At the Bottom of the Barrel

I Kings 17:8-16; Luke 7:1-17

        “And then the son died.”

        Last week we began a brief journey into the stories of Elijah, a man Elie Wiesel called, “the toughest, fiercest, most irascible, inflexible character in all Hebrew scripture.” Elijah did not talk, he commanded. He listened to only one voice and no one else. When he was alone, he was the loneliest creature on earth. When he was surrounded by crowds, he was even lonelier. Elijah was a man of extremes. He rejected weakness and compromise. His severity and rigor were legendary. Elijah was and still is larger than life, particularly in the Jewish faith.

        But the son still died.

        This morning we only read part of the story. When Elijah appeared on the political scene, Israel was in the midst of a great drought. I not sure if you folks living in the lushness Nelson County can fully appreciate a drought. When I lived in West Texas we once went nine months without a drop of rain. Nothing even pretended to grow. Lakes and rivers ceased to exist. Bottled water was a necessity rather than a luxury. We went so long without even a cloud that folks I barely knew would stop me on the street and ask that I pray for rain. I reminded folks before the US Calvary built Ft. Concho, San Angelo was part of the desert. The lake that dried up was man-made. West Texas had originally been barren and no amount of prayer was going to undo this reality. Needles to say, my theological conclusions were not helpful. They wanted prayers, not common sense. In times of draught, be they physical or spiritual, common sense always gets thrown out the window.

        That said, don’t try to make sense out of this story. Elijah was commanded by God to go to the city of Zarephath. Elijah was told he would meet a woman who would take care of his every need. He arrived with nothing. Hungry and thirsty, Elijah called out to the first woman he saw and demanded she bring him something to drink. Imagine if you dare what this woman must have thought. This wild looking man shows up out of nowhere and demands instant service.  Elijah expected the woman to drop everything she was doing just to respond to his needs. I like to think we are compassionate people but certainly there are some protocols that should be observed. Obviously Elijah never read Emily Post.

        “Woman, bring me something to eat and drink.”

The woman responded honestly, “I have only enough for me and my son. We will eat and then we will die.”

Elijah replied, “Give me what you have and you and your son will never go hungry again.”

What does the woman do? Being a widow she had no rights, no privileges, no voice. Being a widow she had resigned herself and her son to death. Does she even have a choice? It is amazing how many folks down to their last dollar will buy a lottery ticket.  I am not making social commentary, I am just stating facts. A desperate woman was offered a path away from death and she took it. Once the choice was made, the miracle happened. Each day the woman, the son and Elijah had enough to eat.   But the son still died.

        Death was not part of the plan. It seldom is. Many times I have sat with families as they watched their loved ones wither away. Folks have come to me and requested I pray this be their mother’s last day. Was the request made on behalf of the mother? Was it made by someone who could not go through another day of sitting, and waiting, and hoping for a miracle no one expected. Does the reason really matter? The request is made by someone who can’t bear walking into their mother’s room another time. Finally the patient dies.  Then, even when death is no surprise, emptiness enters the room and the survivor exclaims, “I feel so alone.”

        That emptiness is compounded when death catches us by surprise. I remember reading Charles Frazier’s book Cold Mountain a few years ago. I have heard it described correctly as the Odyssey of the Civil War. For those of you who have not had the pleasure, the book is two stories, told simultaneously, of a southern soldier left for dead after the battle of Petersburg and a woman from Charleston he met briefly before leaving his home at Cold Mountain. Inman decides to desert and make his way back home. Ada, after the death of her father, decides to stay at Cold Mountain in hopes that Inman will return. Both suffer greatly as the insanity of war makes each day more tragic than the last. Through the help of strangers along the way, Inman finds his way back to Cold Mountain. Ada survived with the aid of women she has befriended. Miraculously they are re-united. Ada and Inman spend five days together planning their future.   Then, with the firing of a single shot by a boy more child than man, Inman is dead.

        How do we comprehend such a tragedy? In our text this morning, once the relationship between the Elijah and the widow was established it appeared Elijah would have a place to reside until the draught was over. The widow must have wondered how she had been chosen to play a role in the survival of this agent of God. She must have silently given thanks that Elijah’s good health also guaranteed the survival of her family. Then, for no apparent reason, the son dies. The widow is outraged. Before Elijah’s arrival she had prepared for the death of both her and her son. But when the prophet appeared all her troubles seem to disappear. Like Inman’s arrival at Cold Mountain, death had been trumped by the possibility of life. The woman now had a reason to live. Then hope was taken from her. She screamed at Elijah, “What have you against me, O man of God? Why have you caused the death of my son?”

