June 19, 2016
Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
Sermon Text – 1 Kings 19: 1-15a
I love roller coasters. A lot. I love them a lot. I love the anticipation - not the standing in line part, but the feeling in the pit of your stomach as you slowly climb that first hill. I love - more than anything - that moment right before you go over the drop. I love the twists and turns, the little surprises, the inversions. I just love roller coasters.
I love them because they happen in a controlled environment. You know what I sometimes don't love as much? The roller coaster of life. Like last Sunday morning when I woke up, looking forward to worshiping with you all and thinking pleasant thoughts about an afternoon wedding for two dear people - only to turn on the news and find yet another story of violence. Or a year ago when I was sitting at home on the couch with my husband after a long day and suddenly saw the news of the act of terror in Charleston.
It’s astounding how things can change in an instant, isn't it? Up and down. And it's not always fun. And it's not always far away. The news can shock us and yank our emotions around, and so can our own lives. A near miss of a car accident while we’re driving. Bad news at work. Bad news from the doctor. Bad news from a friend. But also the good stuff! An unexpected bit of kindness. A lovely surprise. A hard-earned promotion or award. The rollercoaster of life cuts both ways.
Elijah knew this feeling of riding that rollercoaster of elation to terror; flying high on top of the world to exhaustion; extreme pride to insignificance. Elijah, who often comes off as so perfect he’s a mere caricature of a prophet, comes to us in today’s passage as a real, honest-to-goodness human being.
Elijah, the revered prophet – second to none, a model for Jesus, still-celebrated by Jews every Passover, too good to die like a normal human – ELIJAH THE GREAT! Elijah the Great, “troubler of Israel” bowed low. Running for his life. Curled up in the fetal position underneath a tree in the middle of nowhere. Begging for death. Alone.
Except – not alone. Not alone at all. He is tracked in his wilderness wanderings by angels. Jezebel’s messenger brings a warning of death – “I promise you, I will kill you dead just like you did to my people” – but the Angel of God brings warm cakes and a jug of cool clean water. Just as the Widow of Zarephath provided for Elijah when the brook that sustained him ran dry in the drought, now an Angel of God provides for him when he discovers that no amount of huffing-and-puffing bravado can keep him safe from reaping the consequences of his violent deeds.
He may have put on quite the show on Mount Carmel – commanding God’s fire and killing 450 prophets of Baal – but in the face of Jezebel’s fierce hatred he is left with no choice but to run. Alone on his two feet, running until he collapses in a fit of exhaustion. He speaks to God. He doesn’t ask for strength or protection. Instead, he simply asks to die.
“Is that you, troubler of Israel?” Cowered under a tree in the wilderness? Where are your strong words of challenge? Where is your righteous anger? What happened to your pyrotechnic show? And where is your God now? “Perhaps he is deep in thought, or busy, or traveling. Maybe he is sleeping and must be awakened.”
Except his God is not sleeping. Our God is not sleeping. Unlike Jezebel who was unable to track Elijah even with her ancient-day GPS, God has never lost sight of Elijah. Elijah who storms up to the King with great confidence – Elijah who puts on a show on top of Mount Carmel – Elijah who flees for his life – Elijah who begs for death. God sees Elijah at every single point on the roller coaster. God does not avert his eyes. God does not leave her beloved child.
I can’t pretend to know what God was thinking when Elijah rode that roller coaster of prophetic fame and shame. The scriptures don’t tell us how God felt about Elijah’s actions.
What they do tell us is this: how God behaved in the face of Elijah’s spectacular meltdown.
Behind the scenes, far from the crowds who gathered to see what tricks he would come up with next, it’s just Elijah and God out there in the wilderness. God enters the scene by sending an angel to feed Elijah. As every wise parent knows, sometimes you've got to remind your children to eat because none of us are at our best when our blood sugar gets low. So God, noticing that Elijah has hit rock bottom, does what any loving parent would do – God sends food.
Food doesn’t solve everything, of course, and what happens is that Elijah eats a tiny bit and then promptly goes right back to sleep. So God tries again. The angel gently wakes Elijah and asks him to eat and drink some more because he has a long journey ahead. Elijah eats and drinks. I wonder if he thought of the woman from Zarephath as he did so. Did he remember the other times God had provided for him in his distress?
Elijah is sustained by this act of lovingkindness and able to make his way to Mount Horeb (also known as Mount Sinai – you know, the one where Moses got the Ten Commandments?). There we see that God has not abandoned him. God’s word comes to him this time, saying “What are you doing here, Elijah?” What’s going on with you?
Elijah has an answer ready: “I just don’t understand where it all went wrong, God. I did everything you asked. It’s not an easy life, being a prophet, but I’ve done it. I was zealous. I did it all. And now I am running for my life because they want to kill me.”
The word of the Lord instructs Elijah to leave the safety of the cave and put himself out on the mountain because God is about to pass by. But before Elijah can even get out the door, a string of incredible events come – one right after the other. A rush of wind, an earthquake, a fire.
God – the same God that Elijah proclaimed in the fire on top of Mount Carmel – is not present in the wind, earthquake, or fire on top of Mount Horeb. Instead, after the dust settles, there is nothing left but a tiny whispering voice. Upon hearing it, Elijah girds himself in his mantle – his cloak – that symbol of prophetic authority. He wraps his face in his mantle and walks to the face of the cave to meet God.
