Luke 13:10-17 "From Crippled to Healed"

         The old woman lived alone and did not go out in public much anymore.  When she did, it was out of necessity.  At those times, she slipped out in the early morning or at twilight when most people were home with their families – laughing over dinner or sharing a second cup of coffee together.  

You see, she despised encountering folks as she toddled slowly along to the public well or town market.  She could practically feel the stares of adults, their pity at her appearance piercing through her.  And then there were the older children imitating her ungainly walk, howling with laughter as they pretended to move as she moved – all cramped and bent over.  

The little children were the worst.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could sometimes see them clinging to their mothers’ skirts.  She could hear them whispering in worried voices, “What’s wrong with her? How come she walks funny?  Why doesn’t she stand up?”

         And the pain!  Not just the pain of the catcalls and piteous looks and knowing that God was being pelted with the silent prayers of those around her, short bursts of invocation that they would never end up so badly crippled as she. That pain was bad enough, but the physical pain was often nearly unbearable. 

For 18 long years after the wicked spirit had claimed her, she had felt like her back would break, leaving her in two useless pieces. For 18 long years, she had stared at the ground, the hump like a heavy weight on her shoulders, forcing her gaze downward. For 18 long years, it had taken everything to just get out of bed in the morning and face another day.  

For 18 long years, she had been a shadow of her former self. There was no one left now who remembered that her smile once lit up an entire house, that, at one time so long ago, she had danced with abandon; she had loved and been loved.  After 18 long years riddled with pain, she could barely remember her life as it had once been.

So, you see, there were many reasons why this nameless woman kept to herself.  The one exception, however, was this:  She faithfully attended Sabbath services each week. You could always find her sitting in the back row of the synagogue at Shabbat observances that began a few minutes before sunset every Friday.  Over the years, she had grown to love the recitation of the prayers and blessings as much as she did the traditional lighting of the candles and the odor of the warm tallow.  She wished sometimes that she could still watch for the appearance of the first three stars in the sky on Saturday that would mark the Sabbath’s end – just as she had as a child. 

These days though she treasured the singsong familiarity of the prayers.  She often hoped they would go on forever, cocooning her from the harsh realities of her day-to-day existence.  The synagogue was a safe place for the old woman. There she was part of a faithful community. There she could blend in and feel almost unobtrusive. There she did not feel quite so much like a freak.

But that all changed unexpectedly one evening. It was the day that the young upstart rabbi who hailed from Nazareth was teaching.  She had heard about him as a preacher and healer – not that she had any hopes of being healed.  She had long since resigned herself to being the town’s resident hunchback.

The congregation was all abuzz.  Folks commented excitedly about how handsome Jesus looked and wondered aloud just what he would say. However, when he began to teach, a hush grew over the little faith community.  

The old crippled woman listened as Jesus talked fervidly about the Holy Scriptures and the Kingdom of God that he felt was imminent.  His words were so filled with passion that with each passing moment they seemed less like a didactic lesson and more like an invitation, a gentle and persistent beckoning into the embrace of a loving God.  

And that was when it happened.  All-of-a-sudden, Jesus was standing right in front of her, looking into her eyes - not an easy task considering her unusual crippled posture. But for a moment he was bent over just like she was bent over, for a moment he shared her pain - and yet commanded her to get up and come forward. 

She was scared because she was certain that she could not walk that far without sitting and resting for a spell along the way.  However, something inside her – in her heart - told her to move.  She took a deep breath and slowly and painfully made her way to the front of the synagogue.  She was mortified - now aware more than ever of the stares filled with pity that followed her and the silent prayers of intercession, prayers not for her but for the pray-ers themselves. 

What happened next, of course, is nothing short of a miracle. First, the lady hunchback made it to the front of the synagogue.  Jesus did not have to meet her half way. 

Second, well…. "Woman, you are set free from your ailment," Jesus proclaimed as he gently rested his hands on her broken, useless, bent over body.  When she felt his hands, that was when she knew that she could once again stand straight and tall – free of her decades-long infirmity.  

That was when she knew that she could go to the market and the well in broad daylight.  That was when she concluded that she could sit anywhere she wanted in the synagogue. That was when she understood that she could laugh at the antics of the older children and smile at the youngest ones.  That was when she realized that she could finally see the sun rise in the morning and set in its colorful glory at night.  That was when she fathomed that she could watch for the three stars that would mark the end of the Sabbath – just like she had as a child. And, best of all, that was when it hit her:  She could dance with abandon once more – and know that she was loved. And so she stood up – straight and proud – and praised her God.  