        Elijah the strong, Elijah the faithful, Elijah the inflexible suddenly becomes a man possessed. Rather than defend himself, Elijah challenged God on behalf of the widow. This is not a moment of quiet prayer but the rage of a mad man declaring God had killed the only child of a woman who had been kind to him. Elijah claimed this senseless act could not go unaddressed and argued that God had no right to kill the child.

        These were bold words by a bolder man.  These were words that not only fell on the ears of God, but words that challenged the very heart of God. In an act of compassion, an act of grace, an act we might consider miraculous, breath was returned to the lungs of the deceased.  The boy lived and God was praised.

        This is a compelling story particularly in our world where boys and girls, men and women, loved ones of all ages die much too young. Can this text be helpful as we are challenged by death and the presence of God in these tragic moments?

        We are stepping into some dangerous waters. How can we not be inspired by the brashness of the widow or the rage of Elijah? How can we not believe that God has the ability to transform death into life?   These are questions to be pondered yet questions that might leave us less than satisfied.

        Death is not only a common occurrence but death often finds us in that tragic place beyond what we think we can bear. The timing of death is seldom convenient. Logical thought escapes us at a time when we need it the most. And in our grief, in our sorrow, in our perceived loneliness, we grasp for answers as we ask the most basic theological question, “Where is God?” 

        I suspect you have heard the names Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson. Some folks have suggested they are the two greatest baseball players to ever have laced up their spikes. Both played for the Negro Baseball League. A contemporary of theirs you probably never heard of was a pitcher named Rufus Watson.  Rufus lived to be ninety-nine. He was the son of former slaves. During his life he served in the military, played ball, and made some money in real estate. He also witnessed lynchings, an experience which caused him to spend a lifetime wondering how folks could commit such atrocities then go to church and call themselves Christians.  Rufus was often heard to say his life was proof that God meets people at the bottom of the barrel. “When I was so far down that all I could do was look up, I always found that God was there with me.”

        Perhaps this is the only answer I have to offer to the perplexing question of God’s presence in the tragedies of our lives. The text does not say that God caused the death. What it does is affirm that God will always compassionately respond.

        But we want miracles. We want answers. We want all those things which seldom seem to come our way…….

Until we step back,

Until the emotions have been rescued from anxiety,

Until confusion has been transformed into calm,

And then we realize,

even at the bottom of our barrel,

God was,       

and God is,

always there.  

       

Is your god asleep?

I Kings 18:20-39

        This will be a shock to some of you, particularly folks in our Sunday School class, but once upon a time or as the young folks like to say, “Back in the day”, I did not pay much attention to the Old Testament. I had some very good reasons.  The Creation Story contradicted everything I had learned from watching Star Trek.  The Noah Story seemed a little overboard and Jonah’s dilemma was down right fishy. The Old Testament seemed…… old.  I preferred the Book of Acts mainly because I loved the travels of Paul. Paul had great side-kicks like Barnabas and Silas. The stories were about ship wrecks and earthquakes. Paul had no fear. Even when at the brink of death, Paul had a plan that usually led to freedom. In my mind the Old Testament had nothing on the book of Acts. Furthermore, Jesus was nowhere to be found in the Old Testament. If there was no Jesus, why bother reading it? Little I did know how my Biblical world was about to be turned upside down.

In early September, 1976, I encountered Isabel Rogers. I had been out of the Army for about a week and in graduate school less than three days. I was sitting in the chapel at the Presbyterian School of Education as this wiry old woman stood up to read the text.  She began, “Ahab assembled the Israelites and all the prophets of Baal at Mt. Carmel.” She stopped, looked out at each one of us and said, “Do you have any idea who Ahab was? I am not talking about that crazy captain who chased that great white whale. I’m talking about his namesake, the man who married the devil herself. Any of you have children? Any of you consider naming your children Jezebel? There is a reason for that and I am about to share it.”

Then Doctor Rogers looked at her Bible a second time and read, “Then Elijah”. She stopped and looked up.  “Do know who the prophet Elijah was? Of course you don’t. No one with a modern mind can figure out this mystical man who knew nothing of the cosmic arrangements we take for granted, or of gravity’s free fall, or of the coming and going of the atom. The only thing Elijah knew anything about was God. So listen as I read this story. Listen with your ears wide open and your imagination at full throttle. Be skeptical, but pay attention to each detail. Don’t act surprised when an army of four hundred and fifty proves no match for this disconcerting madman.

She had my attention. As she read my eyes grew wide. With each taunt I began to laugh. “Is your god asleep? Is he on vacation? Did he take a bathroom break?” The theme song to the movie Exodus began playing in the back of my head as Elijah had the twelve barrels of water poured over the twelve stones that formed the alter. Rogers voice almost quivered when she read, “Answer me, answer me, that these people may know you are God.”  I swear I could see the alter burst into flames right before me. Everyone in that room wanted to jump up and join the affirmation of the Israelites. “The Lord is indeed God. The Lord is indeed God.” We had heard the Word, not as prose or as the reading of the day, but through the voice of one woman who knew its power. And we were converted.  

