramiles.org), which seeks to rebuild family among Rwandan orphans.  He is also the National Director for Africa Transformation Network (http://www.atn-rwanda.org).  Charles lives in Kigali, Rwanda.

“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” – Jesus (Acts 1:8)1

It was about 17 years ago that my wife and I left the staff of an inner-city ministry in Chicago and moved back to my hometown of Indianapolis. I had been hired by a suburban megachurch to serve as the Minister of Urban Outreach. And this wasn’t just any church. This had been the first megachurch in Indiana. And it had been the first one within my tradition of the Restoration Movement, serving as the flagship, admired from near and far. The church had set the standard for foreign missions giving 50% of the budget to outreach and had led the way in church planting, having caught the vision long before it was on the radar screen of most suburban churches. And now they were committed to being engaged in ministry to the city. The senior minister, who was approaching retirement, had served in that role for 45 years and was considered the elder statesman of our movement. A man of quiet strength and a great teacher who that year had been recognized by a local publication as “The Most Influential Clergyman in Indiana,” ahead of what they called more media-savvy pastors.

For me it was a thrilling time. My wife and I were committed to continuing to live in an impoverished community. I would do the reverse commute, heading out to the suburbs on most days and back into the inner city in the evening. I was going to have many opportunities to teach and even an occasional turn in the pulpit. I was excited to share with others about our specific call; to a ministry among the poor and a ministry of racial reconciliation. And I was charged with leading the church’s effort to establish a “significant presence in the inner city.” We had visions of unleashing an army of Christians willing to leave the four walls of their church, bringing with them their time, talent, and treasure. And we believed the best strategy was to come alongside churches and Christian ministries already working in the city, to learn from them and establish lasting and mutually beneficial partnerships.

As I look back on that time I don’t think I was a particularly naïve person. I had a secular career after college and then God led me to seminary. I had been working in urban ministry for a number of years. But it didn’t take long for me to get slapped in the face with the realization of how daunting the task before me was. On my second weekend at the church I was asked to teach the largest Sunday School class. There were approximately 100 people there, mostly middle-age folks or older, some of whom had been with the church back when it moved to the suburbs from the city in the 1970s. There was a scattering of current and former elders along with deacons and other leaders.

I decided to start with a little experiment that I had once heard about another pastor doing. I started by asking the group to give me one or two word statements in answer to the question, What are the major themes in the Bible? I really wanted to see how many other things would be mentioned before somebody said something about caring for the poor. I started writing their responses on the board. I got about 15 answers before things started to slow down and 31 before they seemed to stop completely. When I stepped back to look at what I had written I saw the words: love, grace, forgiveness, evangelism, Spirit, Jesus, atonement, the Father, sin, Heaven, Hell, the law, obedience. The fruit of the Spirit was there. Redemption and judgment were in there. It didn’t happen until the end, but a couple of people managed to get money and idolatry on the board.

But to my shock and surprise I didn’t see anything about the poor, or any of the subcategories like the widow, the orphan, and the alien. The next hour became an exercise in trying to point out that they had missed the second most prominent theme in the entire Bible without sounding like I was scolding them. I was wise enough to know that that wouldn’t be a good way for a young minister to introduce himself to the leaders of the church.

I would walk that line for the next seven years, and not always effectively. I had some in the church affirm what they believed to be the prophetic voice in me while others expressed their displeasure at my arrogance and lack of respect. At one point, in response to an article that I had written about our spending priorities, I had an elder jam his finger into my chest and tell me, “Don’t judge my house or my car. Judge my heart.” He seemed to miss the part of the article where I talked about the biblical notion that the main way you can see what is in a person’s heart is to see how he spends his money.

Well, the church struggled to replace the outgoing senior minister and floundered for many years without strong leadership. Membership became something of a revolving door with 50% of the church membership turning over in just three years. We managed to start a wonderful after-school sports ministry in partnership with some caring inner-city churches. And despite my best effort, eventually the initial excitement surrounding our urban ministry effort wore off. I was asked to fill some needed roles at the church including becoming the primary preacher in contemporary worship (with topics chosen by the elders). Urban ministry was afforded less and less of my time and the church’s attention.

So it was no surprise that during a difficult budget year the elders decided to reduce the staff. Four ministers were let go. I was one of them, as my position was officially eliminated. Two years later, after a new senior minister was hired, the church cut off financial support to many ministries in the city, including the program that it had birthed.

Looking back at the time I felt like my ministry had been a complete failure. When asked I expressed very little hope that the American church, dominated by suburban megachurches and their leaders, would ever get serious about God’s mandate to care for the “least of these.” I myself did not heed advice that I often gave to others about not underestimating what God can do and not dreaming too small. While we continued to live in our community and work with our neighbors, I left full-time ministry, took a job working construction, and started preparing to go to law school.

But then a funny thing happened on the way to the Bar. Just before starting school I was contacted by the board of the ministry that I had helped start. They asked me to consider stepping in as executive director, a position for which I was not really qualified. But after praying about it for many weeks, I agreed to assume the position on an interim basis, deferring my matriculation to school for a year. That was six years ago, and I am still there but no longer the director. We merged with a larger, healthier ministry and began to operate at four different locations.

And in the oddest twist of God’s providence I now spend a considerable amount of my time teaching and training at our partner churches, made up mostly of suburban megachurches. But where I once felt despair, I am beginning to see hope. Where I became discouraged, I am now uplifted. I have begun to sense a real hunger in these churches for a form of Christianity that is less focused on self and more focused on others.

These churches are led by relatively young ministers or by more mature men that have come to the ministry from other vocations. They preach and attempt to model a gospel that is much more comprehensive than the one I grew up hearing about. They dedicate time to issues of justice, mercy, and caring for the poor. In one of our partner churches I was asked to come and teach a six-week introduction to poverty class called Poverty 101. Over 700 people attended the class including the senior minister and a majority of the staff. In the spring I will be teaching that class at another church for the third time. This year our ministry is partnering with an entire presbytery of the PCA to provide teaching and training for mercy ministries.

And these days I see many churches are focused on getting their congregations out the door to serve. Many are catching on to a trend of canceling weekend services in favor of a “Weekend of Service.” Our ministry has been asked to help find service projects for as many as 1000 people at a time. That is not an easy task, but it is a wonderful problem to have. My favorite t-shirt last year was one that declared, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the church has left the building.”

Beyond being willing to forego a weekend offering (not an insignificant sum), these churches are increasing their budgets in the area of local missions. Here in Indy a few churches are partnering to focus on one of the poorest communities, each church committing $100K per year to the effort. And while they are increasing their giving, they are reducing the number of places that the money goes, in order to engage the church and individual members of the congregation more intentionally. These churches are putting their money behind their words.

And I have been pleased to see that it is not a movement characterized by a paternalistic approach. These churches don’t enter impoverished neighborhoods with the attitude that they are experts sent to save the people there. There is a great recognition that God is already there and that faithful saints and servants are doing his work. They are submitting themselves to the Spirit and asking God, “Where would you have us serve?” and “With whom would you have us partner?”

