Today is not about Elijah

Lectionary readings:  1 Kings 17: 8-24 and Luke 7: 11-17

The prophet Elijah and the Widow of Sarepta by Bernardo Strozzi

Today is not about Elijah.

And yet he is one of the towering figures of the Old Testament and his story starts in 1 Kings 17.

What I love about Elijah is that he is no cardboard cut-out figure.  He is as complex as the rest of us. The bible story does not just focus upon the most exciting events of his life but also allows us to see that, at times, he is anxious and depressed.  We see him here confidently speaking truth to power to King Ahab. Later we see him as God’s instrument for the public humiliation of the prophets of Baal and Asherah.  A short while later, he is to be found curled up, in the foetal position, under a bush; fearful, hopeless and utterly reliant on the grace of God to sustain his life. 

Give yourself a treat – when lunch today is over, settle down and read 1 Kings 17 to 2 Kings 2 and enjoy his story with all its ups and downs.

But today is not about Elijah.

It is about two women whose names are not recorded for us in scripture. We simply know where they live, their status in society and about the hopelessness that confronts them both.

In the Old Testament reading, the word of the Lord comes to Elijah. “Go to Zarephath in Sidon and stay there. I have commanded a widow in that place to supply you with food.”  At face value it is simply a statement but for Elijah it would have added greatly to his anxiety.  For Zarephath was in enemy territory. By telling Elijah to go there, God is asking for the highest degree of trust from his servant.  He is also showing that he is at work outside his chosen people of Israel.  The very idea would be a deeply unpalatable one and yet we see it in several places in scripture. For example, the Israelites are to have no dealings with the people of Moab.  Yet it is Ruth, the Moabitess, who becomes the ancestor of King David.

The widow’s situation is hopeless. She expects that she and her dependent son will run out of food within a day or two.  She is gathering firewood to cook a final meal before the pair of them will starve.  We see that she is a morally upright person by her implicit rejection of the alternatives: resorting to earning a living by begging or prostitution.

When God tells Elijah that he has commanded the widow to feed him, we have no sense that she was conscious of this.  She was a Phoenician and would have worshipped the gods of her homeland. She recognises that Elijah is a Jew and acknowledges (as his name suggests) that he worships the God whose name is specifically Jehovah.  But she is what seems to be: a Phoenician woman of low status.

God provides a source of food every day for the widow, her son and the prophet, who is hiding in the last place that his enemies would expect – their own land. We are not told the precise mechanics of the way God provides them with food but it is clear from the story that somehow this takes place – and God gets the credit for it.

Yet for some people, misfortunes tend to come along in clusters. Although her economic needs have been met, this woman now faces another crisis – the deadly sickness of her son. Again, the significance of this is deeper even than the natural anxiety that all of us would have for a family member who is gravely ill.  For her son is her hope for the future, both in terms of having grandchildren and in being supported in later life.  As life slips away from the boy, she turns to Elijah in her anger and her pain and asks whether he came as God’s messenger to kill her son.

When we face such times, it is natural to cry out against God. Indeed, Elijah, the man of God himself – in his prayer – wonders whether God is the author of the unfolding tragedy. I worry about people whose Christian experience has never included shaking their fist at God and wondering why he allows such bad things to happen. 

Well, God is good. When he hears the prayer and the boy’s life is restored, the joyful response of the mother shows the beginnings of faith in the living God.  And I get the feeling that Elijah’s own faith in God has grown too as he says to the woman: “Look, your son is alive!” He sounds surprised and relieved.

We may turn the pages of our bibles and learn how Elijah’s story progresses but we hear nothing further about this unnamed mother and son. And yet I have the sense that they were just as much in the mind of God as the headline-hero of 1 Kings.

Nearly 900 years pass since Elijah stayed at the widow’s house in Zarephath before the lectionary links this OT story with that we heard from Luke 7.

At the heart of the short tale is another unnamed widow, whom we know only by her home village of Nain. It is a small place in Galilee, just south of Nazareth.  It is still lived in today. 

Here we see Jesus and a large crowd, just after he speaks the so-called sermon on the plain. As the crowd approaches the town, they see a funeral procession for the only son of a widow.  She is distraught. Jesus’s heart goes out to her and he comforts the grieving widow. He does what no orthodox Jew should and touches the corpse which is being carried to the burial ground and once again life flows into the boy’s body.  Jesus restores the son to his mother and the crowds give glory to God for the miracle they have seen with their own eyes.