Now, if this was just a simple healing story, it might have ended here.  However, it is not a simple healing story – and what happened next was nothing short of a miracle as well.  In the midst of the old woman’s joy-filled praising, the synagogue priest began reading the riot act to - not Jesus, but the congregation in general and the old woman in particular. He was furious that this itinerant rabbi whom he had been so kind to invite to lead worship had done the unthinkable.  He had broken with Jewish tradition.  He had healed someone on the Sabbath – and that was not kosher – even if it was someone as pitiful as the old crippled woman.  After all, rules are rules, and tradition is tradition. And so the priest let them all have it.  

“Six days have been defined as work days. Come on one of the six if you want to be healed, but not on the seventh, the Sabbath,” he shouted.

Before anyone could respond, Jesus shot back an indignant response. “You frauds! Each Sabbath every one of you regularly unties your cow or donkey from its stall, leads it out for water, and thinks nothing of it. So why isn’t it all right for me to untie this daughter of Abraham and lead her from the stall where Satan has had her tied these eighteen years?”

 When Jesus put it that way, as one Bible translation says, his critics were left looking red-faced and a wee bit embarrassed. The congregation, however, was delighted and cheered him on.  And this is the miracle part: Jesus told it like it was. He told the priest that there was something seriously broken about a system that allowed you to treat your animals better than you treated your neighbors, a system where outdated tradition had trumped compassion.

This story about the crippled, bent over woman is found only in the Gospel of Luke, and it is not your typical run-of-the-mill healing narrative.  It is a tale that points beyond itself to raise questions about what it means to be free and just how one moves from being spiritually crippled to being healed. The Gospel writer gets at those questions through two of the characters in the story.

The first is the priest.  He got so angry that the crippled woman allowed Jesus to heal her on the Sabbath, right in front of the entire congregation who could so easily get the wrong idea and conclude that change and tweaking tradition was acceptable. Imagine the chaos then! 

The priest was so imprisoned by the rules and regs of first century Judaism that he was mired in meaningless tradition that left no room for innovation or creativity – or even common sense.  A blind adherence to the rules caused him to be blind to the pain and suffering of the crippled woman.

Baptist pastor Luke Powery summarized the situation well when he wrote that “we realize that (Jesus’) ministry messes with the tradition, or some might say, “messes up” the tradition. But he isn’t messing it up; he’s making it what it’s supposed to be.” If the original meaning of the word, Sabbath, is “relief”, then why would Jesus not heal a crippled old lady on the Sabbath?  And remember, the priest was not against healing.  The priest was simply against the timing of the healing.

And Jesus’ point, of course, is that opportunities to heal, to bring relief, to alleviate suffering should never be time-bound. Compassion and service to others is to be woven into the fabric of our lives.  Our secular lives and spiritual lives are to be co-mingled rather than compartmentalized. TO embrace justice at all times and in all places is who God calls us to be as the human beings God created.

         One hopes that Jesus’ sharp comeback to the hide-bound priest cracked open something in his heart. One hopes that he became less rule-bound and more freed up to minister to those around him – whenever and wherever there was need.  One hopes that he learned from Jesus that compassionate service is to be at the core of who we are. 

         To be free then means to not be bound by rules and tradition but rather to be governed by innovation and creativity.  To move from being spiritually crippled to being healed means co-mingling one’s religious and secular lives - with service to others being the link between them.

What that means for us, for example, is recognizing the potential of our building, understanding it not only as a church but also as a gathering place for our entire community, a place of outreach, a nexus for service in our community, a place of ministry 24/7, not just on Sunday mornings.  What a rich and spiritually healing experience that would be for us!

         The crippled woman herself also illustrates what it means to be free and what it means to be spiritually healed.  Lutheran pastor Jonathan Davis made an interesting observation in his blog about the interplay between her and Jesus.

         Davis writes, “So let me get this straight, Jesus, you know…the Lord, sees a woman who has been bent over for 18 years. A woman who knows people by their feet and not their faces. She slowly shuffles her creaking body into the synagogue, she has just found her seat, and she has just bent her knees past that point of no return, and he calls out, “Hey, hey you… come here.” So she cranks herself back up and continues up the aisle toward Jesus.