It is one of the most singularly beautiful images in all of Biblical literature. This great prophet, beaten down, miles from home, without a human companion. He is exhausted. He is frightened. He has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing with himself. He has just survived a straight line wind that splits mountains, an earthquake, and a fire. And now we see him tentatively gathering his cloak around himself and walking to the mouth of the cave to meet his God.
And what does God say when the two of them finally meet face to face? Something small. Just this: “What are you doing here, Elijah?”
Oh, the answers that might have run through his head! “Well, God, there was this angel that sent me here.” Or, “Remember Jezebel? She’s trying to kill me. Did you miss that part?” Or, “I wanted to see what you look like, God, so I came here to meet you.”
But Elijah says none of these things. Instead, he gives the same answer he gave a few moments ago. “I’ve been very zealous God. I’ve done everything I was called to do. And now they want to kill me.”
These are the words of a man who is no longer having fun on the roller coaster of life. These are the words of a man who doesn’t know his purpose anymore. These are the words of a man who is grasping at straws trying to figure out where he goes next.
I’m trusting we’ve all been there. You reach the end of your rope. You feel alone. You aren’t really even sure if there’s a reason to continue on doing the work you thought you had been called to do. You are so worn down with the bad news in the world and feel so small, so insignificant in the face of global forces that you just want to lie down forever, bury your head in the sand, and forget about it all.
Most of us wouldn't necessarily want to be memorialized in our moment of deepest despair, would we?
And yet, this is the story – of all the Elijah stories – that is so well loved by so many of us. Elijah at his lowest low. Why do we prefer this version of Elijah? Broken down, beat down, hopeless? It is just because we’re mean and like to watch others’ misfortunes?
Of course not.
We love it because it’s real. We love it because it’s true. We love it because it’s a reminder of so many good things about what it means to worship Elijah’s God.
It’s a reminder that we don’t have to be perfect to earn God’s love. It’s not about following all of the rules and doing exactly what God asks you to do. God’s love is unconditional.
It’s a reminder that even when we think we are utterly and truly alone, we aren’t. God is always present.
It’s a reminder that God is often not where we most expect to find the Holy. Instead, God is found in the stillness of a whisper.
It’s a reminder that even when we humans are literally thrown down to the ground, starving, exhausted, disgusting, beat up, wandering, aimless, purposeless messes – God will be with us. God can see even the nastiest versions of us and help us find a way to pick ourselves back up off the ground.
It’s a reminder that even the greatest of prophets have really really horrible days. The people that we admire? The people that seem to have it all? They don’t really. No one does. We are all on that wild roller coaster ride of life and God is present at every moment of the journey.
The reason this story is so fascinating is that it’s not just about Elijah. It’s about humanity. It’s about the very essence of being a human. Elijah is our everyman in this passage. He represents what all of us will experience at some point in our lives.
But the thing that makes this story more than just fascinating – the thing that makes this story powerful – is that it’s also about God. And it’s about what God can do through love.
Through the simple acts of accompanying us in our wanderings, looking upon us in our misery, offering us companions to feed and nourish us when we’ve lost all strength, and asking the right questions, God reminds us that God’s power is for real.
It’s not to be found on top of Mount Carmel in a nanny-nanny-boo-boo, my-God-is-bigger-than-your-God kind of way. Instead, God’s true power is the power of loving presence. The steadfast quiet and calm voice in the midst of life’s darkest nights. The one loving us back into existence. Again and again and again.
Sunday, June 19, 2016
Thursday, June 16, 2016
"Showdown on Mount Carmel: The Prophet is....Right?"
Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS
June 12, 2016
Sermon Text - 1 Kings 18:20-39
One of the things I was somewhat astounded to learn in seminary is that there is a method of preaching called “preaching against the text.” When you read over the text, immerse yourself in it, try to really get in there and find the good news...but then you discover it’s really problematic in some very serious way….or what it seems to be saying about God is so deeply troubling and goes against the way we typically understand God….when that happens, a preacher will sometimes preach against the text.
So, fair warning: that’s what’s going to be happening today.
Because this story from 1 Kings is so deeply troubling to me theologically, that I can’t seem to find a way to redeem it. And yet, it feels very important - especially given the world we are living in right now - so I didn’t want to ignore it completely.
In case you’re one of those people who tune out when the scripture is read, let’s just do a bit of review. Today’s scene in the Elijah series is really the climax of the whole story. It’s a big scene, to be sure. There’s a big duel, there’s all kinds of blood and and gore and violence, there are magic tricks, pyrotechnics….and all of it takes place on top of a big mountain.
We are three years now into the drought that the author of 1 Kings says God has sent on the people of Israel to punish them for their wayward king. You might recall that King Ahab is a BAD KING. What makes him so bad? Well, it’s mostly about idolatry, which is a big no-no.
King Ahab has married a foreign queen, a woman named Jezebel. And in order to sort of meld their cultures and make her happy, he has taken to encouraging everyone in Israel to follow her God, named Ba’al. God, in this story, is displeased to say the least. God, in this story, is an exceedingly jealous God and is pretty hot about the idea of the Israelites hanging out with other gods.