I honestly believe that what we are seeing in these churches is a movement of the Holy Spirit like the one foretold in Acts 1:8. I consider this verse something of an addendum to the Great Commission. Our Lord told us to go and, as we go, to make disciples, baptizing them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And in Acts he tells us where to go: Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and the ends of the earth. The American church has focused pretty well on three of those places. We have taught our congregations how to share the gospel using The Four Spiritual Laws tracts, and trained them in Evangelism Explosion and any number of other programs so that they would be equipped to share the gospel with their neighbors (Jerusalem). We have ignited a church planting movement that focuses on establishing an evangelical witness to growing communities throughout the country, but it is rarely cross-cultural (Judea). And we have a long and rich history of sending missionaries throughout the world. We have missions agencies that help us strategize and focus on the unreached people groups so that everyone can hear the gospel (the ends of the earth).

But what we haven’t done well is focus on Samaria. To the audience hearing the words of Jesus, Samaria was the area nearby where the people were different, hated, and feared at the same time. Our Lord understood that this was an area to which the New Testament church would not really want to go. He understood that the Jews’ hatred and fear of Samaria needed to be dealt with. He knew that the prejudice was likely to carry over to the church. And so time and time again he poked the Jews with stories and actions designed to remind them of the humanity of the Samaritans and his Father’s love for them. Luke tells the stories of the Good Samaritan (10:25–37) and the Samaritan leper (17:11–19). And John tells the story of the Samaritan woman at the well (4:1–42). And if we look at the history of the New Testament church, we see that the lesson didn’t take very well and had to be taught again. In Acts 10 we see the Holy Spirit dealing with Peter in what is called his second conversion, where he utters the words, “I now realize how true it is that God does not show favoritism but accepts from every nation the one who fears him and does what is right” (10:34–35). That was from the undisputed leader of the New Testament church.

Samaria, to the American church today, is the area nearby where people are different racially, economically, and socially. It is our inner cities. It is our immigrant communities, urban, suburban, and rural.

To travel to Samaria today means crossing the county, the city, the neighborhood, or even the street. It means crossing boundaries that are more cultural, traditional, and economic than geographic. It means journeying over lines that are rarely traversed. It means tackling some of our biggest sins and biggest issues, overcoming fear, prejudice, and social pressure. And the words of our Lord make it clear that we do not have a choice. To quote Ray Bakke:

The whole gospel is for the whole world. One does not have the right to do an end run around the nearby socially displaced peoples to go to the ends of the earth in the name of Jesus. Humanly speaking, to evangelize people you hate is an incredibly radical act. To offer the good news of forgiveness by God and reconciliation with God and with each other will pave the way for other social services.2

So what is “good news to the poor”? I believe it is the fact that the Evangelical church is undergoing something of a revival, and in this revival it is being reminded of its mandate to care for the poor. And we are growing in our understanding of what it means to walk alongside the poor, to share the good news, to share our blessings, and to share our lives. I believe that the only hope, the only real hope, in making a difference in the lives of the poor is found in the Holy Spirit working through the Body of Christ to bring the gospel message of Jesus Christ to all. Making a difference in the lives of the oppressed, the widow, the orphan, and the alien is about the transformative power of God’s Spirit demonstrated when the church lives out its mandate to care by leaving the four walls and heading out into the world.

And as I have spent the last twenty years with one foot in the world of the poor and the other in the church I find what is happening to be very exciting. But the coolest part for me is that leaving the building and heading out into the world is the only hope for the church as well. Taking the gospel message of Jesus Christ outside the walls and to the hurting people in the world around us is about saving us too.

The church today, particularly the Evangelical church, has a problem. We have a problem. We have been so caught up in the world—in a materialist culture, in a self-serving society, in a struggle for political power—that we have become irrelevant to most of society. It is hard today to tell who is a believer and who isn’t. Our God, our Creator, our Redeemer, our Lord has a special place in his heart for the poor and oppressed. And if we are not out doing his work among them, then we fail to be the counter-cultural agents of change that he wants us to be.

Alexander Berdyaev says:

There is no longer any room in the world for a merely external form of Christianity, based upon custom. The world is entering upon a period of catastrophe and crisis when we are being forced to take sides, and in which a higher and more intense spiritual life will be demanded of Christians.3

But if the church pursues this higher and more intense spiritual life, which includes caring for those that the world would rather forget, then we “will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor” (Isaiah 61:3). The hope expressed in Isaiah 58 is the same hope the church can have today:

To share your food with the hungry

and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—

when you see the naked, to clothe him,

and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn,

and your healing will quickly appear;

then your righteousness will go before you,

and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.

Then you will call, and the Lord will answer;

you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.

If you do away with the yoke of oppression,

with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry

and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,

then your light will rise in the darkness,

and your night will become like the noonday.

The Lord will guide you always;

he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land

and will strengthen your frame.

You will be like a well-watered garden,

like a spring whose waters never fail.

Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins

and will raise up the age-old foundations;

you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,

Restorer of Streets with Dwellings. (58:7–12)

Tim Streett is the Assistant Director of Shepherd Community Center, a faith-based, non-profit organization established with the mission of breaking the cycle of poverty on the Near Eastside of Indianapolis. Read Tim’s bio at http://www.shepherdcommunity.org.

Columbus sailed toward India to prove the world was round. While traveling from America to India 500 years later, Thomas Friedman discovered that “the world is flat.”1 In his “brief history of the twenty-first century,” Friedman describes how the connectedness of the world through technology has leveled the playing field for small businesses and individuals to compete in local, national, and international commerce—“flattening the world” to an unprecedented and unpredicted degree. Does this have implications for the church?

Outsourcing, insourcing, sharing information, and high-speed communication make it possible to increase production, raise efficiency, lower costs, and accomplish all of this at record speeds. Data can be transferred safely and instantaneously to other sites anywhere in the world at almost no cost. Friedman discovered that his tax return, being handled by a firm in Chicago, may be sent to Mumbai to have all the data crunched by professionals there and then returned to Chicago. Airline tickets can be arranged by a travel agent with a New York address as she sits at her laptop in the living room of her rural Utah home (someone had to stay home and watch the kids). An unmanned military drone, controlled by a young lady in a military office in Las Vegas, takes high definition video of an Iraqi neighborhood that is simultaneously viewed on wide screen monitors at a command post in Baghdad. The polite young man taking a customer’s order at the double lane drive-thru at a McDonalds in Missouri facilitates the burger purchases via video for three different restaurants at the same time at a monitor in another state.

Not only is the world smaller but these advances make it possible for the average person to compete with much bigger businesses. EBay and Craig’s List seem to make everyone a successful merchant. Opportunity is available to the little guy. The playing field is flattened. Friedman extends this metaphor of a “flat world” brilliantly through 600 pages of anecdotes. It is not a surprise that he is a Pulitzer Prize–winning author. He successfully demonstrates how technology has enabled us to shrink the world to a manageable size, “from everywhere, to right next to you,” making interaction both global and personal.

