(Parts of this sermon - probably the best parts - were used with permission from my friend and colleague Paul Grant)
It should have been his moment of glory,
On the top of Mt Carmel, with the people of Israel gathered, Elijah stood alone against the prophets of Baal, a pagan god championed by King Ahab and Queen Jezebel.
Today he would force the nation to decide between Israel’s God, YHWH, and idols.
“If the Lord is God - then worship him" he yelled to the crowds;
"And if Baal is God - Then worship him”
It all came down to a challenge. Two sacrifices were prepared, one by Elijah, and one by the prophets of Baal. They were to call on the name of their God in turn and whichever answered by fire would show himself to be worthy of worship.
For all their hours of blood letting and chanting and rabid dancing, the prophets of Baal couldn’t stir their god to action.
Elijah offered a simple prayer, and fire fell from heaven and consumed his sacrifice.
The prophets of Baal were shown up for the charlatans they were, and Elijah dealt mercilessly with them, putting them to the sword.
It was his ultimate vindication. So why, in his moment of victory, do we find him running away in today’s reading?
Well, he’s trying to put as much room as he can
Between himself and Jezebel’s threat to kill him.
For in her anger she’d spat out these words:
“May the gods strike me dead
If by this time tomorrow
I don’t do the same thing to you
As you did to my prophets.”
And when he heard that, he was afraid, and fled for his life.
But that’s what I don’t get.
How can a man defy a king, his army and his spies
For over 3 years,
Then stand alone against over 800 opponents
And invoke the power of God
Only to suddenly crumple
Before the words of an angry woman?
What’s going on here, Elijah?
I don’t think you are afraid of Jezebel.
I think you are just afraid.
Afraid with the kind of fear that comes when your courage has been
called on so often it’s worn perilously thin.
You’ve had enough, Elijah.
You’re tired. You’re burnt out.
We find you under the branches of a broom tree,
Sodden and cold
Feelings as dark as the rain clouds above you
Unable to hold together a heart that’s close to cracking.
And the only prayer you have left is for release
For escape:
“It’s too much Lord. I might as well be dead.”
But death doesn’t come.
Instead, the steady patter of the rain drops lulls you into the little death that we call sleep.
A blessed oblivion where, for a while, you’re out of reach
Of failure, fear and responsibility.
But sleep can help heal us too.
Can make room for better perspective to grow.
Can sew patches on courage worn thin.
Sleep and a little food, ministered to him by angels,
leaves him rested enough for the long, lonely journey
Up to the holy mountain where Moses once met God,
And the slaves of Egypt became the people of God.
And when he gets there he finds a cave to shelter in.
And in the mix of stillness, space
memory and being alone, God’s voice emerges
In the form of a question:
“What are you doing here Elijah?”
“Lord” he answers. “I’ve always served you. Only you.
But the people have given their hearts away,
Have broken your covenant.
I’m the last one left. And now they’re going to kill me.”
Telling God where we are and what’s happening to us,
Is less passing on news to God and more
about putting into words what lies deep within us.
It’s as much about helping us sound out our depths before God
As it is anything else.
Because what we have suffered, or rejoiced over
Often needs to be given its own words and spoken to another
Before we can move beyond, accept or understand it.
So maybe Elijah’s speaking as much to himself here
As he is to God.
Maybe Elijah hasn’t realised it, but the whole of this journey
From frightened flight to exhausted sleep
to sitting in a cave speaking his experience to God,
has been a journey leading to this point:
The point where Elijah will hear the voice of God
Speaking in such a way that he is able
To move on in faith, hope and service.
And the voice speaks once,
Then after earthquake, wind and fire,
It speaks again in a gentle whisper he could so easily miss
Were he not listening with his whole being.
“What are you doing here, Elijah?”
“What are you doing here?”
Hold those words in your imagination for a moment.
How are they spoken?
None of us can say for sure, but it strikes me that they’re voiced without a hint of accusation or anger.
They sound more like the kind of thing a longstanding friend would say when they need to lovingly but gently confront you about something. They’re full of concern.
And I’d doubt that there’s anyone here who hasn’t heard an echo of those same words in their heart at some point in their lives.
“What are you doing here?” God asks us in a still small voice, or through the words of a friend, or in the eloquent silence of our own conscience. And implicit in the question is a truth we don’t want to hear: “This is not where you should be”.
How we receive those words depends largely on how we got to where we are.
Some find themselves under a broom tree or in a lonely mountain cave because with the slow slippage of time their lives have been moulded into something they would never have chosen.
I see a woman who worries that she’s losing her life in the middle of caring for others; exhausted by the round of responsibilities that fall to her and growing resentful at the cost of it all.
I see another who feels trapped in a loveless relationship. Where the early promise never materialised, and all that’s left now is duty and the daily struggle to maintain civility.
I see a man stuck in a job he doesn’t enjoy, but wedded to it because of the financial commitments he’s taken on.
They put a brave face on, but internally disappointment hangs over them like a pall of bitter smoke rising from the bonfire of their dreams.
For others, it’s not circumstance built up over the years that’s ground them down, it’s a sudden, drastic change. Someone they loved dies; serious illness visits them, or someone in the family. And they find themselves reluctant travellers in the barren landscape of loss where it’s so easy to lose direction and end up wandering round and round in the same circles. Revisiting grief, bitterness, loneliness and resignation. Grief, bitterness, loneliness and resignation.
Still others make bad choices that lead them into desolate places. Prodigals who reach out greedy hands for whatever promises pleasure in the short term, but who end up squandering all they have on things that never last and don’t satisfy. Disgraced – even if it’s just in the courtroom of their own conscience – they sit alone among the pigs with their head in their hands; but even there, God’s voice reaches them.
“What are you doing here?” he asks
When we hear those words, it’s always a sign that we’ve got stuck in a place we’re not meant to be.
But the good news this morning, is that those words also hold out to us the possibility of moving on.
As far as Elijah was concerned, the game was over. Humanly speaking, he could see no way out of his situation, and even if there were a way out he had no energy to go looking for it. But he didn’t reckon with what God had planned.
There were 7000 other faithful people in the land of Israel, men and women about whom Elijah knew nothing. He wasn’t alone at all. There was hope, and a future, for him and for his people.
When God asks “What are you doing here”, he’s not only saying, “This isn’t where you should be”. He’s holding out the promise that there’s somewhere better up ahead.
Maybe that somewhere better is the same place, but with a different mindset. Maybe the journey you need to make is in your imagination – looking at where you are through different eyes. Seeing those circumstances, that task, that relationship in a different light.
Or maybe God’s saying "it’s time. It’s time to get up and go. I know you’re afraid of the uncertainty that’s ahead of you, but you can’t stay here a moment longer. You’ve spent too much of your life in this place. This situation you’re in just now doesn’t have to have the last, or most dominant word on your life, so don’t let it. There’s somewhere better up ahead."
Generations after Elijah’s time, Israel was conquered by Babylon, and those of her people who survived were carried off into captivity thinking they’d never see their homeland again. They felt utterly trapped and powerless. But in the midst of that devastation, the prophet Jeremiah proclaimed these words from God – “For I know the plans I have for you” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”.
This isn’t where you should be, God’s saying to Israel, to Elijah, and to you and me. I have somewhere better in mind I want to lead you to, and you’ll get there in the end if you keep listening for my still small voice.
I will not let you stay in captivity for long, Israel. I have 7000 people who have not bowed the knee to Baal, Elijah. I have hope and a future for every man, woman and child who seeks me with all their heart, whatever their present circumstances.
Thanks be to God for the ways in which his word has found us this morning.
Amen
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