Now let me pause for a moment and tell you about a conversation I had just a week ago. I was visiting with a person that I’m friendly with. We’re not best friends or anything, but I see him around town on a regular basis. He knows I’m a pastor. We’re friendly. We were talking about, oh, I don’t even remember what. And he suddenly says something disparaging about Muhammed Ali being a Muslim. With kind of a wink-wink, like he thought I would agree.
I was shocked for a moment and once I cleared my mind I said, “Wait. I don’t have a problem with Muslims. I respect Islam. We held Muhammed Ali’s family in prayer this morning at my church. He was a bold and wise leader.” And then the other guy looked at me, confused, and I continued, “You know many Christians respect other faiths, right? Like, we think there are lots of ways to understand God and do good in the world. Not just ours?” The look on his face told me that this was new information to him.
So you can see, already, how the very premise of this story is problematic. Because the God of Love that I have come to know over the course of my life is a God who is known by many names and in many cultures and many traditions. So I’m a bit skeptical at the start because the framing of this story is all about “My God vs. Your God” - which is decidedly problematic.
To complicate things further, though, I do think this idea of idolatry is important. I just want to make crystal clear that I’m not calling Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, or any other major world religion that points towards Love, a religion of idolatry.
Idolatry, though? Still a big problem. It’s just not typically called Ba’al these days. We have other names for our idols: wealth, prestige, power, victory at all costs, beauty, violence, sex, sports teams, politicians, celebrities. All of these things can distract us from what really matters. All of them can take over our lives and become gods. Idols are still a problem. But they aren’t imported from foreign countries and they certainly don’t go by the name Allah.
So this is a story about idolatry. And it’s a story about leaders facing off. Two different groups, both of whom claim they have all the answers. The world is in a bad place. They’ve been in a serious drought for three years. People are parched. The situation is so bleak that the king himself just went out on an expedition to look in all the local springs for a little bit of grass to try and keep the remaining livestock alive. When your King is spending his time looking for grass for cows? It’s not good.
How to solve the problems at hand? Who knows the way forward? How do we get back to a time of peace and prosperity? How do we make Israel great again?
Well, as in any good story, there are competing answers to that question. King Ahab says, “Just hang on with me. I trust Ba’al and I believe he can fix things for us. Stay loyal to my God and it will all be okay.”
But the Prophet Elijah disagrees, “No, no, no,” he says, “Ba’al is the problem. That’s why we’re in trouble. You have to turn back to Yahweh. My God is the only one who can fix this.”
And the thing about this particular story is that it matters - it REALLY MATTERS - what the average people decide to do. According to the storyteller, Yahweh REALLY wants - NEEDS - all the people of Israel to turn their back on Ba’al and Ahab in order for God to want to make things right. It’s not enough for Elijah to stay faithful and do the right thing. The people have to vote and they have to vote right.
And so Elijah’s God does what any reasonable God would do in this situation: he puts on a big show. Up to the top of Mount Carmel they go. The rules are laid out. The two sides go to their corners, eager to show what they are made of. Animals are prepared for sacrifice. Prayers are said. Incantations are recited. The audience waits for the magic to take place.
The goal of this little game is to make fire out of nothing. The prophets of Ba’al are unable to do so. But Elijah is successful. His God not only makes fire, but is kind of a show-off. Elijah douses the altar with a ton of water first….interesting on multiple levels: first, because dousing something with water is not really a sensible way to start a fire, and secondly, because it’s also a great show of faith. Remember how they don’t even have enough water to keep the animals alive? And Elijah goes and wastes 12 big jars of it on this fire? He must be very confident.
He’s right to be confident. The fire comes. He wins the contest. The audience marvels. “Elijah! It’s you! You’re the one! We were wrong all along to listen to Ahab and Jezebel. Thank you for reminding us who we really are and who God is. We vote for you and your God. You are the ones who have the power to save us.”
(Editorial comment: God is saving them from a problem that God created. This also seems problematic to me...but not as problematic as what’s about to happen.)
Elijah gets swept up in the moment. He is running on adrenaline - bursting with excitement. He bet everything and he won. He won! This has been a long and grueling campaign - years in the making. There were some moments where he was really pushed to the edge and when he sometimes lost faith that he would eventually prevail, but now he’s done it. The people voted for his God. He won!
And so he does what any reasonable prophet would do on his victory lap: he immediately orders the audience gathered there to seize all 450 prophets of Ba’al - the losers - and exterminate them. Annihilate them. Wipe them out completely. In other words, kill them.
So ends the lesson.
Problematic doesn’t seem quite strong enough of a word to describe that ending, does it? This is an offensive text, to me at least. I can’t say how it strikes you. But the God I know isn’t much for showdowns on mountains. He doesn’t send droughts and kill innocent people while having a staredown with other gods. The God I’ve come to know through other scriptures, my own lived experiences, and the stories shared with me by other faithful people is bigger, braver, stronger, more robust than the one described here. She doesn’t say, “Nanny nanny boo boo!” in the face of tragedy, nor condone the outright slaughter of losers.
The God I know makes room at the table for many different ways of understanding and experiencing the Holy. The God I know corrects gently, luring his beloved children into new and better ways by sending people who can teach, not win in a fire-y display on top of a mountain. The God I know weeps with the losers and picks them up off the ground, encouraging them to dust off their knees, learn from their mistakes, and try harder next time.
This isn’t the God I know. Not this time, Elijah. I’m sorry.
