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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1 Kings 19:1-18 "Listening for the Still, Small Voice"

        Elijah was in a funk. At least, that is how we find him this morning, moping in the middle of a wilderness desert, bemoaning his life and doubting his calling, shaking his fist at Yahweh/God in anger, frustration and abject fear: “It is too much.  I have had it.  I am out of here.  Take my life. I am ready to join my ancestors in the grave.  I might as well be dead.”

         What gives?  After all, this is the Elijah who, just a day earlier, was riding high.  He was #1, the greatest prophet the Israelites had ever known, practically able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.  

In one of the greatest pyrotechnic displays ever, he had given the Israelites solid reason to believe that their God/ Yahweh was the greatest thing since sliced bread.  Now, however, a mere 24 hours later, Elijah is hiding out under a scrubby solitary broom tree out in the middle of nowhere, scared stiff.

         What happened?  According to the writer of the Biblical Book of 1 Kings, just yesterday, Elijah was confidently taunting all 300 prophets of the local god, Baal, after crushing them in a contest of theological power and might. Baptist pastor Linda Pepe describes the afternoon like this:  

"My God’s bigger than your God,"  Elijah says, "and to prove it,  I challenge you Baal followers to a contest. Here are the rules:

I'll build an altar over here - you build an altar over there...I'll get a bull- you get a bull.  I'll cut my bull in half and lay him on my altar- you cut your bull in half and lay him on your altar.

Then we'll each pray to our God, and whichever God can send a flame first, wins!”

And the Baal followers agree, and the contest begins...

Baal’s prophets start calling on their god... and calling on their god.... and calling on their god... and after a few hours of cheerleading and chanting and singing and praying... there is still no fire.

Elijah, sitting on the ground with his back leaned up against his altar, watching this spectacle like he is at a Saturday afternoon matinee, starts heckling...  "Hey, Baal guys.... is your God asleep?  Is Baal on vacation?"

Eventually the Baal guys get  frustrated… of course… cause there’s no fire, and in an attempt to show their sincerity and devotion to Baal, they start cutting themselves with knives and rocks..so now there’s blood everywhere and people are crying and carrying on and finally Elijah says.. "Enough!"   

 And when the bleeding stops he motions to the followers of Baal and to everyone else in the theater...

“Come close… Watch this…”

Now, Elijah knew God would come through. And it would have been easy enough to just pray a simple prayer and God would have set the Elijah's altar ablaze!  But in a stunning act of showmanship…Elijah has his attendants soak his altar with water... and then he has them soak it with more water.... and then even more water!  

And then he stands back and says in a loud stage whisper... “Ok God, do your stuff!”  And of course the altar goes up in flames, (and, in that moment of unbridled triumph, Elijah orders all the Baal prophets slaughtered.)” 

After that fiery spectacle, it is no wonder that Elijah claimed to be #1 as far as any ancient prophets go. King Ahab, for his part, is taken aback by it all.  However, his wife, Queen Jezebel, being a Baal worshipper herself, is livid – white hot with rage.  She sends a threatening word to Elijah, “The gods will get you for this and I’ll get even with you! By this time tomorrow you’ll be as dead as any one of those prophets.”

Well, you do not have to be much of a prophet to know that when someone like Queen Jezebel gets her hackles up, you better take her seriously.  Not surprisingly then, Elijah’s courage and bravado melt.  

He flees hastily to Beersheba in Judah and there leaves his servant and all his belongings behind and hikes alone into the wilderness – a sure sign that he has had it.  That is where we find him today, pleading with God/Yahweh to do to him what Jezebel had threatened to do in the first place.

However, even though God had readily answered Elijah’s prayers the day before in the bull-burning contest, God did not answer Elijah’s prayer to take his life.  Apparently, even though Elijah had had enough of God, God had not had enough of Elijah. 

You see,  when the old prophet awoke, stiff and sore from lying on the ground, he found a large thermos of cool, clean water and some freshly baked bread wrapped in a towel and an angel from the Holy One on the sidelines with a message, “Get up and eat. You have got a long journey ahead of you.”

          And it was a long journey too – 40 days, we are told – before Elijah ended up at Mount Sinai, the holy mountain, where Moses had received the Law and where every Israelite believed deep in his or her heart that God/Yahweh resided.  There Elijah found a cave, crawled inside, and went to sleep.

         However, not long after, the voice of God awakened him. “Elijah, what are you doing here? What are you doing here? What are you doing here?