It occurs to me that there has been a flattening of the world in terms of church opportunity as well. Yesterday, I was able to correspond with Peter, a friend and Christian brother I met in a small village in western Kenya. He wrote me and I wrote him! It was fast and easy but represents an interaction that would have taken a month, two aerograms, ninety cents, and a trip to the Kenya post office back when we first met in 1984. Our church can have an e-mission committee meeting and include deaf Christians from Europe who are using sign language in front of a camera. We can deposit a thousand dollars into First Security Bank in Abilene, and pull it out of an ATM machine anywhere in the world. Recently, another dear friend called from Nairobi just to say hello. I asked if I should call her back, but she said it was no problem; she could talk for 20 minutes for about a dollar. Claudia and I paid four dollars per minute in the Eighties (I’m still sore about that). Things have changed!

Early missionaries took weeks to cross the world in ocean vessels. For example, J. C. Shewmaker and his family sailed to Zambia in 1939 and had one furlough in forty years, but air travel has made it possible for missionaries to take furloughs every few years. Elders and church members can visit foreign fields to oversee and to encourage missionaries and brothers and sisters from new churches. Missionary newsletters are available to thousands of people as online PDF files with color pictures (some newsletters are still available on real paper). In times of crisis, tens of thousands of people can be contacted in hours via email. Cell phones are everywhere. Internet cafés seem to open overnight.

The world is getting smaller. But there are still certain perspectives from which the world has not leveled out. After sharing some of these thoughts with a friend from Venezuela, he said he agreed with Friedman; that in many ways the world had flattened, but in others, it is still unlevel because “all the goodies seem to roll over to one side.” The mountains are higher and the valleys are lower. A quick Google search indicates that 25,000 people die of starvation every day (many estimates are closer to 50,000). Over a billion people (more than one in six) do not have access to clean water to drink. Every eight seconds a child dies from waterborne disease.2 In 2007 it was reported that 881,000 people died of malaria,3 1.7 million people died of tuberculosis,4 and 2.2 million people died of HIV/AIDS.5 These are treatable and preventable diseases and problems, yet they cannot be prevented or treated without access to the necessary resources. The number of people who have fled armed conflict and are living in refugee and IDP camps is a staggering 42 million.6

But there is good news on the horizon. Solutions are within reach. The cost of providing clean drinking water to half of the 1.1 billion who need it is $15 billion a year.7 Though that is a lot of money, it is less than 3% of the US national defense budget.8 Antiretroviral medications for HIV/AIDS cost $140 per patient per year, down from $10,000 ten years ago.9 Malaria could almost be eliminated with bed nets ($6 each), anti-malarial treatments ($2 per dose), preventative treatment for pregnant women, and indoor residual spraying.10

Progress has been made in almost all of these areas of need. Much of the assistance given to desperate people has come from government and non-government organizations outside of the Christian community. Yet, as Christians, we have a mandate to demonstrate this kind of love to our neighbors. If the same question were asked of Jesus today that was posed 2000 years ago—“Who is my neighbor?”—I suspect he would answer with a story that would surprise us. It might include a Palestinian. Or an Iraqi. An Afghan, African, Indian, or homeless person in Nashville. The story might end with words like, “I was hungry and you fed me . . . I was thirsty and you gave me drink . . . I was sick and you cared for me.”

Isaiah prophesied about Jesus’ coming and the appearance of his predecessor. John the Baptist was:

A voice of one calling in the desert,

“Prepare the way for the Lord.

Make straight paths for him.

Every valley shall be filled in,

Every mountain and hill made low.

The crooked roads shall become straight,

The rough ways smooth.

And all mankind will see God’s salvation.”

(Luke 3:4–6; cf. Isa 40:3–5)11

John was to preach of a flattening of the earth and a straightening of the way. He told his followers to bear fruit in keeping with repentance and spoke of an axe that was already at the root of fruitless trees. His disciples asked, “What should we do then?” Is it coincidence that all of his answers dealt with helping the poor—the privileged helping their neighbors?

“The man with two tunics should share with him who has none, and the one who has food should do the same.”

Tax collectors also came to be baptized. “Teacher,” they asked, “what should we do?”

“Don’t collect any more than you are required to,” he told them.

Then some soldiers asked him, “And what should we do?”

He replied, “Don’t extort money and don’t accuse people falsely—be content with your pay.” (Luke 3:11–14)

This account of John the Baptist’s interaction with the crowd is recorded by Luke in the book he addressed to “most excellent Theophilus” (1:3). This title may indicate that Theophilus was a wealthy man, certainly a man of privilege. His Greek name means “God-lover” and implies that he comes from Greek heritage; a Roman citizen perhaps. It is more than coincidental that this Gospel contains more information about how to deal with wealth and how to respond to poverty than any other book in the Bible. These issues represent the second most prominent theme in the Bible right behind idolatry, and often the two are related. It is estimated that approximately one in every seven verses in the Gospel of Luke has bearing on this topic.12

When Friedman wrote The World Is Flat, he included a chapter about “the unflat world.” I wept when I read it. It was the chapter I was looking for. His stories of the untouchables in India tore at my heart. Our family lived in a developing nation for ten years, and I know how unflat the world seems from that vantage point. Our team worked with over ninety Kenyan churches, thirty of which had a building. Some met in houses, others under trees. Most Christians walked to church, some rode bikes, and two (out of over three thousand) had motor vehicles. Unemployment figures were consistently over 90%. We ate meals with our hosts, but typically offered them a jug of clean water to use for cooking and drinking. I would like to think that our gift of water was driven by love, but it was primarily self-centered in motivation. We knew few families who had never lost a child. Now there are few who have not lost a family member to AIDS. Four in ten adults between the ages of 18 and 40 in our Kenya hometown of Rongo are infected by HIV. Thousands of orphans need care. The world is not flat.

When Luke wrote to Theophilus, he wrote to me. I want to be a “God-lover” and I want to bear fruit in keeping with repentance. I want to help those entrapped in the valleys of despair, imprisoned by poverty, to be lifted to the high places. In contrast to the rest of the world, I am certainly born to privilege. I was raised by godly parents in a Christian home. I have enjoyed opportunity to advance in my education, employment, and financial status. I have never been forced to go 24 hours without access to clean water, food, medical facilities, or insurance even when I did get in a bind. I am Theophilus. I am the rich young ruler. I am the wealthy land owner. But I do not want to build bigger barns. And though it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, I will not walk sadly away. It is hard to be like Jesus, but I want to live in his kingdom. As his instrument of peace, as his vessel of mercy, as his ambassador, perhaps my family can help daily to knock the top off our mountain and fill in the valleys and flatten an unflat world.

Steve and Claudia Greek, along with their three daughters, served as missionaries in Kenya from 1984–1995. Since that time Steve has taught in public schools in Texas and in the Appalachian mountains of Tennessee. Steve is currently working as an educator of the hearing impaired in Austin, TX. Contact him at stephengreek@gmail.com or http://www.hurumahouse.org to find out how you can help the widows, orphans, and needy of East Africa.