I mean, how rude is that? You’re the Son of God, you go to her for God’s sake. It’s a healing story. You’d think Jesus could have met her half way or something.”  Davis goes on to say, “In my mind, Jesus was breaking a sort of unspoken rule in our society. A rule that says you care for your weak and sick by helping them. You open the door for someone on crutches, you bring a plate of all the potluck food to the person in the wheelchair. It’s just what you do. It’s called being nice.

But in the text, it says that Jesus saw her. And I can’t help but wonder, maybe what he saw was something we couldn’t see. Maybe he saw that what this woman didn’t need was his pity, but instead needed to be empowered. That she needed to be given something to do rather than have something done for her.”

In short, Jesus empowered the woman to do more and be more than she ever thought possible. His positive attitude – in contrast to the pity of the townsfolk and her own negative resignation - freed her and allowed her to be healed. 

We too in this congregation need to feel empowered to do more and be more than we ever thought possible. An example is our lay leadership, which is on a downward trajectory. In the months to come, each one of you will need to step up and take on leadership roles here.  You can no longer depend on someone else because there is no “someone else”.  There is only you– but, as your pastor, I trust that Jesus would tell us that you are enough.

It is like Christopher Robin once said to Winnie-the-Pooh:

“There is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is..... I'll always be with you.”

Jesus might well have whispered those same words in the ancient ear of the lady hunchbck when he invited her to come forward.  In fact, I think he must have, and that is why the bent over woman was able to get to the front to be healed.  Jesus empowered her.

Likewise, if we listen really carefully, I think you will also hear Jesus whispering similarly to you as you struggle to figure out this church’s future.  Can you hear him?  “There is something you must always remember, O congregation in my little church in Raymond, Maine. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is..... I Jesus will always be with you.”

My prayer then for us is that we will not be bound by tradition but will be innovative in our ministries and in the use of our building and that we will be empowered, with God’s help, to be all that Jesus calls us to be. Only then will we be free. Only then will we no longer be crippled by our own fears and inadequacies, but instead be healed and able to stand tall once more.

  

          

Luke 12:49-56 "Not Safe, But Good"

         We learned last week here in church that, in this Gospel of Luke, Jesus has been strolling through the Galilean countryside toward his final destination, Jerusalem – the Holy City - for about ten chapters.  All the while, he has been engaged in an itinerant ministry spreading the news of God’s impending kingdom.  

People along the way have recognized that he is a pretty cool guy, and a bunch of them have been tagging along.  Needless-to-say, he is trending on social media. He has lots of facebook friends and a solid Twitter following.  

Folks like him because he is rather warm and cozy. He heals the sick and casts out demons. He buys local, eats organic, and preaches about lilies in the field and birds in the air.  His message has always been:  Don’t worry, and, above all, do not be afraid.  You are precious in God’s sight.  

You can almost imagine this popular young Nazarene upstart rabbi wearing bell bottom pants and a blue denim shirt with a peace symbol wreathed in multi-colored flowers embroidered on the back.  After all, he is the Prince of Peace, right? He is the Jesus of the gentle hipster ways and kind words.

Or so we thought!  Until we fast forward to these verses we read this morning, and, wow, what went wrong?  It is like Jesus had a no good, horrible, terrible, very bad hair day!  Maybe he needs another cup of coffee – or two!

“I have come to bring fire to the earth, and oh how I wish it were blazing already! Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth? No! I’ve come for division!”

What gives?  What happened to the lilies and the birds?  Where is the Jesus we knew and loved and came to church to hear about and be comforted by?  We thought he was the Prince of Peace!  And how about the mild-mannered man with the halo and the little children flocking to him, crawling up onto his lap?  Or the Jesus of the Good Shepherd and the Lost Sheep – and, let’s not forget, the One who made a point of blessing the peacemakers? What’s up with the Gospel writer to include a passage like this one in his sacred narrative? 

As Methodist pastor Jo Ann Taylor wrote, “The Jesus we see in this passage seems out of character with the Jesus who loves and heals and cares for the poor.  This is not the sweet baby Jesus for whom the angels sang, “Peace on earth, good will to all” back in Luke 2.  No, this Jesus announces division instead of peace.  His rant sounds more like John the Baptist than the Beatitudes.” 

Just when we think it is safe and comfortable to come to church on a summer morning, just when we think we kind of know what to do and maybe even how to do it, Jesus lashes out at us with all sorts of nasty names (“You hypocrites!”) and menacing threats pitting us against our own family members (“father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law”).  

