The bible text for this week’s sermon is available at https://bible.oremus.org/?ql=503393112

"Elijah in the Wilderness" by Lord Frederic Leighton

I think most of us here acknowledge that we’re living in a particularly rough season of the world. I think many of us have come to realize that this moment will not just be a blip on the map, but signals a deeper upheaval – of ourselves and our communities. I think many of us had hoped it wouldn’t come to such an extreme situation, but here we are.

I think we’re becoming more accustomed to the honest confession that life right now is hard, even as it can also feel oddly normal at times, even as there have been life-giving transitions in the mix too. I think we’re ready to admit that the balance is still really heavy.

And I think we would like to believe that this awareness will let us approach the situation objectively, that we can cleanly detach ourselves from the swamp of emotions that comes along with such times. We want to believe that if we can articulate it and understand it, it can’t sneak up and swallow us. And while naming it does help, it will not inoculate us from this weight entirely.

Because somehow, even in this particularly cavernous valley of life, there’s still this prevalent story being projected in media and on our psyches that good Christian leaders or really any good Christian can always see the bright side. And not just SEE the bright side, but make it our all-time prevailing focus, and constantly confidently trust in its triumph over everything else. We are told explicitly and implicitly that IF we are people of God, this SHOULD be our response to difficulty; that this is the HOLIEST response to heartache and struggle.

And sure, there are biblical figures who face the crashing of their world with such grace and peace (although many of them also experienced turmoil and questioning in the mix too), but then there’s also beloved prophets like Elijah, who flees into the wilderness alone ready to give up on all of it. With all of the talk of joy and rejoicing in the church, here is a holy reminder that life can wear down even the strongest servant of God. Elijah, who has done so much good in pursuit of God’s justice also experiences fear and deep sadness.  He has faced tremendous risks (which a life with God, a life in pursuit of goodness will inevitably entail). He once spoke confidently of this goodness even when it was challenged. But now he is met with rage and is threatened, and it’s all piling up it’s just too much. He is both deeply faithful and deeply human.

This is a sacred text for the days when we want to just lay in and be left alone. This is a holy word for me when I feel like I tried, I failed, and I give up or I just have nothing left to give. This is salvation when I am convinced that everything and everyone is ruined, including me and honestly I’m ready to just let it all rot.

For me, this Word is holy not because it creates a silver lining out of suffering, not because it shows some pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but because I am reminded that in this pit, I am not alone or abandoned. Because the messenger of God doesn’t argue with Elijah to explain why his feelings are just a poor attitude, but brings him food and drink and urges him to rest.

Elijah’s been beating himself up - comparing himself to this ideal he thinks others have achieved. He calls himself a failure next to his ancestors who he’s convinced did this life so much better than him. This place of despair often make us feel utterly alone and cut off.  We forget our connection:

to community,

to love,

to ancestors,

to meaning,

to the great cloud of witnesses that surrounds us even when we can’t see or feel it,

to grace.

For me, this Word is good news redeeming Gospel as it reminds us that even when I’m experiencing the funk and I can’t find my own way out, it doesn’t mean I’m not good or faithful or lost in a pit too deep for God to reach.  God does not condemn Elijah, nor try to downplay his suffering or cover it up with platitudes or silver linings, but sits with him where he is and continues to be there through it. When Elijah can’t seem to change out of his sweatpants or take a shower, God’s angel says, “here I made you a sandwich and a glass of water.  You can take a nap while I take care of the all the crusty dishes that have piled up.” Not just once, but twice, until Elijah has had the space and care to heal his heart and body. “Here, I brought you some fresh fruit and cold water. Have a snack, take another nap, and we’ll see how tomorrow goes.”

Already my heart of scarred stoned begins to soften at this reminder that even when I feel farthest from connection, goodness, or redemption, God is with me through care, presence, connection, and purpose.

The season of Advent means arrival. Well, more like arrive-ING – the PROCESS of unfolding presence. It is not just back then, but also now.  It’s not just about getting ready for Christmas, but anticipating God’s appearance among us, amidst our world again. It’s about re-creation and re-connecting. This year, as we approach this mystery as +KINDRED, we’re using the language of Interwoven – to engage this season  as a thread that continues over, under, around, and through, past, present, and future – to be a part of this sacred stirring that pulls all things together to create something new

Today as we recognize All Saints Sunday, we reflect on our relationship with those ancestors whose memories may be joyful, or sad, or complex. We are reminded of our connection to their wisdom and love, but also their trauma and humanity.  For better or worse, some combination of the grace and kindness of others and the cruelty we’ve experience of the world has brought us to the place where we are today. This is a space where all of that can be held as we offer one another patience and care and food and rest as God does.

And this is also a day to remember that we are equally connected to what comes after - to the renewal, the unfolding goodness. Today the line between what was, what is, and what will be seems to become so thin as to disappear…and it reveals something we didn’t see before.

Sometimes when I’m playing a video game, I don’t even realize it, but my face has been moving closer toward the screen. I’ve slowly, unnoticeably, been leaning forward, drawn into the details. I forget where I am until my eyes get crossed, and everything is just grainy pixels and harsh angles and the picture doesn’t make sense, and suddenly I notice I have a headache…

Something snaps and then I have to lean back again, remember to blink, and take a break so that my eyes can actually see again.

God cares for Elijah in his anguish and doesn’t rush him through it, but also does not resign Elijah to become lost in despair forever. When he’s rested and ready, he is invited to stand at the edge of this place and watch God approach. Elijah experiences all the grand phenomena in which God has appeared before. Perhaps they are even ways Elijah himself has experienced God in the past. But, at least this time, we are told that God is not in those things.  Afterward comes the sound of sheer silence.

….

And it wasn’t until this time reading this text that it was pointed out to me that it doesn’t explicitly say God was IN the silence either. Here God’s presence was not grand, maybe small, maybe none of them, but something has shifted. Perhaps these things have given Elijah the space to be cared for and loved, and to just blink for a minute. He still responds to the question, “why are you here” with the same reality:

“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”

But this time perhaps something has softened just enough so that he can hear God’s reminder that he is not alone and he still has a place in this story - that there are others around him, other leaders, other prophets, other faithful people, others who have shared in heartache but also have a share in their collective hope, people who will share the load and are looking toward the horizon. Perhaps this precipice is a gentle reminder to Elijah that there is still life beyond this and it’s wider and more beautiful than what seemed possible with the ragged pieces he held in his hands. Amen.