Joel D. Kline
November 9, 2003
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
The Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost
At first glance, something seems to be missing in this morning’s story about Elijah the prophet. By customary standards of success, Elijah should have been sitting on top of the world. Indeed, Elijah is so esteemed in Hebrew history that he is held to be the greatest of the prophets, one who could stand fearlessly before royalty and confront those who have turned from the ways of God. Elijah predicts a drought, and the land becomes parched, painfully dry for some three years. The prophet challenges 450 priests of the Canaanite god, Baal, to compete, and comes out on top. And then Elijah prays for rain, and the rain comes in torrents. No one else apparently is able to do what Elijah does, and yet in spite of his success, we find the prophet, in our Scripture lesson from 1 Kings 19, hiding in a cave, fearful for his life, feeling alone and forgotten.
Yet only one chapter earlier, in 1 Kings 18, we read the story of Elijah confronting King Ahab, ruler of Israel who has given official sanction to Baal worship. When Ahab sees Elijah approaching him, he cries out, “Is it you, you troubler of Israel?” With characteristic forthrightness Elijah responds, “I have not troubled Israel; but you have … because you have forsaken the commandments of the Lord and followed Baal.” And then Elijah prods King Ahab, “Now therefore have all Israel assemble for me at Mount Carmel, with the 450 prophets of Baal…” (1 Kings 18:17-19).
When the people gather, Elijah urges the people to choose the God whom they will serve. “How long will you go limping with two different opinions? If the Lord is God, then follow God; but if Baal, then follow Baal.” And then, in the sight of all of Israel, there follows a confrontation with the prophets of Baal. A sacrificial bull is placed upon each of two altars, both covered with unkindled wood, one altar for Baal, the other for the God Elijah proclaims. Then the 450 prophets of Baal, and Elijah, are to beseech their respective gods to provide fire, with the provision that whichever answers the request is to be embraced as the true God. From morning until noon, the Baal prophets entreat their god, dancing around the altar, calling upon Baal to light the fire and consume the sacrifice. In a final frenzy, the prophets cut themselves with swords and lances, all to no avail.
In contrast, Elijah calmly stands before the people, and even orders that drenching waters be poured upon the altar—not only once, but three times. And then Elijah prays confidently, “Let the people know that you are God, and that I have done these things at your bidding. Answer me, so that these people may know that you are God.” And with that, the altar ignites, the sacrifice is consumed, and all the people cry out, “The Lord indeed is God.”
But the people’s faith remains shallow, and when Ahab’s wife Jezebel, the one who had urged Ahab to endorse Baal worship, threatens to have Elijah killed, the prophet once again finds himself standing alone. For Elijah, it is one time too many. The prophet who in prior days could confront royalty and proclaim undivided allegiance to God now runs scared, and in his despair even implores God to take his life. What causes this rapid and radical shift from fearless to fearful prophet?
Peter Gomes, pastor of Memorial Church at Harvard University, in a sermon based on this text reminds us that “failure is not the opposite of success; it is often the result of success.” Somehow, the more we accomplish in life, the more we come to crave the “trappings” of success—notoriety, status, acclaim, honor. And when we do not receive what we assume to be our just reward, it can be difficult to handle. Elijah feels as if he has given his all for God, and yet the results Elijah anticipates are not forthcoming. Jezebel, armed with the power of the state, threatens Elijah’s life. And in spite of the remarkable feat of God’s power the people have witnessed, they remain fickle, continuing to limp along with divided opinions and divided loyalties, tossed to and fro by uncertain winds.
Elijah flees the sword of Jezebel, and even more, Elijah attempts to flee from his disappointment and disillusionment. The prophet finds himself sulking at the mouth of a cave in the wilderness, where he hears the voice of God challenging him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” Twice the prophet laments,
I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away (1 Kings 19:10, 14).
Who among us has not, at some point in our lives, bemoaned our situation as well, feeling as if too much responsibility has been placed upon us, too many pressures and demands confront us? Who has not had one of those times when we feel as if nothing more could be drained from us—times when we feel totally spent, used and perhaps abused by God and others? And so we retreat, sometimes in depression, frequently in anger, nursing along our hurt and frustration and pain.
It’s not the retreat, in and of itself, that creates the problem. Indeed, life can be significantly enriched by a rhythm between times of activity and times of quiet reflection, between times of active engagement with life’s critical issues and times when we withdraw for refreshment and renewal. No, the problem for Elijah is not that he withdraws to the wilderness, but that he withdraws for the wrong reason. The prophet withdraws, not to re-engage the Spirit of God, not to draw anew upon the resources of God’s grace and strength and peace. Rather, Elijah withdraws only to mope and complain about his plight. Elijah is mad that things have not progressed according to Elijah’s timetable, and he goes to the wilderness to sulk.
Wayne Muller, ordained minister and therapist, has a wonderful book entitled Sabbath—Finding Rest, Renewal and Delight in Our Busy Lives. Listen to Muller’s introductory words:
All life requires a rhythm of rest. There is a rhythm in our waking activity and the body’s need for sleep. There is a rhythm in the way day dissolves into night, and night into morning. There is a rhythm as the active growth of spring and summer is quieted by the necessary dormancy of fall and winter. There is a tidal rhythm, a deep, eternal conversation between the land and the great sea. In our bodies, the heart perceptibly rests after each life-giving beat; the lungs rest between the exhale and the inhale.We have lost this essential rhythm. Our culture invariably supposes that action and accomplishment are better than rest, that doing something—anything—is better than doing nothing. Because of our desire to succeed, to meet these ever-growing expectations, we do not rest. Because we do not rest, we lose our way. We miss the compass points that would show us where to go, we bypass the nourishment that would give us succor. We miss the quiet that would give us wisdom. We miss the joy and love born of effortless delight. Poisoned by this hypnotic belief that good things only come through unceasing determination and tireless effort, we can never truly rest. And for want of rest, our lives are in danger.