So today we have two amazing stories. What are we to make of them and what difference might these ancient tales make to our lives as we begin a new week as followers of Jesus today?

What I take from this, firstly, is that it suggests that God is at work even when he appears to be absent.  God was as aware of the situation of the widow of Zarephath as he was of Elijah’s predicament, though Elijah was ignorant of her very existence until God told him to go stay with her. And God often seems to choose to work with the kind of people that we would not even think of, let alone choose for ourselves.

In neither case where the son dies does either widow ask God for help.  Yet God provides, in the OT story by placing his prophet there with her and in the NT story we read that Jesus was in the right place at the right time – and that his heart went out to her. The word that we often see in scripture for this is compassion.  It is the human response of identifying with another in their pain or distress in ways that lead to acts of kindness and mercy.

I have been much taken recently with the call of Pope Francis for Christians to be merciful.  One of his assistants has helpfully defined this for us. "Mercy," he says, "is the willingness to enter voluntarily into chaos of another."

In our stories today, God chooses to enter into the messiness of human lives in two specific situations, standing with people that no one else notices or names.  He does not wait to be asked and he is not reluctant but is moved by love to do what he alone can.

Perhaps you are like me, in that you are often tempted to think that the Good Lord has made heaven and earth, all creatures and human beings.  He has set the laws of physics in motion so that everything seems to run on auto-pilot. That Jesus came and gave us a steer about how to think and act and that God has now cleared-off to a distant place while we are left to get on with life.  If so, then I hope these stories story speak to you – as they do to me.  They strongly suggest that, while we may not see God or think he is doing much, he is intimately interested in us and in the everyday parts of our lives.  That he is capable of weaving together our tiny lives into his one big story.

That he is still capable of surprising people of great faith, such as Elijah.

That he knows the names and the lives of the people who don’t attract any headlines.

And that he cares and is moved by love to want to help.

Of course, there are many loose ends in such a view.  Plainly God does not appear on a white horse on the crest of every hill, ready to save the day.  And it is natural to wonder why.  The widow of Zarephath thought that her son’s death was a punishment for her sins – whatever they were. But she was wrong.  I daresay the widow of Nain might have thought herself under God’s curse.  Yet the God who we see most clearly in Jesus does not send illness or misfortune.  Instead, he chooses to enter into the chaos of our lives if we allow him in, to stand with us and strengthen us.

Nothing speaks more profoundly of this deliberate choice of God to enter into our chaos, our pain and our human experience than the Communion we now celebrate together.  As you take bread and wine, banish the idea that God is the distant and passive observer of your life. As you remember his death, make the choice to live as though he daily enters into your chaos.  And as you remember his resurrection, ask for grace to choose to go with Jesus into the chaos of those around you – bringing the good news that God knows, God loves and God wants to make a life-restoring difference.

Amen.

This sermon was given at Friars Baptist Church Shoeburyness on Sunday 5th June 2016

Some thoughts for All Souls Day

Read John 11:1-44   

  

In two weeks’ time, my late father would have celebrated his 100th birthday. The youngest of six, he was born while his eldest brother was away fighting in WW1. Although he died when I was in my twenties, I think of him often.

When I was a child I used to think that he and I were completely different. Of course, our life experiences were radically different. Yet I see aspects of my father now in my reactions and my character and I also have the surprise of catching glimpses of him in my son, the grandson whom he never met, who has inherited his build, his character and his humour. I miss him.

“In the midst of life, we are in death” says Thomas Cranmer who took that ancient saying and included it in the burial service in the Book of Common Prayer. When comforting a friend who had lost her husband, the late Queen Mother was asked if grieving got any better with the passage of time. She replied "It doesn't get any better but you get better at it."  That is my experience. Perhaps it is the experience of some of you, for almost all of us have had to cope with loss and grief. For some people, as we will remember in a few days’ time at Remembrance Sunday, grief can carry on for a long time.

What helps does our faith offer us as we confront the reality of death in life?  The Old Testament supplies us many examples of how God’s people in ancient times coped with grief, loss and death. The psalms provide us with many laments, including those echoed by Jesus Himself: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” Well, this event from the life of Jesus is about death and grief in the midst of life; and the place of faith and hope in such times. 