In the book of Exodus, Israel transitions from a people enslaved in the midst of Egypt to a nation in service to the God-in-their-midst. The memory of this exodus story grounds both Israel’s theology of poverty and worship. But do these two relate? This essay argues that the book of Exodus intimately connects Israel’s ethic toward the marginalized with the concern for the formation of a worshiping community.

Introduction

In this essay I explore two major themes within Exodus and how they relate: God’s concern for the poor, and worship. At first glance, these two motifs appear to serve as bookends for the book. The first fifteen chapters of Exodus develop the theme of God’s acting on behalf of the oppressed Israelites. The final fifteen chapters (save chs. 32–34) are devoted almost exclusively to the accouterments of the tabernacle. I suspect that many, even those whose only encounters with the book have come through Hollywood portrayals, are most familiar with the first theme and even consider liberation of the oppressed as the de facto thesis of Exodus.1 This part of the story has no doubt inspired various groups of the oppressed and poor to struggle for deliverance throughout the ages, and the emergence of liberation theologies in the latter half of the twentieth century has heightened awareness of this theme even more so in the academy.2 Indeed, one of the great gains of liberationist readings has been the lucid explication of God’s partisan concern for the downtrodden vis-à-vis the exodus.3 And yet, some scholars have criticized liberation-centered readings for overplaying this motif and ignoring how the theme of liberation is integrated with other important themes within Exodus.4

In this essay I argue that these two motifs are woven together such that in the book of Exodus a theological understanding of care for the poor does not make sense apart from a concern for the formation of a worshiping community. My thesis entails that I first investigate how Israel’s understanding of God’s actions in the Exodus formed the matrix out of which she came to view her role in caring for the poor. Second, I briefly explain why Israel’s ethic toward the poor as developed through their exodus experience can serve as paradigmatic for Christian readers. Third, I demonstrate how in Exodus the matter of worship functions as an overarching theme that provides a significant and distinctive texture and telos to Israel’s theology of poverty. Finally, I conclude by noting a few implications of my argument for participation in the mission of God.

The Exodus and Israel’s Understanding of the Poor

The call for the protection and fair treatment of the poor permeates much of Israel’s literature.5 Israel’s concern for this segment of her community was not unique in the ancient Near East.6 However, her convictions about the poor grew out of her distinctive theological self-understanding which was shaped by the exodus.7 Her own beginning in vulnerability and powerlessness demanded a certain attitude toward the vulnerable and powerless in her midst. God’s redemptive action exhibited in the exodus—to establish a new, worshiping community where the well-being of every member, especially the poor, was a central concern—formed the theological paradigm by which Israel understood and showed compassion for the poor.

Before turning to the book of Exodus, it is necessary to define briefly the language of the “poor” and “poverty” and its application to the text.8 The semantic field of words used in the Hebrew Bible to identify the “poor” and their condition is much broader than the English translation “poor.” Among the most frequently used are: ⁽ ānî (80 times),  ⁾ ebyôn (61 times); dal (48 times); rāš (22 times); maḥsôr (13 times); miskēn (4 times). These all have considerable nuance that cannot be captured by the catch-all translation “poor.” In addition to these, the triad “the widow, the orphan, and the alien” are often singled out as groups in particular need of attention due to their situations of vulnerability. The words translated “poor” together with the widow, orphan, and alien reflect the vast majority of the Israelite destitute. The lack of economic resources, social status, and respect combined with the vulnerability to exploitation and the inability to reverse the situation comprises the multitude of situations of “poverty” for various individuals in Israel. In a few words, powerlessness and vulnerability are the fundamental markers of the “poor” of the Hebrew Scriptures. In the following exposition, I show how these characteristics of powerlessness and vulnerability rest at the heart of the root identity of the Hebrew nation.

The Exodus account opens with the suffering of the Hebrews under the oppressive and exploitative power of Pharaoh’s regime. The biblical tradents describe their situation in Egypt with an impressive burst of vocabulary that emphasizes the mounting oppression:

Therefore they set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labor. They built supply cities, Pithom and Rameses, for Pharaoh. But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread, so that the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites. The Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service in mortar and brick and in every kind of field labor. They were ruthless in all the tasks that they imposed on them. (Exod 1:11–14)9

The repetition of language lays upon the reader the burdensome oppression that weighs down the Israelites. The situation goes from bad to worse as the maniacal policy of Pharaoh moves from forced labor to national genocide. By the end of the opening chapter, hopelessness and powerlessness characterize the social context of the Hebrews.

The slaves signal their incapacity to alter the situation and express their deep distress by their emotive outcry in Exod 2:23–24. The Hebrew uses four different verbal roots to vivify the severity of their plight:

During those many days the king of Egypt died, and the people of Israel groaned ( ⁾ ānaḥ) because of their slavery and cried out for help (zā⁽ aq). Their cry (šaw⁽ â) for rescue from slavery came up to God. And God heard their groaning (n ⁾ āqâ). (ESV)10

Although their cry does not have an immediate addressee (v. 23b), it nevertheless reaches the divine ears. No explicit mention of God’s active presence for the Israelites is found within the narrative11 until the narrator reports God’s initial response with four action verbs: “And God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob. God saw the people of Israel—and God knew” (2:24–25 ESV).12 In the following call-story of Moses, the reader again overhears God revealing to Moses that this God of the ancestors has seen, heard, and known the Israelites’ plight: “Then the Lord said, ‘I have surely seen the affliction of my people who are in Egypt and have heard their cry because of their taskmasters. I know (yāda⁽ ) their sufferings’ ” (3:7 ESV).

This emphatic, repeated divine response (cf. 3:9) is critical to the development of Israel’s theology of the poor. God has freely chosen not to be indifferent to the outcry of the Israelites in their powerlessness.13 Moreover, in this context the Hebrew verb yāda⁽  indicates a relational, experiential knowledge.14 In other words, Israel’s God goes beyond just being cognitively aware or even sensitive to the suffering of Israel—he intimately involves himself with it.15 God’s hearing and seeing their groaning (2:24; 3:7) leads him to remember his covenant with their ancestors (2:24) and thus to gain an intimacy with their plight. All of this moves God to act for their deliverance (3:8). That God is moved by and identifies with the outcry of the powerless is a fundamental conviction that grows out of Israel’s experience with God in their exit from Egypt. Israel learns through the exodus event that God is the champion of the oppressed even when such championing pits God against the seemingly legitimate human powers of the day.16 God acts in sovereignty to bring Israel out from under her oppressors and in the process dismantles the structures that legitimate the oppression and social injustices of the Egyptian empire.17

In more than one way, God insists that Israel must not forget her exodus-shaped identity as it relates to her ethical practice. The prologue of the Ten Words manifests this consciousness: Israel is reminded that God brought her out of the Egyptian “house of slavery” (20:2, cf. 19:4). Not coincidentally, the following collection of laws starts with the demand that Hebrew slaves be treated fairly (21:1). In language evoking her corporate exodus experience, God commands Israel not to oppress widows or fatherless children. “If you do abuse them, when they cry out to me, I will surely heed their cry” (22:23).18 In similar fashion, God commands an Israelite to return a cloak before sundown to a dependent neighbor who offered it as a pledge. Otherwise, the vulnerable neighbor will have nothing as a cover for sleeping, “and if your neighbor cries out to me, I will listen, for I am compassionate” (22:27). Finally, Samuel Balentine observes that an apodictic law section (22:21–23:9) is framed with warnings to Israel against abusing aliens in her midst precisely because Israel is a community with a history of such vulnerability: “You shall not wrong or oppress a resident alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt” (22:21; cf. 23:9). He asserts that “by framing the apodictic laws with a concern for the aliens, the Book of the Covenant insists that justice for the socially and politically disadvantaged, no less than love of God, is the essential requirement of covenant fidelity.”19 The exodus becomes formative for Israel’s commands and social organization, the central vision of which focuses on justice in the context of community.20 Yhwh educates Israel at Sinai in the nonnegotiable aspects of the covenant, one of which is that Israel will show concern for her “neighbor”—the poorer members of her community in particular.