The question of how God wants us to behave when we are in conflict with one another is not just some interesting thing to ponder. It’s a question that we have to live into every single day. Since putting up the Black Lives Matter signs in our church yard a few weeks ago, we have, once again, received e-mails, phone calls, walk ins, facebook comments from strangers. They call us names. I delete the name-calling when it happens on Facebook. They yell back at us “All lives matter!” Someone even went to the trouble of making their own huge “all lives matter” sign out of plywood and posting it in our yard. We took it down. They send e-mails telling us we should be ashamed and that we are hateful.
I don’t mean to blow this out of proportion….because we have also received positive responses. The cranky people are few in number. But I do think it’s important for us all to remember that our commitment to racial justice is not universally greeted with joy. And the question of how to handle serious conflicts is not just academic. We - all of us, I know, not just me - have to decide every day how to handle serious disagreements.
I’m simply not convinced that challenging our opponents to a dual in front of a live studio audience is the answer. Nor do I believe violence is the answer. Nor do I think it’s appropriate to call “the other side” losers and thumb our noses at them.
Are there any answers in this text? Well, I always find it helpful, when I’m dealing with a hard text to try and ask myself, “Where am I imagining myself into this story? And are there any other options?” So far it seems we’ve imagined ourselves into the audience….the faithful and not-so-faithful Israelites who gather to watch the big showdown and cast their vote for God of the Year in the general election. And we’ve perhaps imagined ourselves into the role of Elijah - defending our viewpoints against those who seem to be in opposition. We’ve even toyed a bit with the idea of what it looks like to be Ahab or the other followers of Ba’al. Who are our idols? What calls us away from God?
I want to suggest there is one more place to imagine ourselves into this story. Sort of. There’s a missing character who doesn’t seem to be present at the top of Mount Carmel. Or if he is there, he’s not saying much. The prime minister. His name is Obadiah. A different kind of leader than Ahab or Jezebel or Elijah or the other prophets. Obadiah is described earlier in chapter 18 as a person who was loyal to Yahweh, yet still worked for the King. One of those quiet characters trying to survive and live in a balance somewhere between perfect ideals and absolute evil. We are told that he had previously protected 100 of Yahweh’s prophets when Jezebel tried to kill them. He hid them away in a cave and brought them food and water to sustain them.
We don’t know where Obadiah is in today’s story. But part of me thinks: well, maybe he’s not there. Maybe he’s off doing something more important, like continuing his search for grass to feed the starving animals. Maybe he’s not drawn in by the three-ring-circus on top of Mount Carmel. Maybe he’s focusing his energy elsewhere.
When those who wish to lead us clamor for attention, going head-to-head in spectacular battles, perhaps there is something to learn from those who didn't show up on Mount Carmel that day. Maybe there's more than one way forward - to a time and place where the drought is over and people of all backgrounds, religions, political persuasions can come together and care for one another. A time and place where all of God’s people can stand together under the warm summer rains and give thanks for the simple pleasure and beauty of knowing we are all in this together and, really, the only thing we absolutely have to do is find a way to love God and love our neighbors as ourselves.
First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS
June 12, 2016
Sermon Text - 1 Kings 18:20-39
One of the things I was somewhat astounded to learn in seminary is that there is a method of preaching called “preaching against the text.” When you read over the text, immerse yourself in it, try to really get in there and find the good news...but then you discover it’s really problematic in some very serious way….or what it seems to be saying about God is so deeply troubling and goes against the way we typically understand God….when that happens, a preacher will sometimes preach against the text.
So, fair warning: that’s what’s going to be happening today.
Because this story from 1 Kings is so deeply troubling to me theologically, that I can’t seem to find a way to redeem it. And yet, it feels very important - especially given the world we are living in right now - so I didn’t want to ignore it completely.
In case you’re one of those people who tune out when the scripture is read, let’s just do a bit of review. Today’s scene in the Elijah series is really the climax of the whole story. It’s a big scene, to be sure. There’s a big duel, there’s all kinds of blood and and gore and violence, there are magic tricks, pyrotechnics….and all of it takes place on top of a big mountain.
We are three years now into the drought that the author of 1 Kings says God has sent on the people of Israel to punish them for their wayward king. You might recall that King Ahab is a BAD KING. What makes him so bad? Well, it’s mostly about idolatry, which is a big no-no.
King Ahab has married a foreign queen, a woman named Jezebel. And in order to sort of meld their cultures and make her happy, he has taken to encouraging everyone in Israel to follow her God, named Ba’al. God, in this story, is displeased to say the least. God, in this story, is an exceedingly jealous God and is pretty hot about the idea of the Israelites hanging out with other gods.
Now let me pause for a moment and tell you about a conversation I had just a week ago. I was visiting with a person that I’m friendly with. We’re not best friends or anything, but I see him around town on a regular basis. He knows I’m a pastor. We’re friendly. We were talking about, oh, I don’t even remember what. And he suddenly says something disparaging about Muhammed Ali being a Muslim. With kind of a wink-wink, like he thought I would agree.
I was shocked for a moment and once I cleared my mind I said, “Wait. I don’t have a problem with Muslims. I respect Islam. We held Muhammed Ali’s family in prayer this morning at my church. He was a bold and wise leader.” And then the other guy looked at me, confused, and I continued, “You know many Christians respect other faiths, right? Like, we think there are lots of ways to understand God and do good in the world. Not just ours?” The look on his face told me that this was new information to him.
