On the Road & Searching for God

1 Kings 19:1-3, 9-18

Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, ‘So may the gods do to me, and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.’ Then he was afraid; he got up and fled for his life, and came to Beer-sheba, which belongs to Judah; he left his servant there.

At that place he came to a cave, and spent the night there. Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “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.” He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “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.”

Then the Lord said to him, “Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus; when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king over Aram. Also you shall anoint Jehu son of Nimshi as king over Israel; and you shall anoint Elisha son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah as prophet in your place. Whoever escapes from the sword of Hazael, Jehu shall kill; and whoever escapes from the sword of Jehu, Elisha shall kill. Yet I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him.”

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First of all, I have to confess, in case any of you were expecting me to stick to the script for this sermon series that I laid out in the newsletter a week or so ago … I changed my mind this week. I was originally going to preach about the story of Philip baptizing the Ethiopian eunuch “on the road” from the book of Acts. But then I realized that this story about Elijah was actually the one assigned for today, according to the lectionary. And I realized I was feeling a little more like Elijah these days, than like Philip (or the Ethiopian eunuch, thanks be to Jesus!), so I wanted to wonder some more about the prophet, Elijah, instead.

And while this story about the prophet, on the run and on the road and searching for God – in the wind and in the earthquake and in the fire, before finding God, finally, in the sound of sheer silence – is pretty well known, it’s important to know what led up to Elijah’s harrowing, holy experience up on Mr. Horeb.

The short version of the story is that the prophet Elijah – with the help of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – put to shame a handful of the prophets of Baal by proving their god was a false, failure of a god. And then Elijah had those false prophets put to death.

According to the story, which plays out like some sort of divine, pre-historic game show – “Top Prophet,” you might have called it, or “Yahweh or The Highway,” perhaps – Elijah challenges the prophets of Baal to call upon their god to rain fire from the heavens in order to sacrifice a young bull, and prove his power and prowess as “God.”

When the prophets of Baal – and Baal, himself, actually – fail to deliver the fire they desire, Elijah humiliates them in front of all the people. Elijah sets up an altar, digs a trench around it, soaks it – not once, not twice, but three times – with enough water to fill a hot tub and then asks the God – our God – to bring the fire. And the one, true God – the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – delivers enough fire to consume the altar, the stones, the dust, and all the water that filled the trench around it all, too. And then, rather than just let them leave with their humiliated tails between their proverbial legs, Elijah has all those prophets killed…

…which explains why Elijah is “on the road, again” this morning and on the run from Queen Jezebel – a worshiper of the false, failed god of Baal – who wants to avenge her god by putting Elijah to death for his little stunt with those prophets.

So, on the road and on the run for his life, Elijah finds himself alone and desperate and afraid, in the wilderness, asking for God – the same God who had saved him before, the same God who had established him as a prophet of the One True God, the same God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob – Elijah asks that he might just die. But after a dream and some conversation with some angels, some solid meals, and 40 days and 40 nights of wilderness wandering “on the road again,” Elijah ends up at Mount Horeb, wondering what in the world is next for him after all he’d done, all he’d run from, and all he had escaped in those days.

Elijah – faithful prophet that he was – is aching for, longing for, desperate and dying for God’s voice, God’s guidance, God’s presence to teach him or lead him or comfort him or show him something, anything about what could or should or would be next for him.

And haven’t we all felt something like Elijah at one time or another – in a wilderness of some kind; aching, longing, hungry; dying for guidance, for answers, for comfort, for direction? And haven’t we looked in all kinds of places for those answers, for that comfort, for some direction, for some measure of hope in the face of our frustrations and our fears? (Those of you who know about my wife, Christa’s, recent cancer diagnosis, will understand why Elijah’s story hit a little closer to home than that story about Philip and the eunuch.)

Well, God promises Elijah – on the road and up on that mountain – that he’s about to get what he longed for. Maybe Elijah thought some stone tablets might appear, with very clear instructions, as had happened for Moses, way back when. Maybe he was expecting a conversation or another meal or another angel, like before, who knows? None of that happened. But there was a great wind, strong enough to split mountains and break rocks, but the answer wasn’t in the wind. The wind was followed by an earthquake, but God wasn’t in the earthquake. And then there was a fire, (remember how much Elijah could do with some fire), but God wasn’t in the fire this time, either.

And after all of that, there is the sound of sheer silence. Utter noiselessness. Absolute stillness. Pure calm. Total tranquility. Complete quiet. The kind of nothing and silence you could touch… and feel… silence you could hear, even, as bizarre as that seems. And when Elijah hears that sheer silence he finally finds what he was looking for all along: direction… guidance… answers… hope… and the sure and certain power and presence of God.

And I don’t have any “aha moments” about what we’re currently dealing with at the Havel household – or about what’s in store for Christa in the months ahead – but I do know how easy it is to keep moving and to stay busy and to keep distracted so that the silence can’t get in. (The only way I can sleep sometimes, these days, is in the other room, with the news on, to keep my mind distracted by anything and everything besides what scares me the most, right now.)

So Elijah’s story is an example and inspiration for me – and I hope it will be for you, too – to not be scared of – to remember our need, really – for solitude; for prayer; for reflection; for stillness in the presence of God; for time away from the distractions of life, so that we can center ourselves faithfully on what God is calling us toward, as we make our way in the world. We are called to do more listening than talking on occasion; to be patient more and to push less. (Christa and I have realized that the last two weeks have gone by so quickly, with so many tests and scans and results and plans, we’re quite aware that that’s what has made this bearable in some ways.)

But I’m certain that’s not what God would have for any of us – all of the time.

We need more time for silence and stillness because, I think, that’s where God meets up with our greatest fears. See, there are earthquakes and fires and a whole lot of craziness swirling around us all of the time. There are threats of war and rumors of war. There are pandemics and politics and global warming and cancer and the beginning of another school year in the midst of it all.