That Israel’s origins lie among the powerless should not be underestimated. To give just one example, a later creedal-like statement that an Israelite was to rehearse at his offering of the harvest’s firstfruits features this fact as the centerpiece of the Israelite’s identity:

A wandering21 Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. (Deut 26:5–9)22

God’s actions toward Israel in the exodus grounded her historical identity in a consciousness which necessitated an ongoing sympathy and compassion for the poor and the marginalized of society. A neglect of the poor, then, was no less than a fundamental denial of Israel’s self-understanding.23 In the same chapter of Deuteronomy, the Israelite testifies before God after paying the triennial tithe:

I have removed the sacred portion from the house, and I have given it to the Levites, the resident aliens, the orphans, and the widows, in accordance with your entire commandment that you commanded me; I have neither transgressed nor forgotten any of your commandments . . . (26:13)

Christopher Wright surmises that this text “makes care for the poor the litmus test of covenant obedience to the whole of the rest of the law.”24 At least in this instance, the Israelite’s ethical behavior toward the poor functions as “somehow definitive or paradigmatic of [the worshiper’s] response to God as a whole.”25

It comes as no surprise then to see in light of the exodus a newness of values that sympathizes with the plight of the marginalized for theological reasons.26 Israel’s communal life adopts God’s character as revealed in the exodus and structures itself around God’s interests. Brueggemann has well stated that Israel’s law collections evince a “preferential option for the ordering of a neighborly community.”27 The practice of social justice, in turn, goes beyond keeping the rules to pursuing aggressively the good of the community.28 And the good of the community depended greatly on how its most vulnerable members fared in the community’s economic and social structures.

Exodus as Paradigm: God’s Concern for the Poor

There is little doubt that the theme of God’s concern for the marginalized has gained significant traction in the last few decades. Moreover, just in the last few years in America, social justice for the poor has emerged as a hot topic of conversation among a variety of religious leaders and commentators.29 Christians who desire to treat the poor justly and wish to ground their intuitions in Scripture may cite the exodus event. Yet, the book of Exodus is unambiguous that God’s particular concern for Israel stands behind his redemptive movements. It is legitimate to ask then, “If God is truly about identifying with and liberating the poor from their oppression, why is God’s concern qualified by Israel?” In other words, I wish to address briefly whether this exodus motif indicates a universal disposition of God toward oppression of marginalized members of society, or if God’s compassion at the beginning of Exodus can only be understood as his partiality to one specific nation.30

The narrative admits in 2:23–24 and 3:7–8 that God’s concern for human misery and God’s covenant memory together operate as “triggers” for God’s redeeming initiative.31 The latter, of course, points back to God’s covenant with Abraham when he declared his intention to bless the world through Abraham’s seed (Gen 12:1–3; 15). The covenant promise is central to God’s response, and thus there is much more at play here than a mere concern for the marginalized. God chooses to act because it is Israel crying out, not just enslaved peoples.32 That having been said, Israel represents God’s chosen means by which salvation comes to all the families of the earth. Thus, God’s concern for Israel stems from a larger concern for creation, and such concern continues to draw God to the aid of Israel both in the exodus and beyond.33

A creational perspective on the book of Exodus opens further avenues for understanding God’s concern for the poor as a more universal paradigm while not denigrating the special place of Israel. Terence Fretheim has shown convincingly how creation theology underpins much in Exodus. For example, the opening chapter (1:7, 12) casts Israel’s situation in terms that hearken back to the creational directives given to humanity “in the beginning.”34 Egyptian slavery, then, frustrates the creational vocation of Israel in addition to quenching the creational promise that Abraham’s seed would be a blessing to the families of the earth. Second, God’s stated rationale for his power-contest with Pharaoh highlights the creational dimension of the exodus: “But this is why I have let you live: to show my power, and to make my name resound through all the earth” (9:16).35 In other words, the work of God in the exodus is forecasted as an action that is meant to be a showcase to other nations concerning the priorities of the Creator God. Israel’s salvation is a concretization of God’s concerns writ large so that the world can take heed.36

In fact, to view the entire narrative as a cosmic drama set in the framework of creation further elucidates the divine response.37 God the Creator actively seeks to free people from the oppressive forces of chaos (represented by Pharaoh) that oppose God’s purposes in creation.38 Thus, the salvific act of the exodus includes liberation but more broadly involves a re-creation or reordering of life to match God’s original goal of wholeness.39 He desires to create anew a community that stands in direct opposition to the chaos that is Egypt.40 This new community emerges with the expectation that they are an “incarnation” of God’s desires for society. God’s redemption of Israel functions as a paradigmatic microcosm of God’s macrocosmic will.41 I suggest, then, that the exodus drama can be legitimately read as a theological paradigm for God’s basic disposition toward poverty, but only with the qualification that Israel’s total experience—from Egypt to Sinai—offers the window into that disposition. As I detail in the next section, only by taking into account the entire journey of Israel from slavery to service do we develop a biblically responsible concern for the poor.

The Concern for the Poor and Worship in Exodus

The truly distinct feature of ancient Israel’s theological understanding of care for the poor is found in the integration of this concern with her theology of worship. Norbert Lohfink observes that many commentators who expound upon Israel’s concern for the poor seem unaware that Israel was not unique in her regard for the poor.42 After a brief survey of other ancient Near Eastern laws, Lohfink concludes, “In light of the stated similarities between the Old Testament and its environment, it would seem that much that is today referred to as ‘option of the Church for the poor’ is not in any way specifically biblical and is therefore not specifically Christian.”43 I think Lohfink overstates the case,44 but nevertheless he is right to highlight that a special concern for the poor alone fits well with the practice of Israel’s contemporaries. Rather, what Lohfink regards as making Israel distinct is the exodus event that gave rise to Israel’s liberation and subsequent understanding of poverty. More to the point, the exodus facilitates a transition from oppression to the calling and construction of a new society that embraces God’s agenda. Lohfink again:

Yahweh’s interaction does not aim, as do such acts of assistance elsewhere in the ancient Near East, to lighten the suffering while leaving the system intact or perhaps even aiding its renewed stabilization. Instead, the poor are removed from the impoverishing situation. Nowhere else in the ancient Near East have I encountered in the context of divine aid to the poor even the remotest suggestion that a god might physically remove the poor who cry out to him or her from the world that oppresses them as human beings.45

To summarize, the “exit from” is incomplete without the “entrance into”; they are tethered together theologically. In other words, Israel’s compassion is distinctive only in relationship to the horizon of the formation of a worshiping community.