The Old Testament, from the beginning in Genesis to Malachi’s final exhortation, consistently preaches one theme, “The Lord is indeed God.” Thirty–seven years ago, as an eager grad student, those words served as an affirmation that my chosen faith and career path had merged at a holy intersection.  Izzie Rogers was my Billy Graham. She was willing to take me “Just as I was”, shaping me into a learned disciple of the Word and a faithful follower of the one true God. She taught me how to be both a student and a skeptic. I remember Dr. Izzie preaching, “It is not faith if you believe what I say. Faith is acting upon the questions you have the courage to ask.”

With all this personal history I come back to this particular text. There is so much stuff here that would cause consternation particularly if we take the text literally. I know the history of Ahab and Jezebel. Why would they agree to a winner-take-all contest? They held Elijah’s fate in their hands. Why allow this blow-hard the opportunity to perform in public?

Where did all the water come from? Elijah poured twelve barrels of precious water over the alter. Israel had been in a severe draught for three years.  How on earth did anyone locate twelve barrel of this incredible life giving resources?

And then, when the alter explodes, Elijah personally slits the throats of the 450 prophets of Baal. This seems like another reason to stay in the New Testament. Some of the stories of the Old Testament vividly depict scenes of death and destruction that are too offensive for our peace-loving eyes. It is not great material for a children’s sermon. To quote Daniel Berrigan, “the divinely inspired books of Israel’s history are steeped in mayhem, slaughter, betrayal, intrigue and bravado. It is the story of foolish fathers, brothers betraying brothers, women deprived of status and dignity as wars continue to breed wars.”

So why do I come back to this text? What is there to discover in this offensive story that seems lacking both in common sense and decency.  I come because I believe God will always give me the strength to ask the right question.

The question that haunts me this day is the identity of Baal. Do you remember growing up years ago when the question of religion seldom ventured beyond if our neighbors were Catholic or Protestant?  Growing up, I read Saul Bellow, J.D. Salinger, Bernard Malamud and Chaim Potak, but I think I only knew one Jewish family. As for Muslims, Buddhist and Hindus, they might as well have been from a different planet. Things have changed. Last week I performed a wedding with a Methodist bride, a Muslim groom and a Jewish grandmother.  The band played Night in Tunisia with the clarinetists taking the lead and everyone seemed happy. 

Other religions have never really threatened me. I have learned great truths from every religion I have encountered yet I still find my faith to be defined and shaped by God’s of grace as understood through the death and resurrection of Christ. 

When searching for Baal, I need not travel to the Middle East or beyond. Baal is what Baal has always been; comfort food for those of us needing to go on a spiritual diet. Baal is those appetites that impede my relationship with others. Baal is rationalizing my actions at the expense of others. Baal is greed, temptation, and justification all rolled into one. The God of the Torah says, “Thou shall not lie.” Baal adds, “Unless you are protecting yourself.” The God of the Covenant says, “You shall not steal.” Baal replies, “Unless you really need it.” The God of Moses says, “Thou shall not covet.” Baal smirks, “Oh please, this is America. Our economic system is based on keeping up with the Joneses.” 

The truth that I discover every time I come to Mt. Carmel is that Baal, in whatever form, has no power unless I give it.  Baal is a creation of my imagination and is only empowered by my unnecessary needs. When I give into Baal, I often end up cutting my own throat.  

“The Lord is indeed God.” That sounds so restrictive and absolute, unless you have lived a lifetime immersed in selfish desires.  It is not faith in Baal that destroys us. It is our failing to question Baal and all that Baal stands for that leaves us thirsty.

Sometimes we need an Elijah to go up on the mountain and make his case. Sometimes we need someone to challenge us, even put us to the task by engaging us in those difficult conversations we would rather avoid. Elijah never won any popularity contests but it was those Old Testament prophets like Elijah who prepared us to hear Jesus say, “Trust in me, and you will never thirst.”

Each time I return to this text I see that old woman staring at me as if I didn’t have a clue. And then her face would light up, and she would point her arthritic finger directly at me and cackle these words, “Louie, you might forget everything else I ever told you but remember this, “The Lord is indeed God.” When Dr. Izzie, spoke I always thought I was in the presence of Elijah.  

To God be the glory.                    Amen                         

Suffering, Character, Hope

Romans 5:1-5

        How often have we been inspired, or at least drawn to the Kleenex Box by stories of great courage.  Against all odds, the hero stood unyielding.  One, who was initially weak became strong, inspiring all those around him, giving hope when any rescue was well beyond reason. 