No doubt it is true, as Wayne Muller contends, that the relentless busyness of modern life has heightened the likelihood that we miss the rhythm between work and rest. And yet, it seems apparent that centuries and centuries ago the prophet Elijah overlooked this same rhythm. Elijah had come to believe that everything rested on him, and him alone. Elijah had come to believe that “doing for God” mattered far more than simply “being in God.” Peter Gomes, on the other hand, reminds us that, at the heart of the biblical story is this affirmation that “being in God,” not just “doing for God,” is the ultimate sign of faithfulness. Indeed, our efforts at “doing for God” flow forth from our experience of “being in God;” else, our efforts count for little.
Because of this conviction, the Scripture writers hold the practice of Sabbath in high regard. It is a recognition that you and I need times of refreshment and renewal; we need reminders that God loves and cares for us, not just for what we are able to produce, but much more basically, simply because we are God’s children. Our Creator yearns for us to experience meaningful relationship with God.
In the Scriptures, of course, Sabbath refers to a single day of the week, but the concept of Sabbath goes far beyond the setting aside of a particular day. Sabbath is time for holy rest; we may speak of a Sabbath day, a Sabbath afternoon, a Sabbath walk, a Sabbath retreat, a Sabbath hour—indeed, any period of time for listening for that which is most deeply beautiful, nourishing, or true. Sabbath is time consecrated with our attentiveness. As such, Sabbath requires investment of our time and energy—investment of our very selves. Surely this is what Abraham Joshua Heschel has in mind when asserting,
The art of awareness of God, the art of sensing God’s presence in our daily lives cannot be learned off-hand. God’s grace resounds in our lives like a staccato. Only by retaining the seemingly disconnected notes comes the ability to grasp the theme.
That is to say, we need to practice the art of being present to God, if we are to experience the theme of God’s gracious love. Indeed, Wayne Muller defines the experience of prayer as “a portable Sabbath, when we close our eyes for just a moment and let the mind rest in the heart…. We can begin slowly, with a simple prayer, like a pebble dropped into the middle of our day, rippling out over the surface of our life.”
Taking time for Sabbath moments. No doubt Elijah had preached about Sabbath with some frequency, but when faced with his own moments of tough going, he fails to heed his own sermons. But God will not let Elijah alone, any more than God will let us alone. God reveals God’s self, not in the wind, not in the earthquake, not in the fire—not in the elaborate or in the noisy—but in “the still small voice” (RSV), in “a sound of sheer silence” (NRSV), “in a faint murmuring sound” (REB).
In the soft whispers of God, the prophet is renewed, and he hears God’s voice urging him to get back into the thick of things, but to do so refreshed in the presence of God. It’s as if God is saying, “Go, for there is yet much to do. But go, recognizing that the tasks before you are not your responsibility alone.” Indeed, the tasks are God’s, tasks that will only be truly understood as we take time to listen for the voice of God. Peter Gomes reminds us,
One cannot stay in church all day. One cannot remain on one’s knees in constant prayer. Life must finally be lived, work done, efforts made. It is true for prophets of the Lord, it is true for students and teachers, it is true for citizens of the world. This is not, however, simply a call to work as before, as if nothing has happened. Elijah returned to his work, learning, perhaps for the first time in a long while, that it was God’s work and not his that he was about. He learned that you cannot “do” unless you can “be,” and that “doing” depends upon “being.” Elijah was made strong in his humiliation, not because he found some new inner strength but because he found anew the strength of God, and it was that discovery that made it possible for him to go on.
With Elijah, we hear the call to get on with it! But it is a call that carries with it the assurance that the work to which we are called is not ours alone, but God’s, and that God will enfold us in the strength and grace and peace and power of God’s very self. And that, my friends, is good news indeed! Amen.
Holy God, creator of the universe, you who are so much greater than we can fathom—we marvel at the promise of your love for us. You are so much more than our feeble efforts to define you; you are so far beyond us. Yet you hold us in arms of compassion and grace. When we are tired and worn, when we are weak and our energy is spent, nevertheless you take us by the hand and lead us into fuller expressions of your light.
Precious Lord, gracious Guide, hear now our prayers for healing and wholeness. We hold before you…
O God who encourages and strengthens us through all the changing experiences of life, we turn to you, not only in times of struggle and difficulty, but in times of promise and joy as well. We thank you, God, for beauty in life so frequently taken for granted—the beauty of changing seasons, the gift of vibrant colors, the joy of relationships that support and challenge us, the gift of a loving and caring church community.
Teach us, God, to walk in the footsteps of Jesus, our precious redeemer. Open our eyes and hearts to your vision for living, that we might more fully become a place to deepen faith, proclaim peace, embrace community, welcome others, and serve our neighbor, in the compassionate spirit of Jesus.
O God our God, we yearn for the gift of peace and wholeness to encompass our own hearts and spirits, extending through our church, our neighborhood, our city, our nations, our world, our universe.
Fill us, God with gratitude for the often quiet ways you touch our lives and work in our world—sometimes through us, sometimes in spite of us—ever seeking to guide all creation into new ways of living and serving and loving you and one another.
Thanks be to you, O God, for the wondrous gift of Jesus Christ our Lord, and thanks be to you for the promise of your unfolding kingdom of peace, hope, compassion, service, and self-giving love. Amen.