So you can see, already, how the very premise of this story is problematic. Because the God of Love that I have come to know over the course of my life is a God who is known by many names and in many cultures and many traditions. So I’m a bit skeptical at the start because the framing of this story is all about “My God vs. Your God” - which is decidedly problematic.
To complicate things further, though, I do think this idea of idolatry is important. I just want to make crystal clear that I’m not calling Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, or any other major world religion that points towards Love, a religion of idolatry.
Idolatry, though? Still a big problem. It’s just not typically called Ba’al these days. We have other names for our idols: wealth, prestige, power, victory at all costs, beauty, violence, sex, sports teams, politicians, celebrities. All of these things can distract us from what really matters. All of them can take over our lives and become gods. Idols are still a problem. But they aren’t imported from foreign countries and they certainly don’t go by the name Allah.
So this is a story about idolatry. And it’s a story about leaders facing off. Two different groups, both of whom claim they have all the answers. The world is in a bad place. They’ve been in a serious drought for three years. People are parched. The situation is so bleak that the king himself just went out on an expedition to look in all the local springs for a little bit of grass to try and keep the remaining livestock alive. When your King is spending his time looking for grass for cows? It’s not good.
How to solve the problems at hand? Who knows the way forward? How do we get back to a time of peace and prosperity? How do we make Israel great again?
Well, as in any good story, there are competing answers to that question. King Ahab says, “Just hang on with me. I trust Ba’al and I believe he can fix things for us. Stay loyal to my God and it will all be okay.”
But the Prophet Elijah disagrees, “No, no, no,” he says, “Ba’al is the problem. That’s why we’re in trouble. You have to turn back to Yahweh. My God is the only one who can fix this.”
And the thing about this particular story is that it matters - it REALLY MATTERS - what the average people decide to do. According to the storyteller, Yahweh REALLY wants - NEEDS - all the people of Israel to turn their back on Ba’al and Ahab in order for God to want to make things right. It’s not enough for Elijah to stay faithful and do the right thing. The people have to vote and they have to vote right.
And so Elijah’s God does what any reasonable God would do in this situation: he puts on a big show. Up to the top of Mount Carmel they go. The rules are laid out. The two sides go to their corners, eager to show what they are made of. Animals are prepared for sacrifice. Prayers are said. Incantations are recited. The audience waits for the magic to take place.
The goal of this little game is to make fire out of nothing. The prophets of Ba’al are unable to do so. But Elijah is successful. His God not only makes fire, but is kind of a show-off. Elijah douses the altar with a ton of water first….interesting on multiple levels: first, because dousing something with water is not really a sensible way to start a fire, and secondly, because it’s also a great show of faith. Remember how they don’t even have enough water to keep the animals alive? And Elijah goes and wastes 12 big jars of it on this fire? He must be very confident.
He’s right to be confident. The fire comes. He wins the contest. The audience marvels. “Elijah! It’s you! You’re the one! We were wrong all along to listen to Ahab and Jezebel. Thank you for reminding us who we really are and who God is. We vote for you and your God. You are the ones who have the power to save us.”
(Editorial comment: God is saving them from a problem that God created. This also seems problematic to me...but not as problematic as what’s about to happen.)
Elijah gets swept up in the moment. He is running on adrenaline - bursting with excitement. He bet everything and he won. He won! This has been a long and grueling campaign - years in the making. There were some moments where he was really pushed to the edge and when he sometimes lost faith that he would eventually prevail, but now he’s done it. The people voted for his God. He won!
And so he does what any reasonable prophet would do on his victory lap: he immediately orders the audience gathered there to seize all 450 prophets of Ba’al - the losers - and exterminate them. Annihilate them. Wipe them out completely. In other words, kill them.
So ends the lesson.
Problematic doesn’t seem quite strong enough of a word to describe that ending, does it? This is an offensive text, to me at least. I can’t say how it strikes you. But the God I know isn’t much for showdowns on mountains. He doesn’t send droughts and kill innocent people while having a staredown with other gods. The God I’ve come to know through other scriptures, my own lived experiences, and the stories shared with me by other faithful people is bigger, braver, stronger, more robust than the one described here. She doesn’t say, “Nanny nanny boo boo!” in the face of tragedy, nor condone the outright slaughter of losers.
The God I know makes room at the table for many different ways of understanding and experiencing the Holy. The God I know corrects gently, luring his beloved children into new and better ways by sending people who can teach, not win in a fire-y display on top of a mountain. The God I know weeps with the losers and picks them up off the ground, encouraging them to dust off their knees, learn from their mistakes, and try harder next time.
This isn’t the God I know. Not this time, Elijah. I’m sorry.
The question of how God wants us to behave when we are in conflict with one another is not just some interesting thing to ponder. It’s a question that we have to live into every single day. Since putting up the Black Lives Matter signs in our church yard a few weeks ago, we have, once again, received e-mails, phone calls, walk ins, facebook comments from strangers. They call us names. I delete the name-calling when it happens on Facebook. They yell back at us “All lives matter!” Someone even went to the trouble of making their own huge “all lives matter” sign out of plywood and posting it in our yard. We took it down. They send e-mails telling us we should be ashamed and that we are hateful.