Who is this Jesus that brings not peace, but discord? And how do we reconcile this man who, according to the Gospel writer, said that he came “to bring (hot) fire to the earth”, how do we reconcile him with the cool dude of the flowers and the birds? 

Methodist chaplain Meghan Feldmeyer said it well, “We don’t really like talking about this Jesus, do we? This Jesus feels wrathful and angry and intimidating. This Jesus somehow seems at home with people who picket funerals...and televangelists...and let’s be honest, Christians don’t need any more of that kind of PR! The wrath of God is a hard sell. 

Not many kids are memorizing this verse about fire and division at church camp, nor do people embroider it on pillows or hang it in the entryways of their homes.”

In short, this Jesus just does not seem safe. He is not the Jesus who will bring people flocking into declining churches.  Or is he?  After all, Jesus is a pretty complex guy, and we would be shortchanging him and his mission if we assumed that his angry outbursts have no place in our modern churches.  Jesus does not seem safe, that is true.  However, I do not think it is a question of him being safe.

Do you remember the book by C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?  It is the first tale in the series, The Chronicles of Narnia, and is about four British siblings who were relocated during the WWII London Blitz to a home in the country.  One afternoon, they enter a wardrobe closet and discover a whole other world named Narnia. This magical place is filled with talking animals and is ruled by a lion named Aslan.

The youngest child Lucy strikes up a conversation with Mr. Beaver and asks about Aslan. “Is he quite safe?” she queries to which Mr. Beaver replies, “"Safe?...Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good.” 

And so it is with Jesus.  He is not safe and never has been, but he is good – even when his angry outbursts would get him labeled as mentally unstable or weird or just plain crazy – in our day as well as his.

There is a tension in Jesus’ ministry, a tension between peace and discord, between comforting words and angry outbursts,  just as there is a tension between God’s dream for the world and our reality.  And so perhaps, rather than keeping that tension hidden like some sort of dirty little church secret (Jesus gets mad too and is more than the gentle hippy with long brown hair and the soft Caucasian features that amateur artists insist on giving him), maybe we as 21^stcentury Christians struggling to make Jesus relevant in a secular world, maybe we should be telling people – and showing people by what we as a church do in his name in our community - that Jesus is so much more than a two-dimensional cardboard relic from 1^stcentury Palestine.  

Maybe people need to know that, though Jesus may be the Prince of Peace, he did not ground his ministry in peaceful acceptance of the status quo.  And so for us, for example, just because some people here in Raymond live in substandard housing and social isolation does not mean that we in our church look the other way and do not attempt to change that situation by becoming involved in the Fuller Center for Housing or by ensuring that our church building is accessible and welcoming to all people and by offering community-building activities and events as an integral part of our mission here in Raymond. 

Maybe people need to know that Jesus did not found his mission by either rubberstamping or validating the human values and institutions he saw all around him – and would continue to see should he show up in our world today. And so for us, for instance, just because our President and his administration seem intent on forging an immigration policy that excludes people of color more than includes them does not make doing so morally right – and does not mean that we as a faith community should stand by and accept it without question.

Three men died and were waiting at the Pearly Gates to enter heaven. The first man said to St. Peter, "I was a preacher of the gospel, serving faithfully for over 40 years". Peter told him to step aside for further consideration. 

The second man said, "I was also a preacher of the gospel; I served my church faithfully for 50 years". Peter told him to step aside for further consideration as well. 

The third man stepped up and said, "I was not a preacher.  I was just a government worker with the IRS for six months". Peter told him to step right up and come on in. 

Both pastors now on the sidelines loudly objected, "Why does he get to go in before two ministers?" 

Peter replied, "The truth is, in six months as an IRS agent, he scared the devil out of more people than either of you did in a long lifetime!" 

 Maybe people need to know that Jesus too can be pretty scary at times - like he is in these verses we read this morning.  Those harsh words and even harsher indictments remind us that Jesus does not embody our social realities which favor those with power, often economic or racial power, over those who are powerless.  

Maybe people need to know that Jesus is not safe, but he is good because he shatters the status quo, our world as we know it, shatters it with compassion and justice and mercy.  And the Gospel writer is correct.  If we choose to stand with Jesus, we may be divided from those we once believed thought the same way we think about non-violence and what it means to be a good global neighbor.  Staking our claim with Jesus may mean becoming divided from those who fear giving up some of their power and prestige and hard-earned money in order to bring peace and justice to the powerless around us.  That is part of the reason, by the way, that a committed church community is so precious – and so fragile.  It is a place to celebrate that Jesus is not safe, but that he is good – and worth anchoring our lives to.