And we are consumed and distracted by so many ideas and opinions about all of it; so much heartache and heaviness; so many lies and so much division we need to separate ourselves – for enough time to be reminded that God is in the midst of it, too; always for our sake and always for the sake of the world.

And this kind of silence and stillness, Elijah found; the kind of listening to and leaning on the God who is more powerful than any of it, can save our sanity and our lives and our souls on this side of heaven. And I haven’t been so great at it lately, as I’ve said. But this week, Elijah has reminded me that we’re really playing with fire when we refuse to get still, when we neglect to be quiet, and when we choose to be distracted, rather than allow ourselves to be found by the steady, patient, hopeful silence of God’s amazing grace.

Amen

"Stop and Hear the Music" – Matthew 11:2-11

Matthew 11:2-11

When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, "Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?" Jesus answered them, "Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me." As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: "What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written, "See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.' Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.

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Anticipating that the end of his life was near, John the Baptist sat in his prison cell and wondered if he had gotten it all wrong.  Had he wasted his life?  All those years spent announcing that the Messiah was coming…that the world would be turned on its head…that salvation was at hand; and what did he have to show for it?

John was convinced that in his lifetime he would witness the Messiah come and establish the Kingdom of God on Earth.  And it would look something like this:  There would be trumpets blazing, the evil occupying government powers would be brought to their knees, the righteous and religious would inherit the earthly blessings, and God would walk on the earth, ruling with justice.  

Sitting in the cold, dark prison cell, John’s attention turned to Jesus.  He had put so much hope, faith and trust in Jesus of Nazareth.  He recalled the day he baptized Jesus in the Jordan River.  When Jesus came up out of the water hadn’t he heard the voice of the Lord say, “This is my Son, whom I love.”  Maybe he misheard something that day, because as far as he could tell, Jesus was no Messiah.  

After all, Jesus spent more time challenging the Hebrew people than the Roman government. Jesus was plain, ordinary, and physically unimpressive.  He didn’t throw lightening bolts from his hands, he couldn’t fly, and he never even lifted a finger against anyone.  Rather than lead God’s people in a fight against the oppressive, godless forces of oppression, he spent all his time eating and drinking with sinners, adulterers, lepers, tax collectors, and prostitutes.  

John was aware of the healings and so-called “miracles” which Jesus performed.  But even that was too mundane for John.  He expected something more spectacular from God.

As a desperate measure at a desperate time, John sent his followers to ask, once and for all, if Jesus was actually the Messiah.  Jesus’ reply was poignant. According to Jesus, John needed to stretch his imagination of what the presence and power of God looks like, because he was missing out on something important.

Here, today, two thousand years later, we too must stretch our imagination of what the presence and power of God looks like.  Many of us, like John the Baptist, have a narrow understanding of who God is, what God does, and where we can experience God.  In this season of Advent many of us are caught waiting for a God who fits nicely into our preconceived notions – a God who lives confined within a particular church building or a particular set of scripture passages. 

In January of 2007, The Washington Post videotaped the reactions of commuters to the music of a violinist at a D.C. Metro (subway) stop.  The overwhelming majority of the 1000+ commuters were too busy to stop.  A few did, briefly, and some of those threw a couple of bills into the violin case of the street performer.  No big deal, just an ordinary day on the Metro.  Except it wasn't an ordinary day.  The violinist wasn't just another street performer; he was Joshua Bell, one of the world's finest concert violinists, playing his multi-million dollar Stradivarius.  Three days earlier he had filled Boston's Symphony Hall with people paying $100 for the cheap seats to hear him play similar pieces.  

The question the Post author (Gene Weingarten) asks is: “If we can’t take the time out of our lives to stay a moment and listen to one of the best musicians on Earth play some of the best music ever written; if the surge of modern life so overpowers us that we are deaf and blind to something like that -- then what else are we missing?”*

Just as how many of us have lost our ability to recognize great music anywhere outside of a concert hall; I also fear we have largely lost our ability to recognize God at work outside of the church.

Can we imagine that God is using us in our various roles as employee, parent, spouse, friend, citizen, and volunteer, to extend God's love, blessing, and steadfast care of all creation?  

The possibility of missing out on God’s presence and activity might sound dire; but truthfully, it’s more of an invitation to recognize God’s presence so that we can share in the joy that surrounds it. Here’s how the Washington Post journalist captured this joy from in the Joshua Bell subway experiment. He writes,

“As it happens, exactly one person recognized Joshua Bell, and she didn't arrive until near the very end. For Stacy Furukawa, there was no doubt. She doesn't know much about classical music, but she had been in the audience three weeks earlier, at Bell's concert at the Library of Congress. And here he was, the international virtuoso, sawing away, begging for money. She had no idea what the heck was going on, but whatever it was, she wasn't about to miss it.

“Furukawa positioned herself 10 feet away from Bell, front row, center. She had a huge grin on her face. The grin, and Furukawa, remained planted in that spot until the end.”

John was driven to doubt and despair because he didn’t know what to look for.  In order to see God at work within your family, job, friends, and community, you need to know what you’re looking for.  On Sunday mornings we gather hopeful to experience Christ in a way that would help you identify God throughout the week.  So that when you least expect it, you may see God at work in strange ways and in strange places, and that you would feel compelled drop everything, sit down, and smile until the end.

Jesus tells John that every Christian disciple is greater than John. Why? Because we have perceived in Jesus' "ordinary" actions of restoration the very hand of God at work to heal, redeem, and save –– something John almost missed completely.

I wish to leave you with a quote from poet W.H. Davies:

“What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare. ”

Amen

* Read the original Washington Post article by clicking here.