I don’t mean to blow this out of proportion….because we have also received positive responses. The cranky people are few in number. But I do think it’s important for us all to remember that our commitment to racial justice is not universally greeted with joy. And the question of how to handle serious conflicts is not just academic. We - all of us, I know, not just me - have to decide every day how to handle serious disagreements.
I’m simply not convinced that challenging our opponents to a dual in front of a live studio audience is the answer. Nor do I believe violence is the answer. Nor do I think it’s appropriate to call “the other side” losers and thumb our noses at them.
Are there any answers in this text? Well, I always find it helpful, when I’m dealing with a hard text to try and ask myself, “Where am I imagining myself into this story? And are there any other options?” So far it seems we’ve imagined ourselves into the audience….the faithful and not-so-faithful Israelites who gather to watch the big showdown and cast their vote for God of the Year in the general election. And we’ve perhaps imagined ourselves into the role of Elijah - defending our viewpoints against those who seem to be in opposition. We’ve even toyed a bit with the idea of what it looks like to be Ahab or the other followers of Ba’al. Who are our idols? What calls us away from God?
I want to suggest there is one more place to imagine ourselves into this story. Sort of. There’s a missing character who doesn’t seem to be present at the top of Mount Carmel. Or if he is there, he’s not saying much. The prime minister. His name is Obadiah. A different kind of leader than Ahab or Jezebel or Elijah or the other prophets. Obadiah is described earlier in chapter 18 as a person who was loyal to Yahweh, yet still worked for the King. One of those quiet characters trying to survive and live in a balance somewhere between perfect ideals and absolute evil. We are told that he had previously protected 100 of Yahweh’s prophets when Jezebel tried to kill them. He hid them away in a cave and brought them food and water to sustain them.
We don’t know where Obadiah is in today’s story. But part of me thinks: well, maybe he’s not there. Maybe he’s off doing something more important, like continuing his search for grass to feed the starving animals. Maybe he’s not drawn in by the three-ring-circus on top of Mount Carmel. Maybe he’s focusing his energy elsewhere.
When those who wish to lead us clamor for attention, going head-to-head in spectacular battles, perhaps there is something to learn from those who didn't show up on Mount Carmel that day. Maybe there's more than one way forward - to a time and place where the drought is over and people of all backgrounds, religions, political persuasions can come together and care for one another. A time and place where all of God’s people can stand together under the warm summer rains and give thanks for the simple pleasure and beauty of knowing we are all in this together and, really, the only thing we absolutely have to do is find a way to love God and love our neighbors as ourselves.
Sunday, June 5, 2016
"GuestHost Hospitality"
Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS
June 5, 2016
Sermon Text - 1 Kings 17:8-16
As we continue to follow the saga of that great prophet Elijah, Troubler of Israel, today’s story is about the practice of hospitality. Hospitality. It's a word that is so closely related to many other English words: hospital, hospice, hostel, hotel, host, but also hostile. I did some digging and found that the English “hospitality” comes out of the Latin “hospes” - which means guest, host, stranger. And “hospes” is related to the Latin “hostis” - which means stranger or enemy. You can begin to see how that English hostile gets thrown in there as a similar world. Hostility and strangers or enemies often go hand in hand.
But I was captured by the idea that one word in Latin would mean BOTH guest and host. Those are very different words in English. A host is a person who is offering something...there is a connotation of them being the one who is giving, perhaps the person who has more to offer. A guest is someone who is receiving...and perhaps there is a connotation that they are in the “out” position.
I was also struck that stranger and enemy so often come into play in these Latin roots. In our culture, hospitality is often more about fancy dinner parties or ideas from Pinterest or spending time with loved ones and friends. Biblical hospitality is something different, though. It's about opening ourselves up in vulnerability when a stranger comes near. It's about offering precious resources - food, shelter, water - to someone you've never met before and who might do you harm.
Today's story in 1 Kings is about Elijah and hospitality. Last week, Elijah, newly christened as a Prophet of Israel, was sent to King Ahab with Bad News. Having delivered the news that God was sending a severe drought on the land, Elijah fled to the Wadi Cherith to hide and receive nourishment.
This week, the respite is over. The water is dry and he receives another command, “Go now to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and live there…” In other words, go into enemy territory. A land of strangers. Zarephath is about 80 miles away from Samaria as the crow flies. So about a four-day walk. And it’s in another country. It belongs to Sidon; where Queen Jezebel is from. Not to give too many spoilers, but Queen Jezebel is going to try to kill Elijah in the very near future. She is, according to the author of 1 Kings, the main reason King Ahab is such a terrible King. And so God tells Elijah, “You know that place Queen Jezebel is from? Your enemy? Go there.”
And because Elijah is Elijah, he does what I probably wouldn't be able to do, he trusts fully in God and he goes. When he arrives on the scene, it doesn't look good. He was told to look for a widow who would take care of him. This, in and of itself, is odd. Widows in the Biblical texts are “the least, the last, the lost.” Due to the patriarchal nature of the Ancient Near East, a widow was very vulnerable. She had no economic support, as her husband was dead, and she relied on the hospitality of others to make her way. Widows in the Bible are guests, not hosts. Recipients, not benefactors.
