I spent some time with the prophet Elijah this week, remembering we all need to be nurtured.
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From time to time, it is good to remind ourselves that our Bible is not a single book, but more like an anthology, or collection of books wrapped in a single cover—sixty-six of them, in fact. Like any good anthology, the Bible contains a variety of literature: narratives like the Gospels, songs and poetry like the Psalms, wisdom literature like Proverbs and Ecclesiastes, correspondence like the letters to the early churches, and histories like the passage we read this morning from 1 Kings.
1 and 2 Kings tell the history of the Hebrew monarchy from David forward, including the years when it was split into two nations, Israel and Judah. Like history books you may have had in school, these books are full of wars and blood and what we today would call geo-politics. Some chapters read more like movie scripts than what we might expect of scripture. The chapters that precede the verses we read this morning have that kind of cinematic feel.
They tell the story of the prophet Elijah, who lived during the reign of King Ahab and Queen Jezebel, monarchs of Israel who used their powers like weapons and treated people like disposable resources to be used up. They were not nice people, to put it mildly, and Elijah sent word to them that God had had enough of their wickedness.
Elijah then had a huge showdown with the prophets of the pagan god Baal, whom Ahab and Jezebel worshipped. Elijah challenged the four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal to a contest to see whose deity would send down fire on their respective altars and prove their supremacy.
Once the two altars were prepared, Elijah let the others go first. When no fire appeared, Elijah mocked them. When it was his turn, he got a little cocky and has his helpers douse the altar with water three times—so much water that it ran off the sides and filled the trench around the altar. When he called down the fire from God it came so fiercely that it incinerated everything on the altar including the stones. And then he rounded up all the prophets of Baal and had them executed. (Like I said, more cinematic than spiritual.)
It seems as though Elijah thought that people like Ahab and Jezebel who abused power for their benefit would repent if they faced greater power, but he learned quickly that responding to power or violence with greater power or violence is not a lasting solution—not for long, anyway.
In her anger, Jezebel responded with more violence and sent her soldiers to find him and kill him. In a flash, Elijah went from being a confident conqueror to becoming a frightened fugitive. He ran into the desert and prayed for God to kill him because he felt so alone and defeated. Finally, when he thought he was out of the range of his suitors, he collapsed in exhaustion.
And God sent a messenger who woke him up and gave him food and water.
The messenger didn’t ask, “Why did you run away instead of staying and trusting God to take care of you?” or “This isn’t that big of deal. God will protect you.” or “What did you do to make Jezebel so mad?”
The messenger woke Elijah and said, “Get up and eat,” and offered the prophet freshly baked bread and water. Elijah ate and then went back to sleep. The messenger came a second time with the same message and the same meal, except this time they added, “You have a difficult road ahead of you.” Elijah ate and then went on his journey.
Elijah, as both a prophet and a person, had things he did with confidence and things that paralyzed him. He knew how to call down the presence of God in public places, but when he was by himself he couldn’t stare down his fear.
I have been thinking about him all week, and I even had a pretty good draft of a sermon, but that changed yesterday morning when I took Ginger to the Goose Lane Clinic for her to get her blood drawn. Because of a horrible childhood hospital experience that left her traumatized, Ginger has a deep fear of needles. She had not had her blood drawn in ten years.
I watched and admired her as she prepared for the visit. Over the past couple of weeks, she consulted a counselor who gave her practical exercises to do unfolding her arm to help desensitize her. She went to the clinic and asked to see the room where she would be and talked to them about the person who would be best to do the procedure.
Gil Spencer tells me that I mention Ginger in most every sermon I preach. I know I talk about her a lot. You probably feel like you know her even though she doesn’t get to Hamden often. From the day I first time I met her, I have been impressed by her confidence and forthrightness. This a woman who went to Nigeria to work in a leprosy village as a college student. I have never thought of her as one who carries much fear. But, just as the Bible is an anthology of different kinds of writing, she, like the rest of us, is a multi-layered person who is made up of more than one story.
Over the course of our marriage, I have not always said or done the right thing to help her in moments when the fear is palpable—and I have worked to learn from my mistakes. As we planned out our trip, I thought of the messenger coming to Elijah—“Get up and eat.”—and I tried to pay attention to how I could best support her. As she walked to the car, I had the song she had chosen blaring on the stereo. I went with her into the room with the nurse and handed her a congratulatory fun-size Snickers bar when it was over. And I took her to breakfast, like the messenger said: “Get up and eat.”
You see, this is not a fear I share. I don’t get anxious if I have to have my blood drawn. But just because it is not my fear does not mean it’s not significant. And just because Ginger is confident by nature does not mean she should be able to conquer her fear easily. Life is not that simple; neither are people.
I would not have been much help if I had said, “Oh, it’s not that big of a deal. People get their blood taken all the time.” The best thing I did was to take her seriously—to pay attention before I took action or said anything.
As I watched her get through the morning Elijah’s story took on some new layers for me, particularly in what God’s messenger said and did. When we see someone else who is hurting, or frightened, or depleted by life, we do our best work when we don’t see those moments as teaching moments, but as nourishing moments instead. When we are worn out or anxious, we don’t need advice, we need companionship. We don’t need people to tell us what to do, we need people to listen rather than dismiss, who nurture instead of discount. People don’t become less afraid or less exhausted because they were told to get over it.
In the anthology of stories that make up our lives together, we all have a difficult road ahead. May we look at one another through God’s lens of love so that we, like the messenger, offer compassion and care that comfort rather than correct. Amen.
Peace,
Milton
