Scripture can be found here...
There was a terrific article in last Sunday’s
Boston Globe, all about the current offerings to be found in movie theaters,
and a theme that seems to tie them all together. Ty Burr of the Globe staff writes,
A man lost
at sea.[i]
A woman marooned in space.[ii] A ship’s
captain torn from his crew,[iii] and a
family man torn from his freedom, humanity, even identity.[iv]
Our movies
are telling us we’re on our own now. The cavalry isn’t coming and Houston has
other problems to deal with. If some cultural seasons celebrate teamwork — good
people coming together, easily or not, to work toward a common goal — we seem
to be in a moment obsessed with the isolated hero.[v]
You don’t have to be Sandra Bullock cut loose
from her tether in the vast expanses of space to feel completely and utterly
alone. In the perverse ways of the human psyche, you can feel all alone in the
same crowded move theater where you are experiencing her terror and
disorientation in 3-D.
As babies, our first developmental milestones
have to do with looking at our parents’ faces—connection. Babies who are not
held can fail to thrive, because touch is nearly as essential as air and
nourishment for our health and well-being. We were created to be connected, to
be in families, to be in community.
And yet, we can find ourselves, or feel
ourselves, very much alone.
Consider Elijah. Our stories of the kings of Israel
and Judah come to a crashing conclusion with the dreadful murderous monarchs
Ahab and Jezebel. In today’s passage Jezebel puts a bounty on Elijah’s head
after he has executed God’s justice upon the 450 prophets of Baal. It’s a long
and bloody story. Elijah, understandably, decides to get out of Dodge. He goes
to Judah, which takes him out of the jurisdiction of Ahab and Jezebel, and
then, into the wild—towards Mount Horeb, the “mount of God,” also known in
scripture as Mount Sinai.
Elijah is going to Mount Sinai, where the
people of Israel went when they were wandering in the desert.
Elijah is going to Mount Sinai, where God
appeared to Moses and presented him with the tablets containing the covenant,
the Ten Commandments.
Elijah is going to Mount Sinai. But why?
Elijah’s on his own now. The cavalry seems to
have been delayed, perhaps indefinitely, and Houston is having problems of its
own. Elijah is our isolated hero.
And so, in this moment, Elijah chooses to
return to the place of his ancestors. On this mountain, God gave the covenant
that made the people, God’s people. On this mountain, God appeared to Moses and
the people in the midst of cloud, and thunder, and lightning, and earthquake,
and fire. This is where it all happened. This, in his state of terror and disorientation,
is where Elijah wants to be: the place where God came down to meet the people.
It’s different this time, though. This time,
God is not in clouds or fire, or earthquake or lightning. God is in… well,
listen to all these translations of this tricky little Hebrew phrase.
“a gentle
whisper”[vi] … “a sound. Thin. Quiet.”[vii] …“a gentle breeze”[viii] … “a soft murmuring sound”[ix] … “a still small voice”[x] … “a sound of sheer silence”[xi]
Elijah goes searching for a reunion with his
ancestors, and reassurance from God, and God’s response is not the great
fanfare his ancestors experienced. Elijah finds God in silence.
It’s not that God is not found elsewhere, and
it’s no that the earlier experience of Elijah’s ancestors is somehow invalid.
God knows many of us have found communion with God in all kinds of places: in
worship while singing a hymn that makes us unexpectedly choke up; in a gorgeous
vision of autumn leaves swirling in a wind or a beautiful rainbow; looking into
the face of someone we love; holding hands in grace around a table.
But sometimes, what we are given is silence.
Some of us are not so very good at silence. I
would count myself as falling into this category. While I don’t fill every hour
with a TV or radio, I certainly do like something on in my car, whether that is
a news station or music or an episode of a podcast I like. It takes discipline
for me to carve out time for quiet, discipline I don’t always have access to
when I’m feeling stressed—which is usually the time I am most in need of the
silence.
We have to make space for silence in this
very noisy and distracting world of ours.
In the silence, Elijah is also to hear God’s
instruction that he anoint two kings.
In the silence, he also hears this, perhaps
startling directive: “You shall anoint Elisha son of Shaphat of
Abel-meholah as prophet in your place” (1 Kings 19:16b). Elijah is told his
days as God’s prophet are coming to a close.
And finally, Elijah is able to hear God
provide assurance that, in fact, he is not alone—there is a sizeable faithful
remnant, 7000 who have not “bent the knee to Baal,” which is good news. It
means that the witness to and worship of God will not disappear with him, but will
be carried on by a cloud of witnesses that transcends the relatively small span
of his life.
In the still, small voice of God, Elijah is
given a powerful and humbling gift: he is given the gift of perspective, like,
say, an astronaut who is able, for the first time, to see earth, a small blue
marble spinning in the vast expanse of the heavens. Elijah sees his own life,
and ministry, and mission—and it is all good, it is very good.
But Elijah is one man, and the Lord of hosts
whom Elijah serves is, indeed, the Lord of hosts—untold, countless numbers of
faithful people. God’s mission does not begin with Elijah and it does not end
with him.
Elijah has just stumbled onto the reality of
the communion of saints, which we celebrate today.
In one sense, this is a very sobering
reality, the moment when our own mortality is driven home to us. As someone
asked me this week, Are you living today in reaction to your job description,
or in light of your obituary? It’s a good check-in.
But it is also an incredibly freeing thought.
If God has a plan for each of us, work for us to do, then my work isn’t the
same as yours, and yours isn’t the same as your co-worker’s, or your spouse’s,
or your friend’s. Each of us is free to do the work God has given us—and no
more. No less, of course. We have to do our part. But no playing God. No
thinking it all depends on us. In the movie “My Fair Lady,” a very angry Eliza
Doolittle tries to put Henry Higgins (a guy with a god-complex if there ever
was one) in his place by singing, “There’ll be spring every year without you.
England still will be here without you! There’ll be fruit on the tree, and a
shore by the sea, there’ll be crumpets and tea without you!” The realization
that we are members of the communion of saints frees us from the idea that it
is all up to us. It reminds us that we are part of a community that extends
backwards to the first human beings and forward into a future yet unimagined,
except by God. We are not alone. We have companions along the way. God will
make sure the earth keeps spinning.
We are not alone, though life can sometimes
convince us that we are. I do not want to minimize the reality of loneliness…
silence can signify the missing person we so long to see once more. But deeper
in the silence is the voice of God, inviting us to do our part in the great and
beautiful dance of God’s ministry and creation. And deeper still is a
chorus—millions and millions of voices strong, yet made weaker if any of us
withholds our voice.
So dance, saints of God! Sing! Join in the
joyful mission: listen in the silence for God, and join with your whole heart,
and soul, and mind and strength in God’s glorious plan. Thanks be to God. Amen.
[i] Robert Redford in “All Is
Lost.”
[ii] Sandra Bullock in “Gravity.”
[iii] Tom Hanks in “Captain
Phillips.”
[iv] Chiwetel Ejiofor in “12
Years a Slave.”
[v] Ty Burr, “At the Movies,
Isolated Heroes Tell Us We’re On Our Own,” Boston Globe. Sunday October 26,
2013, http://www.boston.com/ae/movies/2013/10/26/the-movies-isolated-heroes-tell-our-own/GpxJW8lClMhCdSE71ZrEjJ/story.html.
[vi] New
International Version.
[vii] Common
English Bible.
[viii] Contemporary English
Version.
[ix] Jewish
Publication Society.
[x] King James Version.
[xi] New Revised Standard
Version.
Wonderful reflection on the complexities and challenges of silence.
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