And this particular widow was living through the worst drought in memory. Then, as now, those on the margins of society always suffer most when resources are scarce - and this nameless woman was no exception. When Elijah meets her, she is gathering sticks to make a small fire. Her goal is to make one last small loaf of bread with the limited flour and oil she has left….one last meal to share with her son, and then the two of them will die of starvation.
This is the woman Elijah is supposed to ask for help? This is his host? That seems a little ridiculous, right?
But the twist is this: this is a story about partnership in the face of extreme suffering. This is not a story where one person is rich and deigns to help someone who is less-well-off. This is a story where two desperate people - Elijah and this nameless widow - come together and through their commitment to hospitality and their trust in God, find a way to care for one another. Remember how I said earlier that I thought it was intriguing that the Latin hospes was BOTH guest and host? Well, here's our illustration right here. Elijah and the widow are both guest and host. They are both in need. They both offer what they have to one another. They both trust in God. They are both saved.
And they are strangers. Some might say enemies, in fact. But who better to open yourself to than a stranger if you really want to practice hospitality?
An intimate encounter with a stranger often results in changed lives. And sometimes it results in salvation. Many of you probably saw the video making its rounds on the internet this week from Amnesty International in Poland. In the video, we see pairings of people who are refugees from Syria and European residents. They are asked to stare into each other's eyes for four full minutes. The video shows these strangers doing this very intimate thing - making eye contact for a long period of time. Why four minutes? Well, the video says it's because experiments have shown that's how long it takes to fall in love with someone.
The most moving part to me was seeing two young children who stare at each other somewhat awkwardly. At the end, they shake hands and say “hello.” Then one of them tags the other and runs off. And suddenly they are running through the room chasing each other - the international, timeless language of children: a good game of chase.
When we allow ourselves to enter into a moment of vulnerability with a stranger, we open ourselves to the gift of hospitality. Hospitality which is done as a partnership - guest and host and stranger all mixed up together.
You know, our congregation has its own radical act of hospitality each and every week. For almost 20 years now, our congregation has hosted a meal for anyone who wants it every single Sunday night. The Second Helping provides food and fellowship for around 20-40 people each week.
Some of the people who come to Second Helping come because they are hungry. Others come because they seek fellowship. They gather with the same friends week after week and enjoy conversation around the table. Some people come for both, I suppose. Second Helping is not an “us and them” thing. We have people in our own congregation who come and eat at Second Helping. We encourage the volunteers who prepare and serve the meal to sit down at the tables and eat, too.
If you've never been to Second Helping, I want to encourage you to go home this afternoon and mark a date on your calendar when you will come and enjoy a meal. Come and sit with the regulars and the first-timers. Come and share hospitality with one another. Be a guest AND a host AND a stranger. And if you are a regular volunteer at Second Helping, I do so encourage you to find a seat at one of the tables and experience hospitality. Don't just eat standing up in the kitchen!
The Christianity I was raised on was often about “helping the less-fortunate” and I am thankful for the emphasis on generosity. But I want to encourage us to find a way towards understanding hospitality as a practice that goes both ways. It's not “us and them,” “guest and host.” Because we are all both at one time or another...and sometimes simultaneously. If I have a theology or worldview that always places me in the privileged position, I are likely to find myself adrift or isolated when I find myself in need...and we are all in need at some time or another. And if I have a theology or worldview that always places me in a recipient position, I am likely to underestimate my power to create change, offer hope, and connect with the generosity God is offering all people.
The story of Elijah and the widow is an important reminder that we are all in it together. We are all guest and host. We all have needs and we all have something to offer. We can all be in touch with the gifts God is freely offering in our time and place. We can all be messengers of that good news and we can all be recipients of that badly-needed hopeful message of abundance.
Call to offering:
Let us rest silent for a moment in our individual stories of need and sharing and scarcity and abundance….and, together, let us move into our weekly time of offering gifts. A time where we act together. A time where we remind ourselves of God’s sure provision in the face of adversity. And where we remember we are all givers, all recipients, of God’s unfailing love and care. Amen.
First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS
June 5, 2016
Sermon Text - 1 Kings 17:8-16
As we continue to follow the saga of that great prophet Elijah, Troubler of Israel, today’s story is about the practice of hospitality. Hospitality. It's a word that is so closely related to many other English words: hospital, hospice, hostel, hotel, host, but also hostile. I did some digging and found that the English “hospitality” comes out of the Latin “hospes” - which means guest, host, stranger. And “hospes” is related to the Latin “hostis” - which means stranger or enemy. You can begin to see how that English hostile gets thrown in there as a similar world. Hostility and strangers or enemies often go hand in hand.
But I was captured by the idea that one word in Latin would mean BOTH guest and host. Those are very different words in English. A host is a person who is offering something...there is a connotation of them being the one who is giving, perhaps the person who has more to offer. A guest is someone who is receiving...and perhaps there is a connotation that they are in the “out” position.
I was also struck that stranger and enemy so often come into play in these Latin roots. In our culture, hospitality is often more about fancy dinner parties or ideas from Pinterest or spending time with loved ones and friends. Biblical hospitality is something different, though. It's about opening ourselves up in vulnerability when a stranger comes near. It's about offering precious resources - food, shelter, water - to someone you've never met before and who might do you harm.