One of the most significant ways in which these two themes are conjoined becomes clear by attending to the theme of worship. Throughout the book of Exodus there is a continual wordplay on the root ⁽ -b-d, “to serve.” The root occurs 97 times in the narrative. Figure 1 illustrates the number of occurrences of various forms of the root in the forty chapters of Exodus. It occurs in three principle forms: the nominal “servant” (⁽ ebed),46 the verbal “to serve” (⁽ ābad),47 and a second, abstract nominal “service” (⁽ ăbōdâ):48

Figure 1: Occurrances of the ⁽ -b-d Root in Exodus

The largest grouping of terms collect at the beginning of the narrative. The next large cluster occurs around and within the law collection (chs. 20–24), and the third noteworthy grouping falls in the account of the construction of the tabernacle in chapters 35–40.

In Exodus the root has a significant second meaning: it can also be translated as “to worship,” and often both meanings are intended. For example, following chapters 2–3 where the narrator has taken pains to stress the oppressive service under Pharaoh, God assures Moses: “I will be with you; and this shall be the sign for you that it is I who sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall worship (or serve; ⁽ ābad) God on this mountain” (3:12). Similarly, God instructs Moses on the demand to be made to Pharaoh: “Let my son go that he may worship (⁽ ābad) me” (4:23).49 This command (and variations thereof) appears throughout the plague narrative (7:16, 26; 8:16; 9:1, 13; and 10:3) so that it becomes quite clear that God’s purposes for bringing Israel out are wrapped up in worship. After Moses and Aaron’s initial meeting with Pharaoh to deliver God’s directives, Pharaoh responds by inflicting harder service (⁽ ăbōdâ) on the Israelites (5:9, 11, 18).50 The exchanges between Pharaoh and Moses continue to revolve around the question, “Whom will Israel serve/worship—Pharaoh or God?”

The narrative from the beginning, then, frames the liberation event within the larger contours of worship/service. While still in Egypt Israel begins to fulfill this aim of true worship/service: the community worships upon Moses’ return (4:31) and at the end of the first Passover in preparation for the tenth plague (12:27). The Egyptians as well are involved in the elaboration on the theme of worship. Though it is an overstatement to say that the Egyptians become worshipers of God, the narrative nevertheless traces God’s desire for them to acknowledge the Lord as the one true God (e.g., 5:2; 7:5, 17; 8:22; 9:14; 10:3, 16; 14:4, 18).51

Worship takes center stage in the book on the other side of the Red Sea. The Songs of Moses and Miriam summon Israel to a collective liturgical recital of God’s victory over the powers of darkness at the Sea. Fretheim observes that this liturgical act underscores the integral role that Israel’s worship plays in accomplishing God’s purposes in the exodus (and his salvific work more generally). Besides expressing gratitude, Israel’s praise testifies before the world that God has done what he said he would do. Thus, Israel’s worship in a significant way participates in and contributes to the purpose of the exodus as articulated in 9:16: “so that my name may be proclaimed throughout all the earth.”52 And at the mountain, just as God promised Moses in 3:12, the Israelites worship God (24:1, 10) after the covenant ceremony.

Exodus emphasizes the movement from one “service” to another to make the point that God “is not merely intent on liberating slaves but on reclaiming worshipers”53—“worshipers” understood as a quintessence of what it means for Israel as a new nation to embody God’s agenda. As Pleins notes, “To truly realize the exodus trajectory, the text points toward the ultimate purpose of such a freeing: The community must find a way to structure itself ritually and legally so that an enduring community might function in the wilderness and beyond.”54 Such a transition necessitates that Israel is schooled in the practice of right service/worship. Egyptian service is in opposition to the service God has bequeathed to humankind from the beginning (Gen 2:15), a service defined by the limits of Sabbath (Gen 2:2–3; cf. Exod 20:8–11; 31:17). Ellen Davis points out that it is no coincidence that the first mention of Sabbath comes in Pharaoh’s first speech to Moses: “And Pharaoh said, ‘Behold, the people of the land are now many, and you make them rest from their burdens [you would give-them-sabbath (wĕhišbattem)]!’ ” (5:5). Davis asserts that Exodus narrates a counter-proposal for good service rightly ordered in the construction of the tabernacle (chs. 35–40), a service that attends to Sabbath rest from the beginning (35:2).55 She concludes: “Building a sanctuary and keeping Sabbath have the same aim: namely, worship, intimacy with God.”56

Finally, all of these interwoven strands prepare for the tabernacle account that dominates the latter half of Exodus (chs. 25–40). If the book of Exodus has a principal climax, it is arguably neither the dramatic sea crossing nor the delivery of the law at Sinai, but the descent of God’s presence in the tabernacle (ch. 40) that is the finale of the book. The narrative draws multiple verbal and thematic parallels between the construction of the tabernacle and God’s creation of the world.57 Thus, the construction of the tabernacle is presented not just as the climax of Exodus but as the culmination of God’s work begun in creation. Here, in the tabernacle, God’s hopes for humankind’s true worship/service are “recreated.”58 That this task is so central to their identity and societal formation is a point of Exod 32–34, where the people forfeit this vocation, worship falsely at the foot of the mountain, and stymie (momentarily) God’s larger intentions. Neither liberation nor the law is the clear telos of the book; rather, they are necessary prerequisites for the formation of a worshiping community with the presence of God in its midst. God answered Israel’s cry for help in order to transform her oppressive service into expressive, world-forming, world-resounding worship. God articulates this goal from the beginning, and the book concludes with the community gathered around the proper aim for their affection.

Conclusion and Implications

The exodus liberated Israel from oppression but more enduringly bequeathed to her a peculiar identity rooted in that deliverance. God freed Israel, but God’s redemptive actions were preceded by a deep identification with Israel’s suffering. God’s intimacy with Israel before and through the exodus taught Israel what was to be her own posture toward the powerless and vulnerable in her midst. Her concern for the poor was not unique in the ancient Near East, but her theological rationale for it was: her redemption informed her ethic. Moreover, her redemption was tied from the beginning to God’s desire to bring out a people who would worship/serve as a paradigm of God’s creative intent. Whatever one says about Israel’s theological appropriation of her experience in Exodus, then, is interwoven with her subsequent emergence as an alternative society. In short, Exodus is as much about an entrance as it is an exit; there is not one without the other. And what Israel is called to enter into is a community that orders its life by the orienting practice of worship of the one true Lord. This movement from God’s compassionate concern for the oppressed in Egypt to the rightly ordered community of Israel worshiping the Lord is not a sequential drama with discrete acts and scenes. Rather, God’s concern for Israel from the beginning tied liberation and sacred service together.