         In spite of the fact that God had provisioned him with food for the journey (because who else would be so kind at midnight in the middle of nowhere?), Elijah was still in a funk. “I am pretty upset right now.  I have been working my fingers to the bone for you, God/Yahweh,” he complained in a whining sort of voice. “However, the people of Israel have abandoned your covenant, destroyed the places of worship, and murdered your prophets. I am the only one left (boo, hoo), and now they are trying to kill me.”

         Now, God might have been sympathetic.  "Oh, I am so sorry because I know you have worked hard, and you are a wonderful prophet. Take some time to moan and groan and regroup."  But no:  Instead God says to the bone-tired, stiff and cranky, funked out, scared old prophet, “Get out of this cave.  And while you are at it, go stand on the mountain before the Lord, for you are about to witness the glory of God."

         And that is when the divine extravaganza began.  One Bible translation puts it this way: “A hurricane wind ripped through the mountains and shattered the rocks before God, but God wasn’t to be found in the wind; after the wind an earthquake, but God wasn’t in the earthquake; and after the earthquake fire, but God wasn’t in the fire; and after the fire a gentle and quiet whisper.”

         All this time, of course, Elijah, patently ignoring God’s demand, was still curled up in the back of the cave with his blanket over his head.  It was not until after the earthquake, wind, and fire had ceased, after he had heard the still small voice that seemed to enfold him gently and lovingly – it was only then that he ventured to the mouth of the cave, still huddled under his blanket. 

“A quiet voice – God’s voice - asked, ‘So Elijah, now tell me, what are you doing here?’’

Elijah repeated himself once again, though not in that whining sort of voice, but more with a tired honesty, “I have been working my fingers to the bone for you, God/Yahweh.  However, the people of Israel have abandoned your covenant, destroyed the places of worship, and murdered your prophets. I am the only one left and now they are trying to kill me – and I am exhausted.”

Same lament, but this time, something had changed.  As UCC pastor, Abigail Henderson notes, “Apparently hot cakes and water and angels didn’t completely cut it. What was needed, really needed, was God.  And not the fiery, all-powerful version of God that we would expect having read other parts of the Hebrew Bible, where wind, earthquake, and fire are exactly the kind of places where you find God.  This time, in this story, the sound of silence is more powerful than angels, or God-given sustenance, or the earth literally shaking with God’s might.”

Maybe it was because Elijah had really stopped and listened that God answered him differently – or that he heard God for the first time: “Go back, Elijah.  Go back to being a prophet.  Go back to anointing kings.”

It was not in the raging wind or the rock-shattering earthquake or the heat of the flames that Elijah heard what God had to say. It was only after the gentle whisper had gotten his attention and propelled him to the mouth of the cave that he heard God:  “Go back, and know that I am always with you on your journey, wherever it may lead. Go back, and know that I am God. Stick with me, and all things are possible.”

Surely those words – filled with their quiet strength – are ones that, at one time or another, we all need to hear.  As Linda Pepe wrote, “Our journey with God sometimes calls us to do things and be things that we may not want to do, or didn’t ever see ourselves doing.  There might be times when things get scary. But what we can learn, through Elijah,  that when things happen, and when the road gets hard…  that it's ok to be afraid, or worried, or frustrated;  it’s even ok to feel like giving up…We can have one version of what our future (or our call) is supposed to look like, but sometimes God has another.  And that's scary!”

(God sends Elijah back to do the ministry to which he was called.  Likewise, the Holy One is always sending us back as well. Sometimes though, it seems that only God knows that) all of us, no matter what our age, or  health, or ability level, or energy level have something unique to add to the kingdom.  

Does that mean that we’ll never be afraid or worried or tired or want to just crawl under the covers and say, ‘I’m done, God!’?  No.... it just means that ministry isn’t always what we plan.“

One blogger I read this week put it this way, “Sometimes when we're afraid and think God does not have our back, we go and hide….(However,  it is important) to stay in the game and trust God to see us through.”

With that gentle whisper, God sends Elijah back to work as a prophet, not unlike the Risen Christ will send his disciples back into the world to do the work they were called to do.  In both instances, they will be restored when restoration seemed impossible.  In both instances, they will find their courage when they thought they had no courage.  

In short, God refuses to let Elijah quit – and that is important.  In our 21^stcentury world where God does not seem to be doing much in the way of divine extravaganzas, we might do well to take a page from Elijah’s story and listen instead for the gentle whisper of God – because I believe that is how we will be assured that God is still speaking – and that the message is still the same.  God refuses to let us quit.

We will hear God sending us back, back out of this sanctuary, back into the world. Heaven knows, there is enough for all of us to do in our churches, homes, communities, and workplaces - asylum seekers in need of support, our nation’s relationship with Iran in need of prayers, lonely seniors in need of a visit, so many in need of health insurance or an end to their violent world.  