Today's story in 1 Kings is about Elijah and hospitality. Last week, Elijah, newly christened as a Prophet of Israel, was sent to King Ahab with Bad News. Having delivered the news that God was sending a severe drought on the land, Elijah fled to the Wadi Cherith to hide and receive nourishment.
This week, the respite is over. The water is dry and he receives another command, “Go now to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and live there…” In other words, go into enemy territory. A land of strangers. Zarephath is about 80 miles away from Samaria as the crow flies. So about a four-day walk. And it’s in another country. It belongs to Sidon; where Queen Jezebel is from. Not to give too many spoilers, but Queen Jezebel is going to try to kill Elijah in the very near future. She is, according to the author of 1 Kings, the main reason King Ahab is such a terrible King. And so God tells Elijah, “You know that place Queen Jezebel is from? Your enemy? Go there.”
And because Elijah is Elijah, he does what I probably wouldn't be able to do, he trusts fully in God and he goes. When he arrives on the scene, it doesn't look good. He was told to look for a widow who would take care of him. This, in and of itself, is odd. Widows in the Biblical texts are “the least, the last, the lost.” Due to the patriarchal nature of the Ancient Near East, a widow was very vulnerable. She had no economic support, as her husband was dead, and she relied on the hospitality of others to make her way. Widows in the Bible are guests, not hosts. Recipients, not benefactors.
And this particular widow was living through the worst drought in memory. Then, as now, those on the margins of society always suffer most when resources are scarce - and this nameless woman was no exception. When Elijah meets her, she is gathering sticks to make a small fire. Her goal is to make one last small loaf of bread with the limited flour and oil she has left….one last meal to share with her son, and then the two of them will die of starvation.
This is the woman Elijah is supposed to ask for help? This is his host? That seems a little ridiculous, right?
But the twist is this: this is a story about partnership in the face of extreme suffering. This is not a story where one person is rich and deigns to help someone who is less-well-off. This is a story where two desperate people - Elijah and this nameless widow - come together and through their commitment to hospitality and their trust in God, find a way to care for one another. Remember how I said earlier that I thought it was intriguing that the Latin hospes was BOTH guest and host? Well, here's our illustration right here. Elijah and the widow are both guest and host. They are both in need. They both offer what they have to one another. They both trust in God. They are both saved.
And they are strangers. Some might say enemies, in fact. But who better to open yourself to than a stranger if you really want to practice hospitality?
An intimate encounter with a stranger often results in changed lives. And sometimes it results in salvation. Many of you probably saw the video making its rounds on the internet this week from Amnesty International in Poland. In the video, we see pairings of people who are refugees from Syria and European residents. They are asked to stare into each other's eyes for four full minutes. The video shows these strangers doing this very intimate thing - making eye contact for a long period of time. Why four minutes? Well, the video says it's because experiments have shown that's how long it takes to fall in love with someone.
The most moving part to me was seeing two young children who stare at each other somewhat awkwardly. At the end, they shake hands and say “hello.” Then one of them tags the other and runs off. And suddenly they are running through the room chasing each other - the international, timeless language of children: a good game of chase.
When we allow ourselves to enter into a moment of vulnerability with a stranger, we open ourselves to the gift of hospitality. Hospitality which is done as a partnership - guest and host and stranger all mixed up together.
You know, our congregation has its own radical act of hospitality each and every week. For almost 20 years now, our congregation has hosted a meal for anyone who wants it every single Sunday night. The Second Helping provides food and fellowship for around 20-40 people each week.
Some of the people who come to Second Helping come because they are hungry. Others come because they seek fellowship. They gather with the same friends week after week and enjoy conversation around the table. Some people come for both, I suppose. Second Helping is not an “us and them” thing. We have people in our own congregation who come and eat at Second Helping. We encourage the volunteers who prepare and serve the meal to sit down at the tables and eat, too.
If you've never been to Second Helping, I want to encourage you to go home this afternoon and mark a date on your calendar when you will come and enjoy a meal. Come and sit with the regulars and the first-timers. Come and share hospitality with one another. Be a guest AND a host AND a stranger. And if you are a regular volunteer at Second Helping, I do so encourage you to find a seat at one of the tables and experience hospitality. Don't just eat standing up in the kitchen!
The Christianity I was raised on was often about “helping the less-fortunate” and I am thankful for the emphasis on generosity. But I want to encourage us to find a way towards understanding hospitality as a practice that goes both ways. It's not “us and them,” “guest and host.” Because we are all both at one time or another...and sometimes simultaneously. If I have a theology or worldview that always places me in the privileged position, I are likely to find myself adrift or isolated when I find myself in need...and we are all in need at some time or another. And if I have a theology or worldview that always places me in a recipient position, I am likely to underestimate my power to create change, offer hope, and connect with the generosity God is offering all people.
The story of Elijah and the widow is an important reminder that we are all in it together. We are all guest and host. We all have needs and we all have something to offer. We can all be in touch with the gifts God is freely offering in our time and place. We can all be messengers of that good news and we can all be recipients of that badly-needed hopeful message of abundance.
Call to offering:
Let us rest silent for a moment in our individual stories of need and sharing and scarcity and abundance….and, together, let us move into our weekly time of offering gifts. A time where we act together. A time where we remind ourselves of God’s sure provision in the face of adversity. And where we remember we are all givers, all recipients, of God’s unfailing love and care. Amen.
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