The theology of Exodus yields valuable insights into Christian participation in the missio Dei. I briefly highlight two implications for mission that flow directly out of my analysis. First, the church as a covenant community of Yhwh cannot ignore the plight of the poor. Just as with Israel, a denial or avoidance of an intimate empathy with and compassion for the poor is a fundamental betrayal of Christian identity, which is rooted in vulnerability and powerlessness (cf. Rom 5:6–8). Following the paradigm of God’s desires evident in Exodus, the church understands mission to embrace the whole of human misery, especially in relationship to the marginalized (cf. Luke 4:17–19). The people of God do not neglect the economic, political, and social aspects of life because they recognize God’s profound interests in these areas.59 Study of the book of Exodus, perhaps more than any other book in Scripture, can deepen Christians’ theological acumen of the centrality of the poor in Scripture.60 In short, it demonstrates how care of the poor is seamlessly woven into the fabric of the missio Dei. Indeed, such concern is at the heart of the missio Dei.

A second implication follows from the fact that an exodus-shaped concern for the poor is tethered theologically and teleologically to the desire for the formation of Yhwh-worshiping communities. In many public spaces it is increasingly becoming socially and politically acceptable to call for a more rigorous justice and support of the poor. In some Christian conversations, a (re)vivification of this notion in Scripture has motivated congregations and mission points to engage in various social ministries and/or humanitarian efforts. Christians can certainly welcome this revival of interest. Nevertheless, a Christian ethic toward the poor, in addition to being motivated by theology, should ultimately be liturgically and ecclesially oriented if it is to remain distinctively biblical. I am not suggesting that Christian love of neighbor be somehow contingent on the neighbor’s participation in some aspect of the church life. Nor am I implying that Christian compassion be viewed through the framework of “pre-evangelism.” Yet, the theology of Exodus raises caution against a practice of mission that does not give due regard for the neighbor’s redemptive integration into the worshiping life of the local congregation. Yhwh’s concern for the poor is deep, so deep that he desires for all, especially the most vulnerable, to experience just, neighborly community rightly formed (and continually reforming) by true worship. Further, it is foremost in the witness of worship/service, in both liturgy and deed, whereby God’s people respond to and engage with God’s missional agenda to make his glory abound in all the earth.

Appendix A: The Poor in the Literature of Israel

Each genre of the Hebrew canon includes information relevant to comprehending how Israel viewed her poor. The theme is so pervasive in the Hebrew Bible that to address every noteworthy contribution of each genre is beyond the bounds of this appendix.61 Nevertheless, I include below significant contributions of the Torah, the Prophets, and the Writings on the care of the poor in Israel.

The Torah

The concern for the poor is nowhere more visible in the Torah than in Israel’s law collections.62 These collections in their present form derive from different time periods and compilers and editors, thereby reflecting different social situations.63 The study of the evolution of these law collections reveals a certain amount of development over time, but the same motif of attentiveness to persons on the margins of society is common to them all.64 For instance,65 the law forbids the general mistreatment of the vulnerable (in these contexts, namely, the widow, orphan, and sojourner) and issues a call to care for them (Exod 22:21–22; 23:9; Deut 10:19; Lev 19:33–34; 24:22). Israel’s law also forbids specific actions that would take advantage of the poor, such as taking a garment as a pledge (Exod 22:26; Deut 24:17), charging interest on a loan to a poor person (Exod 22:25; similarly Deut 23:19–20; Lev 25:35–37), or depriving the poor of fair measure on a sale or on land (Deut 19:14; 25:13–15; 27:17; Lev 19:35–36). The biggest concern evidenced in the law, however, is the demand for justice for the poor in court (Exod 23:1–3, 6, 8; Deut 1:17; 16:19; 19:15–21; 24:17–19; Lev 19:15).66

In addition to prohibiting the exploitation of the powerless, the law made provision for both the feeding and freeing (in the case of slaves) of such groups. The instruction regarding the Sabbatical Year (Exod 23:10–11) directed that every seventh year the land was to remain fallow in order that the  ⁾ ebyônim could gather food from it. Variations of this command to allow the poor to benefit from a plot of land not their own are attested in Deut 24:19–22 and Lev 19:9–10 and 23:22. Similar to the Sabbatical Year and its analogous counterparts is the institution of the Jubilee Year (Lev 25). This law requires both the return of property to the original owner and the release of Hebrew bondservants.67 Regardless of the actual implementation of these commands in Israel, the fact that her law collections include such measures indicates that Israel understood her responsibility for the welfare of the poor among her.68

The laws relating to the sojourner demand additional attention. As mentioned above, the sojourner was characteristically vulnerable to exploitation and oppression along with the widow and orphan. Thus, the law provided for his protection (Exod 22:21; 23:9; Lev 19:10, 34; 23:22; 25:6; Deut 10:18–19; 14:29; 24:14, 17). Some scholars postulate that these particular provisions for the sojourner reflect the measures taken by Solomon and others to protect the cheap labor force needed for building projects.69 However, a declaration reminding the Israelites to remember their own experience in Egypt when dealing with the sojourner follows many of the commands concerning the sojourner in the text.70 This fact, when considered alongside the unique interest of Israel for the sojourner’s plight, leads most naturally to a theological justification for such laws.71 Thus, the concern for the sojourner is consistent with and revealing of Israel’s self-understanding operating out of the exodus paradigm.

Deuteronomy 15 provides possibly the clearest statement on Israel’s call to aid the poor.72 The passage first expresses the ideal that “there shall be no poor among you” (v. 4). Farther along the passage acknowledges that “there will always be poor among you” (v. 11). The biblical call for the care of the poor commands the elimination of such conditions but realizes the systemic nature of its existence.73 Israel’s laws do not try to rationalize the existence of the poor in her midst; instead, they recognize the effects of humanity’s sin in the social sphere.74 These affirmations pertaining to the responsibility of Israel for her poor indicates that her concern was more than altruism. Her interest could be described in concrete terms.75 Therefore, the law collections contained within the Torah demonstrate a major concern for the poor in Israel.

The Prophets

The Latter Prophets76 include many statements calling for social justice. In fact, their contributions to the issues of social justice are the most striking in the biblical literature. The eighth century, the period in which classical prophecy began, was a time of negative social change.77 Israel experienced relative peace and prosperity, while the gap between the rich and the poor widened. This, in turn, produced an environment conducive to social injustices.78 Amos, Hosea, Isaiah, and Micah each contribute to an exposé of contemporary Israelite society vis-à-vis social justice.79 These prophets decried Israel’s lack of commitment to justice and righteousness and aimed their message at the government as well as individuals.80 They operated out of Israel’s covenantal traditions, calling the nation to live according to its Torah.81