And that weather report at the end of today’s reading? That is worthy of a mention!  Jesus chastises his listeners for being able to easily read the signs in the sky for tomorrow’s weather (“Red sky in the morning, sailor’s take warning.”), but not be similarly able to see the poverty and isolation – the signs that change must occur - all around them.

Perhaps it is easier just to ignore it all.  As Jo Ann Taylor continued in her blog, “Maybe we think the problem is too big, like making sure there is enough affordable housing available.  Maybe we think the problem has been around so long, there’s nothing anyone can do about it.” 

         In this passage, however, Jesus tells it like it is.  He names the brokenness all around us – and brings it out of the darkness and into the light.  He points to the division that has occurred and will continue to occur, so long as injustice and self-seeking is the norm. He points to the abyss which too often looms so close, the abyss that spirals us into meaningless lives and a jaded, cynical world.

This is a difficult passage to stomach, that is for sure.  Where, O where, is the Gospel message – the Good News - in all this?  

Well, I am here to tell you to listen – because the Gospel message is embedded even here in these verses. Listen!:  Into all this – the brokenness, the struggle – into all this Jesus speaks and continues to speak, telling us over and over again that the Kingdom of God is so close if we will only let our hearts be ruptured and let compassion gush forth.  Come and follow me, he invites.  I am not safe, but I am good.

That is the Gospel message: I am not safe, but I am good.  So that too is one of the signs (“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.”), and surely it is a sign worth holding on to as we reconcile this angry Jesus we met today with the Prince of Peace we cling to.  I am not safe, but I am good.

Maybe I should end this sermon right here – on this note of comfort.  However, instead, I am going to end it with a warning of my own – not because I am angry but because I see this passage as a possible way out of church decline. I read these words in Uniting Church of Australia, Alister Pate’s, blog. Listen!  “If we aren’t experiencing at least a little division, a little tension even within ourselves over Jesus’ claims on our lives, then perhaps we haven’t really grasped quite how radical the Gospel is.”  

Not safe but good: Maybe that is what people need to know about Jesus today.  Maybe that is the beginning of an answer to the most pressing question the church faces in this secular age:   How do we help those who no longer need a God (no longer need Jesus) encounter the living God (the Living Christ) in their lives? (Alexander Root)  Maybe the answer is really quite simple – an acknowledgment that this Living Christ is not safe, but he is good.

2 Kings 2:1-15 "A Double Dose"

         Elijah, the greatest prophet Israel had ever known, was preparing to move on.  He knew instinctively that his days on this earth were numbered, and besides, the times, they were a changin’.

Here in the 9^thcentury BCE, the Jewish realm that King David had united had broken up into northern and southern entities, the separate nations of Judah and Israel.  Prophets were no longer called to fulfill their prophetic responsibilities in the old way, directly serving this, that, or the other king. 

Now they operated outside of any official political or religious system.  They were free agents, answerable only to themselves and God/Yahweh.  Consequently, not only miracles and healings marked their careers.  They also unabashedly called out God’s chosen people and their leaders for misbehavior and ignorance about their unique relationship with the Holy One.  

When we meet Elijah this morning, he and his sidekick and pupil, Elisha, were traveling together to Gilgal.  God had put the finger on Elisha some years earlier to be Elijah’s successor.  Elijah had looked far and wide for him and somewhere between Sinai and Damascus had discovered Elisha ploughing a field with twelve yoke of oxen, quite an accomplishment in and of itself.  

At that time, Elijah threw his mantle (or cloak) over Elisha’s shoulders.  Having been given the age-old symbol of leadership, Elisha set aside a life of farming, accepted this unexpected call to the prophetic office, and set out with the great and glorious aging prophet.  That is all we hear about Elisha in the Bible until today.  However, we can presume that for the seven or eight years after he dropped his plough to follow Elijah, he was a star pupil, eager mentee, solicitous attendant, and devoted friend.

Today we learn something more about Elisha.  He was darn stubborn, a characteristic illustrated by his determined unwillingness to let go of his teacher.  Imagine this scene:  The two of them are at a crossroads, and Elijah announces that here they will part ways.  “Elisha, you stay. God has sent me on an errand to Bethel.”