I do not know where God is calling you or calling this church.  However, I believe we miss the point of Elijah’s story if we wait around for earthquakes, wind, and fire to guide us.  We will find out where we are supposed to be and what we are supposed to be doing by listening for the whisper of God, for that gentle nudge, that flash of intuition that guides us here instead of there, in this direction instead of that.  

Those who know me, however, also know that I do not think we will hear that voice very much inside these four walls. They are too cave-like, and the gentle whisper can be too easily be drowned out by the trappings of worship. 

The still small voice of God will be in the voices of the marginalized and the down-and-out.  The still small voice will be “out there”. “Out there” is where we will find our purpose and our courage - which is to be the hands and feet of Jesus in a world of hurt and need.  

Like Elijah, we may be in a funk – as individuals perhaps but certainly as just about every mainstream church congregation is today.  Does this sound familiar? “We have worked so hard and done so much and nothing has happened.  We are still a small church.  Our attendance is still dropping.  We feel bone-tired, stiff and cranky, funked out, scared.” It is Elijah in the cave all over again – thousands of years later.

The parallels in the stories are strikingly similar, but the question still remains: Will the endings be the same?  Elijah emerged from his funk when he chose to listen to the still small voice of God at the mouth of the cave.  Will we also listen?  I hope so because, if we do, the words, we will find, will be the same: “Get out of this cave and go back, and know that I am always with you on your journey, wherever it may lead.  Go back, and know that I am God.  Stick with me, and all things are possible.”

1 Corinthians 12:12-19 Pentecost Gifts

         The last time we found ourselves in an Upper Room in Jerusalem was following Jesus’ crucifixion. His disciples, terrified of being apprehended and similarly executed, were in hiding.  

This time, it is exactly seven weeks and one day after the first Sabbath of the Feast of Unleavened Bread (also called Passover and the day of the disciples’ last supper with Jesus). Or, you could say it was seven full weeks after the all-important first grain harvest in Israel. 

Either way, it was the fiftieth day, which in Jewish tradition made it the Festival of Weeks, which later became known as Pentecost in Jewish circles because that is what the word means in Greek.  The  Holy City was filled with Jews from all over the ancient world because this was one of their three most important pilgrimage festivals.  

From the window of that Upper Room, it looked and smelled and sounded like a global market place down below.  You could see the brightly colored garb characteristic of each tribe and culture.  The odor of native dishes cooked on makeshift stoves wafted upward.  And the cacophony of sounds!  So many languages blended together amidst the laughter and singing. 

This particular festival had a double significance for the Jews gathered there.  You see, men, women, and children had descended on the Holy City to celebrate not only the first fruits of the wheat harvest, but also to glorify Yahweh/God’s giving of the Torah, the Law, to the Israelites assembled long ago at the base of Mount Sinai.  

Fifty days earlier, Passover had recalled the story of the Hebrew slaves escaping from Egypt and finding their freedom.  Today, the Festival of Weeks celebrated the fact that Jews were a nation committed to serving Yahweh/God through the Mosaic law.

In this setting we find the disciples – now called apostles – along with others who believed the stories of Jesus rising from the dead.  We find them all in an Upper Room down a back alleyway just off the main drag in the Jerusalem.  

In that upper room – like the Jews in the street below - perhaps they were remembering their checkered history with the God who still loved them.  After all, their whole heritage betrayed a certain rhythm:  Turning away from God, yet time and time again God welcoming them back and continuing to care for them. Exile and return.  Faithlessness and faithfulness.  Independence and dependence. 

 Or maybe the apostles were thinking about the warm harvest days back in their hometowns.  It seemed so long ago that they had gathered in their local synagogues with the first armfuls of grain to offer to God in gratitude for the sun and the occasional rain and the fertile soil.  

Or it could be that they were once again recalling that last Passover Meal they had shared with Jesus 50 days before.  He had instructed them then to keep sharing such meals as a way to remember him and all that he stood for – the compassion, the forgiveness, the open arms of welcome, the helping hands of service. 

However, those stream of consciousness memories took a back seat to what was foremost on their minds. You see, before Jesus had disappeared for good, he had instructed them to wait - to wait for the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, the Breath of God that he proclaimed would always be there with them.  And so the apostles were nervously waiting, and some of them were most likely grumbling impatiently.

Why?  Because nothing had happened, and all this waiting was driving them up a wall.  Besides, it was hot and very close in that Upper Room. Mingled with the fragrance of food cooking below was the overwhelming smell of good old-fashioned body odor.  The air was very still, as if anticipating something, like before a wild and wooly thunderstorm.