The prophetic literature contains numerous descriptions of problems within society and records appeals that would affect change. When the pre-exilic prophets became specific in their accusations about social injustices, they recalled the same issues addressed by Israel’s laws pertaining to the treatment of the poor.82 The prophets did not think that these exhortations were an appeal for charity; rather, they understood that the community was responsible for the well-being of every member of society.83 Although Zechariah prophesied in the post-exilic period, he offers a succinct summary of the social message of the prophets. He proclaims that Israel should “render true judgments, show kindness and mercy to one another . . . [should] not oppress the widow, the orphan, the alien, or the poor . . . [nor] devise evil in [their] hearts against one another. ” (7:9–10). The commands that Zechariah gives describe the Old Testament social ideal of a covenant community.84 The fervor for social justice exhibited by the prophets is unmatched in the literature of the ancient Near East, and as such should not be mistaken for propaganda. On the contrary, their words reflect a commitment toward the covenantal concern of the poor.85

The Writings

Israel’s liturgy, as contained in the Psalter, supplied an abundant resource that reminded her of God’s interest in the plight of the poor.86 The Psalms address God’s concern for the poor more than any other aspect of social justice.87 They give voice to both individual and communal laments, hymns, and prayers that express physical and spiritual needs to God. Frequently, the psalmist maintains faith in God’s willingness and ability to vindicate situations of injustice.88 In her worship Israel constantly encountered the fact that the God she proclaimed was continually attentive to the situations of the poor.89 The language of the poor in Psalms reflects concrete social and political realities.90 However, the portrayal of the neediness of the poor often merges with and corresponds to an inner spiritual disposition of neediness before God.91 Thus, an understanding that the individual and the nation possessed a universal religious need for God is also present in the Psalms.

Israel’s worship encouraged her to re-examine God’s call for a community committed to social justice. In other words, the Psalms are “self-critiquing rather than self-legitimizing” for Israel’s understanding of every aspect of life.92 Psalm 112 describes the lifestyle of righteous people who are “gracious, merciful, and righteous . . . deal generously and lend. . . [and] have distributed freely, . . . have given to the poor” (vv. 4, 5, 9). Such actions parallel the character of God described in the previous Psalm 111. Psalm 82 declares God to be the only true God among the other gods of the nations because of his primary concern for the well-being of the poor and oppressed (v. 3). Israel’s king also legitimated his throne with a similar claim. Psalm 72 asserts that the king’s rule is dependent upon his interest for justice and compassion upon the poor.93 In general, the Psalms prompt Israel in worship to remember her self-understanding before God and realize how her behavior should mirror God’s concern for the poor.94

The Proverbs articulate similar sentiments regarding the care of the poor. Israel’s Wisdom literature95 appears to lack connection to the covenant relationship between Yhwh and Israel. However, the wisdom tradition does involve a theological perspective that demonstrates a connection between Israel’s daily experience and her worship of God as creator and redeemer.96 Moreover, the Wisdom literature’s treatment of social issues does not represent a conflicting viewpoint on the poor.97 The Proverbs do not attempt to explain the reason for poverty but give grounds for why a person should work. This fact makes understandable the seeming discrepancy between the Proverbs and the rest of the biblical witness on these matters.98 In fact, most proverbs advocate generosity toward the poor99 and concern for social justice.100 Justice is arguably a primary theme of the entire book (Prov 1:3), and God’s concern for justice is the theological underpinning of Proverbs’ statements about social issues.101 The Proverbs attest that God, who is creator of all humanity, demands kindness, compassion, and justice toward the powerless members of society.102

Appendix B: Who Are the “Poor” in the Hebrew Bible?

The semantic field of words used in the Hebrew Bible to describe the “poor” and their condition is wide.103 This overview does not exhaust the nuances and usages of every word. Rather, here I provide a brief discussion of the main terms that are typically translated by the English word “poor” and suggest an essential meaning for each. It is recognized that such generalizations do not hold for every usage in each context. In addition, my overview includes the widow, the orphan, and the sojourner because their life situations are representative of those who comprised the poor in Israel. I will conclude by positing that powerlessness and vulnerability are fundamental markers of the “poor” in the Hebrew Bible.

Several Hebrew words are frequently translated “poor” in the English Bible.  ⁾ ebyôn (61 times) commonly describes the economically or legally distraught (i.e., the destitute). The  ⁾ ebyônim were day laborers who depended solely upon the good will of others for daily sustenance.104 A second term, dal (48 times), connotes the small landowners who because of their vulnerability105 often fell victim to political and/or economic exploitation at the hands of powerful.106 A third term, ⁽ ānî, is the most common term in the Hebrew Bible used to denote the “poor” (80 times). ⁽ Ānî 107 means “humble, needy, or afflicted” by difficult circumstances and describes the economically exploited as well as the oppressed person.108 The fourth term, maḥsôr (13 times), primarily occurs in Proverbs and represents those who lack material goods.109 The fifth term is miskēn (4 times), found only in Ecclesiastes; it is a late Hebrew word meaning simply poor.110 The final term is rāš (22 times) and refers to the economically and politically inferior. It appears mainly in wisdom texts.111 This overview of the Hebrew words translated “poor” and “poverty” leads to two conclusions. First, the condition described denotes economic hardship and the lack of material resources. Second, the “poor” are also politically disadvantaged and often experience oppression.112 These are the quintessential characteristics of the widow, the orphan, and the sojourner.

A recurrent theme in the Hebrew Bible pertinent to defining the “poor” involves care for the widow, orphan, and sojourner.113 The Law and the Prophets in particular single out these three groups as in need of special attention due to their position of vulnerability.114 The situations in which these groups found themselves normally were a result of inadvertent circumstances, and regularly their plight was permanent.115 The widow ( ⁾ almānâ) possessed no association, or kinship ties, with a male figure commonly held responsible for her maintenance (husband, father-in-law, brothers, or sons). In the absence of male kin, she lost her economic and social well-being and faced a life of alienation and poverty.116 The orphan’s (yātôm) circumstances were similar. A yātôm was fatherless and unable to support him/herself.117 Finally, the gēr 118 identifies a resident immigrant given some protection under the law.119 Despite being able to work, the gēr’s predicament was one of uncertainty and vulnerability, often characterized by poverty, because he too had precarious links with the social structure.120 Taken together, these three groups constituted a subset of Israelite society dependent upon the goodwill and compassion of their neighbors and vulnerable to oppression.121

The English term “poor” fails to portray the array of nuances of the Hebrew words. “Poor” denotes primarily economic concepts. However, as demonstrated above, the various Hebrew terms allow a broader sphere of interpretation which includes economic, political, and social aspects. The words translated “poor”—exemplified by the widow, orphan, and sojourner—reflect the vast majority of the Israelite powerless. The lack of economic resources, social status, and respect, combined with vulnerability to exploitation and the inability to reverse the situation, comprise the full range of an individual’s “poverty” in Israel. In a few words, powerlessness and vulnerability describe the poor of the Hebrew Scriptures.122 Powerlessness caused the poor only to fall into deeper poverty. The ability to survive their vulnerable positions depended on the generosity of neighbors and their faithfulness to the Torah.

Nathan Bills is a ThD student at Duke Divinity School. His focus is in Old Testament, and he is particularly interested in the intersection of Old Testament theology, ecclesiology, and communities of poverty. After his program Nathan will serve on the Bible faculty of Lipscomb University, where he anticipates teaching and living in this intersection. You can contact Nathan at nbills80@gmail.com.

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