Maybe Elijah wanted some time alone before he left this earth.  We do not know, but Elisha would have none of it.   

 “Not on your life! I am not letting you out of my sight!” I picture Elijah rolling his eyes and shaking his tired head before he acquiesced. 

Anyway, they both went to Bethel where a bunch of minor prophets started heckling Elisha, “Did you know that God is going to take your master away from you today?”

“Yes,” the young man replied, “I know it. But keep quiet, and for heaven’s sake, do not remind me.  It is bad enough knowing without you telling me too.”

This same scenario and repartee played out two more times. Elijah the mentor cannot shake Elisha, his longtime mentee. Elijah says he needs to go to Jericho, and Elisha says he will not leave him, not on his life.  It is like the song: “I can’t live if livin’ is without you”.  And the chorus of prophets in Jericho chime in again with their same observation to which Elisha replies, “Shut up!  Do not keep calling it to my attention.”

Finally, a third time, Elijah announces that God has ordered him to the Jordan River.  Elisha swears again that they will always stick together, like peanut butter and jelly, like salt and pepper, like father and son. He categorically refuses to give Elijah the space he seeks and, like a puppy, follows him to the Jordan River.  This time, however, fifty minor local prophets, curious and prone to gossip and most certainly busy bodies follow along to see what will happen next.  

They watched as Elijah took off his mantle, rolled it up, and swatted the muddy water.  As with Moses before him, the waters parted and, without missing a beat, Elijah walked across, not getting so much as a toe wet, and Elisha followed, puppy dog fashion.

It was then that Elijah turned to his successor and asked him, “OK, you have come this far.  What can I do for you before I am taken from you, before I head off to heaven?”  Old Elijah signed audibly and continued, “Ask anything.”

And Elisha screwed up all his hutzpah and requested that which had been on his mind for a long time.  “Give me your spirit.  Give me your passion and your zeal.  In fact, make it a double.  I will need all the help I can get.  Give me your life repeated in my life. Give me a double portion of whatever you had going for you.”  

Elisha pointed to the fifty prophets looking on curiously.  “I do not want to be like them. I want to be like you.”

 “That is a hard one!” said Elijah. “Spirit is only for God to give, not me.  However, if you are watching when I am taken from you, I imagine you will get what you have asked for. But only if you are watching.”

And then it happened – another pyrotechnic display of divine extravagance – the flaming chariot, the horses of fire, the whirlwind - and Elisha’s desperate voice overshadowing the whole event.  “My father, my father!  Mighty defender of Israel!  You are gone!”  

And he was too.  Elisha kept staring into the fire and the sun until the chariot that was between him and Elijah was only a flash of light and a speck in the blue cloudless sky.  Tears streamed from the young man’s face as he ripped his clothing in two – quite a display of abject grief especially if that is about the only clothing you own. 

All that was left of his teacher and friend was the mantle (the cloak) that had dropped from the chariot as it rose into the sky.  Elisha picked it up and buried his face in it, soaking up the faint odor of Elijah in a vain attempt to hold on to him a little bit longer.  

Then he looked at the mantle, fingered the roughness of its fabric, took a deep breath, and rolled it up exactly as he had seen his mentor do.  Putting both Elijah and God to the test, he walked to the edge of the river, just where the water meets the land.  He looked up once more to where Elijah had disappeared and cried out, “My God, my God, where are you?” And with the rolled up mantle, he hit the water and watched it splash upward, the droplets catching the sunlight like a prism.

 I like to imagine at first that nothing happened, and there was only silence. God apparently was not going to show up.  Or, at least, that is what a lot of people would have thought if they had been in Elisha’s sandals.   However, Elisha, for his part, was undeterred and would not accept failure.  

With unflagging faith in Elijah and God/Yahweh, and in great high hope, he took a deep breath – and continued to wait.  In time, the waters parted, and – like Moses and Elijah before him - he walked on dry land to the opposite shore, confident now in the double dose of what?  Power – maybe.  Faith - certainly.  Spirit, passion, and zeal – undoubtedly.

The fifty prophets who had been standing by all this time applauded heartily:  Bravo! Bravo!  And they called out to anyone who happened to be listening, “The spirit of Elijah lives in Elisha!” And they gathered around the young prophet, slapping him on the back, toasting and hugging him, welcoming and honoring him as one of their own – but recognizing that he was so much more.