“Whatever are we doing here?” a few of the apostles wondered. “It is no use. Jesus is gone, and, without Him, it is over!  We might just as well face it. What is this Holy Spirit business anyway?  Surely we misunderstood Jesus.” 

It was then that they heard a sound.  If they had known what a freight train was, they would have said it was beginning to sound like a freight train right outside their window. Within moments, it was drowning out the global linguistic demonstration in the street below. Though they did not know it at the time, what the apostles heard was the Breath of God beginning to blow into that Upper Room.  

Though it first felt like a blessed breeze to cool them off and thankfully freshen up the air, soon it felt more like the rush of a mighty wind. The curtains flapped helplessly.  Bits of food – bread and olives and grapes – were swept off the table. Andrew tried to catch some of it and, in the process, knocked over a pitcher.  Water spilled and cascaded onto the dirt floor.  Dust bunnies in the corners of the room swirled and twirled in eddies like tiny tornados.  

When the apostles looked at each other, they noticed right away that all of them sported little flames – tongues of fire – above their heads. The fires were not burning them – or even really touching them, but they were just hovering there.  Still, they felt their hearts and their hands strangely warmed.

Not knowing what else to do, the whole lot of them poured out into the street below. They caused quite a ruckus because they could not help babbling about what had happened up there – the wind, the fires, the flying food, the overturned pitcher, and the water cascading to the dirt floor.  

The people who saw this spectacle were both amazed and confused. You see, even though the apostles were speaking as Galileans would speak, everyone gathered there for the Festival who had traveled from the four corners of the ancient world and spoke a different dialect understood what the apostles were saying. Language was no barrier. 

Was this a miracle?  Some of them thought so.  Others wrote off the apostles as drunk, even though it was only 9:00 A.M.  “A hundred bottles of beer on the wall, a hundred bottles of beer….”

Then Peter stood on the top step, surrounded by the other original apostles, and spoke in a loud voice.  “Fellow Jews…” 

 And this illiterate fisherman who had spent three years following Jesus and chasing his dreams for a transformed world, who never really understood Jesus’ mission and had put his foot in his mouth more than once, who seldom could string two sentences together without getting something wrong, this illiterate fisherman - out of the blue - preached his first sermon, and it was the sermon of a lifetime.  

Peter seemed to know Scripture backwards and forwards and extensively quoted the prophet Joel:  “I will pour out my Spirit on everyone.  Your sons and daughters will proclaim my message.  Your young men will see visions, and your old men will dream dreams.” Then he witnessed to Jesus and all that he stood for.  

It was a doozy of a preaching debut because, the author of the Book of Acts goes on to say, 3000 people became followers of the Way of Jesus that day alone.  Now isn’t that every preacher’s dream? 

And so the Holy Spirit did come to those who waited.  It came like the wind.  It set the apostles’ hearts ablaze.  And on that day and in that diverse gathering, the church – the Christian Church - our church - was born.

Today – Pentecost – is one of the three major festivals in the Christian liturgical year – along with Epiphany (not Christmas) and Easter.  We celebrate Pentecost not because it is a time to give the first fruits of our harvest to God (though showing such gratitude is not a bad thing to do).  We celebrate Pentecost not because we are commemorating the giving of the Torah to the Israelites (though to recognize our ties to Judaism is not a bad thing either). 

We celebrate Pentecost because it signifies the birth of the Church and the beginning of Christian community that makes the church possible.  As Methodist pastor James Howell noted, “At Pentecost, the Spirit rushed, not on this or that individual, but on the Church, on the Body. It’s the church that is birthed, not a gaggle of solo Christians who happen to be near one another, on Pentecost.”  We celebrate Pentecost because it gives sacred meaning to what the Apostle Paul later called the Body of Christ. That is what the church is, after all.  The church is the Body of Christ.  

Christian author Frederick Buechner said it so well, “God was making a body for Christ, Paul said. Christ didn't have a regular body any more so God was making him one out of anybody he could find who looked as if he might just possibly do. He was using other people's hands to be Christ's hands and other people's feet to be Christ's feet, and when there was some place where Christ was needed in a hurry and needed bad, he put the finger on some maybe-not-all-that-innocent bystander and got him to go and be Christ in that place himself for lack of anybody better.”  That is the church: The Body of Christ – made up of anybody God could find who looked as if he might just possibly do, those folks as well as the not-so-innocent bystanders.

This amazing gathering of believers in the streets of Jerusalem on that first Pentecost seemed a fitting conclusion to the story of Jesus: The ones in the Upper Room feeling transformed by the mighty wind. More of them in the streets feeling their hearts ablaze with a fiery passion for good.  All them bound together by a Spirit so hot and holy that it seemed as if Jesus himself was coursing through their veins, splashing onto their hands and feet until they were just itching to help someone in need, settling in their ears so they could hear the cries of pain around them, hiding behind their eyes so they could, for once, see a suffering world.