        As children, many of us were fed the required dose of Kipling, usually in the form of The Jungle Book.  My father felt the core of Kipling’s message was to be discovered not in comical animals but rather in a courageous soul named Gunga Din.  Perhaps you remember the poem.  Gunga Din was a small Indian boy whose only job was to carry water into battle to quench the thirst of the mighty warriors.  Kipling was quick to identify the disdain the British had for Indians in general and this young man in particular.  Yet, through out the battle, this unarmed boy, time and again risked his very being to bring life giving fluids to those who most probably would never see the sun set.  The poem ends with an officer of the British Empire eulogizing this Indian slave with the words, “You’re a better man than I, Gunga Din.”   My father would close the book and respond, “That is what heroism is all about.”

        I know, each of you has an equally impressive example of courage under fire.  We were taught, from birth, to honor heroes and aspire to be heroic.  To again quote Kipling,

“If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs. 

If you can wait and not be tired of waiting,

Or be lied about, but not lie,

Or be hated, but not give to hating.

If you can walk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings and not lose your common touch.

If you can fill the unforgiving minute,

 sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

 what’s more you’ll be a Man.”

What makes someone courageous?  Do we even have an understanding of what that word means?  When I read Paul’s words, “Suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope,” on this Memorial Day I can’t help but think of those thousands of men who landed on the beaches of Normandy over 60 years ago.  What inspired them to even think they had a chance of being successful against such overwhelming odds?   Their courage could not have originated completely within themselves.  Those who had fought in Africa and Italy knew the obstacles of Omaha Beach. Who were these men, those brave brothers? Far too often citizens of death’s gray land are called to untie a political knot that would not yield to the tongue.  On June 6^th, 1944, farmers, shoe salesmen, fishermen and kids barely 18 believed their countries motives were pure and their leader’s words were true.  They fought and they died, because their faith overcame their fear.  Just believing in yourself is never quite enough. The quest to be truly heroic begins and often ends beyond our feeble thoughts.

Paul, probably under house arrest, was writing to folks who understood death. Each morning they awakened to the possibility that this would be their final day. How many of us would consider dying for the right to worship as we please?  Perhaps that is a difficult question in an age where faith is assumed and seldom challenged. Paul wrote to these soon to be martyrs, “suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character and character produces hope”.  But before giving them this eternal pep talk he began by saying, “since we are justified by faith we have peace with God through Jesus Christ.”  Like those brave men who charged the beaches of Normandy, actions are often predicated on a belief in something beyond ourselves.

How many times can we go into the darkness of the unknown if we do not trust that there will be a tomorrow?  How is it possible to see suffering as productive if our faith does not assure us there is hope beyond the moment?  When Paul wrote to the Christians in Rome he did not say, “Don’t worry, your fears are imagined.” He did not state, “Just believe in Jesus and your life will be spared.”  Instead, he reminded them of God’s eternal sacrifice. “Christ was broken, Christ died and yet God lifted Christ up. This same God will be with you.”   Courage, originating from a less than holy cause, will drive us mad or leave us broken.  So how is it that courage born in brokenness could inspire humanity for 2,000 years?  Before Christ died, he brought us water.  Before he became king of heaven, he was the servant of humankind.  And at his death an officer of the Roman Empire was heard to say, “You’re a better man than I.”

The words of Paul seem so out of place in this modern world.  If we are persecuted by anyone it is those who claim to be religious zealots.  Today, often our modern day band of brothers and sisters lay bloodied in the sand to protect an empire more powerful than Rome.  My father’s generation learned endurance from surviving the depression.  When have I ever been broken?  How can I appreciate what I have always taken for granted?  What have I sacrificed to merit God’s grace?

If we are bold enough to suggest our courage comes from faith, then we must be bold enough to reexamine what we claim to believe.  Then, if we are bold enough to declare our brokenness has been overcome by God’s sacrifice, we need to honestly consider the source of our brokenness is our sin.  When we pray, “forgive us our sins”, do we specifically have something in mind or are we just repeating well worn words? Perhaps we need to be more focused, more intentional when we pray.  Might I suggest the most courageous thing we are ever called to do is admit our brokenness, our sinfulness, as an individual, and as a community and as a nation?  Then and only then will we discover if our courage originate from God’s forgiveness or from our misguided depravity?

Paul wrote to people who were slaves to an empire and he gave them hope.  Can Paul’s words still hold meaning to those of us who are masters of an empire?  Let us return once again to Kipling.

        The tumult and the shouting dies,

        The Captains and the Kings depart:

        Still stands thy ancient sacrifice,

        A humble and contrite heart,

        Lord God of Host, be with us yet,

        Lest we forget – Lest we forget.

         We celebrate we are justified by God’s grace.  But let us also stand humbled by God’s mercy, “Lest we forget; Lest we forget.”