1
Kings 19:1-15a
If I say to you
“Old Testament prophet” what comes to mind? A man, perhaps? Yes, you’d be right
about that. The vast majority of prophets were men, but I can’t help but
mention that there were actually few female prophets, but that’s for another
sermon. Back to my original question, what comes to mind when you think of an
Old Testament prophet? Probably a man. Maybe a man who is oddly dressed, even
for the times. Likely someone really close to God. But perhaps someone who
seems a bit crazy and on the fringes of society? All to say that prophets are
typically people that we immediately identify with, not someone with whom we
think we have much in common.
But perhaps the
prophet Elijah might change our minds. Although he does fit many of the
stereotypes, he’s more than just a one-dimensional biblical character. He’s a
mixed bag, just like we all are, full of both darkness and light. The prophet
Elijah does have his moments of glory being large and in charge, fiercely and
confidently proclaiming the word of the Lord. But there are also times when we
see a softer side of the prophet, like when he shows mercy to a foreign, pagan
widow and her dying son. And yet there’s more, he also embodies a frightening
quality of religious extremism as he oversees the mass killing of 450 false
prophets - which is where we come into the story in our reading from the book
of 1 Kings.
Queen Jezebel has
just heard the news of the slaughter of her pagan prophets. Understandably, she
is enraged and breathes threats that Elijah will soon meet the same deadly
fate. Overcome by fear, Elijah runs for his life out into the wilderness where
the frightened, despondent, and exhausted prophet finally drops beneath a
scraggly tree where he informs God that he’s done. "It is enough,” he says
so, “now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” But
God has other plans. God fortifies Elijah with food and sends him to journey
onto Mt. Horeb, the mountain of God.
There Elijah
enters a cave where God speaks, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” To which
Elijah responds with a tale of woe. A litany of how he’s been working so hard
to do the right thing. How everyone else has fallen away or been killed. And
now, now, he cries, “I alone am left” - which technically is not true - there
are others, but in his despair he completely feels that way. And God doesn’t
argue the point, but instead offers an invitation, an invitation of encounter.
“Go out,” God says, “and stand on the mountain for the Lord is about to pass
by.”
And then comes earth,
wind, and fire - no, not the 1970’s pop band - but a spectacle of nature.
First a rushing wind, a wind so mighty
that mountains are split and rocks are broken. Next, the very ground shakes and
trembles below Elijah’s feet. Then finally, a consuming fire. All this power,
all this greatness, all this spectacle and yet, we are told, that the Lord was
not in any of it. Rather it’s only when things settle down, when the ruckus
ceases that Elijah encounters something. Something that’s clearly hard to put into
words. It’s called a sound, but it’s not really a sound. Many have referred to
it as a still small voice, but it’s not exactly that either. Our translation
identifies it as “a sound of sheer silence.” In the original Hebrew it’s, “A
voice of thin silence.”
But whatever you
call it, it is holy and it is mysterious, and God is in it. So leaving the
cave, Elijah goes out. And from the beckoning silence God asks the same
question as before, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" And Elijah
gives the very same answer, the same tale full of despair and isolation. His
sense of his circumstances haven’t changed even in the midst of this holy
encounter which may be a reflection of how we all can get stuck sometimes and
see our lives in only one incomplete way.
Regardless, God doesn’t dwell on Elijah’s answer. Clearly the best way
to move Elijah forward is by simply directing him in the next thing he is to
do. In this case, “Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus.” And
that’s all the information Elijah gets. He doesn’t know what the plan is once
he gets to Damascus. Where exactly should he go. What he should do. Whom he
should meet. Many questions are left unanswered.
Now none of us, I
would venture to say, lives the life of an Old Testament prophet, yet Elijah’s
story is not so different than ours. Likely we too have known moments of
triumph, experienced seasons of strong faith and conviction. Then sorely missed
the mark, acting in ways that have been destructive and deadly to others. While
at other times found ourselves in the wilderness of despair where all seems
lost. But no matter what condition we find ourselves in, as God did with
Elijah, so God does with us. She meets us where we are, beckoning us with a
type of silence that speaks volumes. Our continuing task is to attune ourselves
to this invitation of encounter with the holy. But in order to do that we must
recognize that whatever attention-getting spectacle that is going on in our
lives - the earth, wind, and fire which is often better known to us in the form
of crisis, challenge or change - is not all there is. That something, or rather Someone, who is
beyond the current events of our lives, who desires to be known to us, to
ground us, to speak to us, and to lead us into the next thing. That doesn’t
mean that all of our questions get answered or all of our problems solved, but
it does mean that we can move forward into the unknown with the assurance that
God is there and that the next thing for us to do is always about love.
The invitation is
out there, an invitation of encounter with the holy. God’s beckoning silence
calls to each one of us - now and always. Hear and know that love. And the next
thing to do? Be that love.
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