However, it was not all that easy to actually continue to be the Body of Christ.  The Apostle Paul found that out soon enough.  Not many years later, he was writing to churches inspiring them to solve whatever issues divided them so they could be back in the business of actually doing ministry and – yes - being the Body of Christ in the world.

The church in Corinth was no exception.  That congregation was divided over spiritual gifts and whether deacons were to be more highly valued than Sunday School teachers and trustees more than treasurers.  Some folks were doing a lot with their gifts.  Others were doing nothing to support their faith community except taking for granted that it would always be there for them.  So Paul took the bull by the horns and used the metaphor of a human body for the Body of Christ in the hopes of motivating the little congregation.  

The conclusion Paul so eloquently presented was that no single person can do everything.  If the church in Corinth – or any church for that matter - is to survive, everyone needs to be involved.  As he wrote in his letter:

A body isn’t just a single part blown up into something huge. It’s all the different-but-similar parts arranged and functioning together. 

If Foot said, “I’m not elegant like Hand, embellished with rings; I guess I don’t belong to this body,” would that make it so? If Ear said, “I’m not beautiful like Eye, limpid and expressive; I don’t deserve a place on the head,” would you want to remove it from the body?

 The point Paul was making was that, because no single person can do everything, everyone needs to do something for the body – if the Body of Christ – or the human body for that matter - is to work effectively or, over time, to work at all.  “I cannot do anything.  I do not have time.  I do not have an inclination.  Someone else will step up and do it” are no more than excuses and have no place if the Body of Christ is to survive and thrive. The long and the short of it is that there are no insignificant members of the Body of Christ.  The Church is not like a country club.  We are all in this ministry business together.

In this day and age when the Church - the Body of Christ – is in a particularly weakened position – more so here in Maine than in any other state actually – what with declining attendance and a lot of questioning about the church’s relevance in our post-modern secular culture – in this weakened state, the Church, the Body of Christ, the Body of Christ here in Raymond, needs each one of you.  

Sometimes I think we have the wrong idea of what it means to be the Body of Christ and to do the work of the church. There seems to be a fairly widespread belief that, as blogger Ray Steadman wrote, “the real work of the church is getting together and having a great meeting on Sunday morning where we enjoy learning from the Scriptures and fellowshipping with one another.”  And so we write into our busy calendars to show up for worship, expecting our pastor to draw in a big crowd and what evangelism each person may  do is focused on – what?

"Come to our church. Our preacher wears golf shirts and jogging shoes." 
"Come to our church! We wear shorts and sandals." 
"We're fundamental." 
"We're liturgical." 
"We're liberal." 
"We're moderate." 
"We're denominational." 
"We're mainline." 
"We're dispensational." 
"We have video." 
"We have snare drums and screens." 
"We're into political reform." 
"We have a religious superstar preaching today."

         Whatever happened to all that Jesus stood for?  Now do not get me wrong.  I am thankful for the contribution of the choir on Sunday mornings.  I am grateful for the role the deacons play.  Those are gifts you are sharing, but they are only gifts in light of what they do to inspire all of us to do the real work of the church.  

Being the Body of Christ takes place out there, beyond these walls.  Sunday worship is a training program - albeit an important one.  As Stedman observed, “We do not come to church to fulfill the work of the church. We come here to get ready to fulfill it out there.” 

         Out there is where your gifts are really needed – in addition to those you may share in here. In fact, your gifts are essential out there – in the community - where I am pretty darn sure the Spirit is leading us. 

And like the church Paul started in ancient Corinth,  God gives different gifts to each one of you:

Some, a passion for peace;
Others,  a passion for the wellbeing of the earth.
Some,  a passion for the sacredness of life;
Others, a passion for forgiveness and mercy.
Some, a passion for the redistribution of wealth;
Others, a passion for asylum seekers and a compassionate immigration policy.
Some, a passion for evangelism;
Others, a passion for justice.

At least one of those gifts is your gift, and when offered in the church works for the common good. The same Spirit gives them, and they are all necessary to effectively do the work of the Church.  

And so my prayer for you this Pentecost Sunday is that you will feel the breath of the Spirit in your soul fanning a glowing ember in your heart.  I pray that you will discover that the ember is your gift and that you will nurture that gift because, whatever it is, it is essential to our church here in Raymond. And finally, I pray that you will more intentionally share that gift, that passion, that glowing ember, so that together we can indeed be the Body of Christ – a real Christian community – right here in Raymond.