Elisha went on to be Israel’s #1 prophet, offering advice and calling out kings.  He created his own legacy of miracles – from healing Naaman, the Syrian military commander, of leprosy to resurrecting a dead child to feeding a hundred men with twenty loaves of barley bread.  Who would have thought those future events possible when today we find Elisha staring hopelessly into the sky, so sure he was not fully prepared to take up Elijah’s mantle and be the leader he would eventually become?

Somewhere along the way, Elisha learned something very important. It is like the story ofa famous preacher who was a bit of a fraud.  You see, his sermons were great but no one ever realized that in fact they had all been written by his staff assistant. Finally the assistant’s patience ran out, and one day the preacher was speaking to thousands of expectant listeners and at the bottom of page two read the stirring words, “And this, my friends, takes us to the very heart of the book of Habakkuk, which is…” only to turn to page three and see nothing but the dreaded words, “You’re on your own now.”

And so it was with Elisha.  He was on his own. He could no longer depend on Elijah to put the finishing touches on a miracle.  He could no longer pretend to lead but really be protected by Elijah’s shadow.  He was on his own.  Who he was, what he would become, and the kind of leader he would be depended on who he now chose to be – on that and on his faith in the Spirit that he believed resided - two fold - within him now.  

Elisha did not have all the answers.  The path was not clearly cut and easy to follow.  In a sense, he set out on a wing and a prayer. One blogger I read this week wrote, “What if Elisha would have said, ‘before I try and be like Elijah, maybe I better join a 4 week study group on how to part the Jordan River with God’s power?’ But he had seen enough. He had learned enough. It was time now to transform that knowledge” into action, into ministry.

As Lutheran pastor Michael Coffey notes, “You can’t keep staring up waiting for the one who taught you and loved you and encouraged you to come back and make it all better.  It’s like Elijah is somewhere beyond the sun, but if Elisha keeps staring at the sun, the fiery chariot in the sky, to see or wait for what’s beyond, he’ll just go blind. He has to start living and trusting in the spirit in himself.”

And so it is with us Christians in our post-modern world.  The time is past to keep staring back at what was – full pews, Sunday best, burgeoning Sunday Schools populated by well-behaved children, youth groups whose teens were never exposed to marijuana, gender identity, or confusing sexual mores.  The church, it is a changing’.  

Like Elisha, we donot have all the answers. That is for sure. The path is not clearly cut and easy to follow either.  Yet, in the midst of all this uncertainty, like Elisha, none of us can continue to be complacent.  We cannot figure that someone else will pick up the mantle and lead us out of this quagmire of declining church participation and growing secularism in which we find ourselves.  It is not only the pastor’s responsibility.  The church belongs to all of us.

Taking up the mantle of leadership is scary business, to be sure. After all, we do not know the consequences of assuming that mantle.  However, it is the only way that we will survive and move beyond this “failure to thrive” diagnosis that afflicts so many mainstream churches today.  It  will take all of us to follow God faithfully, to lead one another to where we believe the spirit is taking us, to experience failure to be sure but also to believe in the God-given success we will discover as we find our way.  

Elisha had to swat the water of the Jordan River  - and faithfully wait before the waters parted.  It took courage to do that instead of giving up. We too must never be afraid of failure nor of taking a bold step toward where we believe is God’s guiding us. 

All this of course, will involve trying out new ideas.  And when someone tries something new, it is up to the rest of us to support and follow – no matter who the leader happens to be. This ministry business is not exclusively a “clergy thing”, you know.

We are all in this together, and our work is to build up this community into a place where we can deepen our relationship with Jesus and to live out all that he stood for in his ministry, a place where we can confidently invite others to be part of the Body of Christ as well. As Episcopal priest Mary Brennan Thorpe noted, “ Our work together, you and I, is to build this (church) in the Spirit, so that each person who walks through those doors for the first time will say, ‘I feel something here – something special – and I want to participate in this!’”

         We are all in this together, so let’s think seriously about making this pact among ourselves:  First, we will look forward as Elisha learned to do. Second, we will not look back except in gratitude for the double dose of the Spirit which I trust we have been given to make our church – perhaps small in numbers but with the potential to be big in compassion and forgiveness and welcome (which is what is really important) – to make our church all that God calls it to be.  And third, like Elisha, each one of us will, with God’s help, pick up the mantle we have been offered and assume the role of leader as we have been challenged to do.

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