Risking your daily bread

Rather late, I came across this article by a lexicographer researching the etymology of the word ‘risk’. Most dictionaries state that the word comes to English  from Italianrisco via French risque. The Oxford English Dictionary attests to it from 1621 in English (as ‘risques’). Its first attestation in Middle French is in 1578, where it is a feminine noun, quickly becoming a masculine noun to mark its testosterone-fuelled approach to life. The Italian rischio is attested in the 13th century, before simply becoming risco.

Although there have been a number of suggestions whence this Italian word came, many are unsatisfactory. The etymology is not certain, but it seems to come from the Middle Persian word rōzīg <lwcyk>, meaning ‘daily bread’ or ‘sustenance’, the ancestor of the Modern Persian word روزى ruzi, and a derivative of the noun rōz <YWM lwc>, meaning ‘day’ (as in nōg-rōz, now spelt نوروز nowruzPersian New Year).

The Middle Persian word rōzīg was borrowed widely, appearing in Armenian as ռոճիկ ṙočik, meaning ‘salary, wages, pension’. More importantly, its use was spread throughout Southwest Asia in Aramaic, witnessed most importantly by the Syriac ܪܘܙܝܩܐ rōziqā, but also by the Jewish Babylonian Aramaic רוֺזִיקָא rôzîqā (also Talmudic רוּזִינְקָא rûzînqā), and Mandaicraziqa. Syriac also has a clipped version of the word spelt ܪܙܩܐ rezqā, still meaning ‘daily bread’ or ‘sustenance’. It is from this latter form that the Arabic رزق rizqprobably comes (a derivative is one of the 99 Names of God in Qur’ān 51.58, الرزاق ar-Razzāq, the Provider).

Tracing the route from rezqā/rizq to the Italian risco is less than clear. Neither is the shift in meaning from ‘daily bread’ to ‘chance’ or ‘hazard’. The missing link seems to be the Greek word ῥουζικόν rhouzikon, which appears along with the Arabic rizq in bilingual 7th- and 8th-century papyri from Egypt. Here it describes the grain supply, and particularly a tax paid in food to support Arab troops. In later Greek, the word is attested as ῥίζικον rhizikon, and used in the phrase ἄνδρες του ῥίζικου andres tou rhizikou ‘men of fortune’ to describe mercenaries, and their risky, hazardous existence. The Late Latin resicum or risicumappeared mid-12th century, and almost certainly comes from the Greek, with the meaning ‘hazard, danger’. From there the Italian rischio and risco takes over.

The management of risk is a key economic problem, especially brought into the foreground over recent years. Banking and business have risked too much, and now fear risking at all, leading to the hoarding of value and an inert money system. Faith directs us all to look to God for our needs, be thankful for what we have, and make best use of it. Whether we pray ‘Give us this day our daily bread‘ in the Lord’s Prayer (τὸν ἄρτον ἡμῶν τὸν ἐπιούσιον δὸς ἡμῖν σήμερον ton arton hēmōn ton epiousion dos hēmin sēmeron), or look to God who is ar-Razzāq to provide, people of faith have the useful perspective that we are stewards of earthly resources, not acquirers or competitors. Our risk is faith in providence and blessing.

Meals with Jesus III: Living on the Edge

This article is the third in a series on Meals with Jesus which formed part of this year’s Lent course. This third is on the pericope of the Gleaning in the Wheat Fields, Luke 6·1–5.

Ruth gleaning
Ruth gleaning.

It’d be wrong to think that it was a whirlwind of dinner invitations that sustained these thirteen vagabonds over their years of wandering hither and thither. Sometimes you must eat what the Lord provides and be thankful for what you can get. Sabbath prayers were over, and the thirteen were on the road again, and their sustenance was the wheat growing at the edge of the fields — plucked, rubbed between the palms of the hands and eaten raw.

The Pharisees saw them, and saw they had committed the serious sin of letting the world of work, politics, poverty and foreign occupation into the sacred time of the sabbath. “By the seventh day, God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work.”

Blinded by the need to protect the sabbath from all worldly intrusion, they forgot that it should be a day for the satisfaction of good and right. For the hungry vagabonds on the road, the leftover ears of grain, left in observance to the commandments, was an answer to the sabbath prayers — no more fishers of the seas, but gleaners of what could be found, and reliant of God’s good provision each day.

“Give us today our daily bread” — each day just enough for the day, like the manna in the desert.

Continue reading “Meals with Jesus III: Living on the Edge”

Meals with Jesus II: Creative Catering for Campers

This article is the second of a series on Meals with Jesus which formed part of this year’s Lent course. This second is on the pericope of the Feeding of the 5000, John 6·1–15 [25–59].

Feeding 5000

We could have popped out to the shops to get some sarnies before we came, or boiled some eggs or scrumped some apples, but we didn’t. We could have looked out the hiking boots, change of clothes, tent, sleeping bag and rucksack before we came, but we didn’t. In fact we felt pretty stupid stuck all the way up there in the Golan Heights with nothing but our sandals and the shirts on our backs. Perhaps we thought that there would be catering laid on, but that seems a little daft now: Zebedee’s lads might be good at catching fish, but they’re no Rick Stein!

We came not because we had planned an expedition, but because we had to. There are foreign soldiers on our streets, watching what we do or say, thinking that every one of us could be a Jewish insurgent. In the midst of our national humiliation a new leader came — someone who could inspire and heal and make us feel human again. So we didn’t think, we went, and we followed him and his group up and out to find some space to breathe in great lungfuls of the freedom we desired with all our being.

Continue reading “Meals with Jesus II: Creative Catering for Campers”