Lazarus, Martha and Mary lived close to Jerusalem. They were followers and close friends of Jesus. When Jesus came to Jerusalem he stayed with them. Apart from that we know little about them: they seem to have been independent, without parents in the picture; they must have been financially comfortable, since they had a house large enough to cater for a fairly big group of people.

In this story, while Jesus was absent Lazarus became gravely ill. Then he got worse, and the two women sent for Jesus. Come and cure our brother, they begged. Jesus received the message but he put off coming for two days. Why? Jesus clearly loved this man as a friend. Their home was just 2 miles from Jerusalem. Yet Jesus stays on in the city when an hour’s slow walk could have brought His miraculous healing. The disciples – bless them! – are typically slow to grasp the seriousness of Lazarus’ condition.

In the meantime, Lazarus dies of his illness. For all the miracles worked by Jesus, people still died in Judea in the years of His ministry. People still suffered disabilities; there was still poverty and injustice and the land remained under enemy occupation. The presence of the Son of God does not remove us from the ills of the human condition. For that reason I cannot sing the line from that worship song that says: “And in His presence our problems disappear.”  It is high-sounding nonsense, which disrespects the pain of grieving people.

When Jesus eventually arrived, Martha rushed out to meet him. She reproached him bitterly - if you'd only come sooner, he wouldn't have died, she said. She berates her friend for delaying and we cannot miss her tone of disappointment.

As a pastor, I have comforted grieving people. At such times, the questions all seem to begin with 

• ‘Why?’ 
• Why me?
• Why did this happen? 
• Why do such bad things happen, even to good people? 
• Why did God allow that to happen?

 We are at our most human when we ask why. ‘Why’ looks for meaning at times when there seems to be little meaning. Yet, after a while, if the grieving process works as it should, we find that little by little the ‘why’ questions are replaced by ‘How?’   How should I now live as a follower of Christ, in spite of all that has happened?  Sadly, some people stay trapped in ‘why?’

Having touched on the disciples, Martha and Mary, now we look at Jesus, who is weeping. Why? (There’s that word again). Why is Jesus weeping?

Some commentators suggest that surely, as the Son of God, He knew that for Lazarus things would turn out right in the end – so why weep? Yet this man, Jesus, was fully human. He did not know all things.

Others suggest that it only began to dawn on Jesus at that point – when confronted with the death of his friend – about the awful process of death and dying that awaited Him.  Don’t forget that John’s gospel is the gospel of significance – of meaning. Every act and story in this gospel is drenched in meaning. Yet I reject this idea also.

Jesus wept because He loved His friend, who is now dead.

Jesus wept because of His own grief and because his friends, Martha and Mary, were now experiencing the desperate loss and pain that comes when death robs us of those we love.

Jesus wept because grief is the price that we pay for having loved.

And what of poor Lazarus?  Let’s take a moment to place ourselves in his position. What might he have thought, as he became ill, then worsened?  His friend the healer is just an hour’s slow walk away, so why hasn’t he come?  His family have sent word, but no one arrives. Then the loss of hope as, for him, time runs out.

Then – what?  Nothingness?  Or a glimpse of paradise?!  Until, days after he died, the shock of resurrection and a Voice recalling him to earthly life. He is restored to family and friends and becomes the first to taste that even death cannot separate us from the love of God found in Christ.

Yet, for Lazarus, this was not the ultimate resurrection.  Lazarus died again. How long did he have? We are not told. I think his restored life might have been quite problematic. Supernatural seekers would have shown an unhealthy interest in him. Some would have thought him part of a conspiracy to deceive. He would have been a political and religious embarrassment. And how do you relate to your friend who has so publicly transformed your existence?

At the heart of this passage is this.  “Jesus says to Martha: “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?” “Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”

The words that Jesus proclaims to Martha invite us not to be glib or to wear a shallow smile in the face of grief and pain. Maybe like me, in times of loss you have suffered from the bright cheerfulness of Christians who would do better to stand weeping, like our Master, rather than offering trite words pretending to be faith.

Jesus doesn’t offer us an easy way out.  Like Lazarus, one day we will all face death first-hand. Jesus does not tell us that we can avoid death or grief. But he offers us the solid hope that lies on the far side of that most human experience. And the One who stands and weeps at the grave of His friend is the One who stands beside us as we face all that life can throw at us. He came into the world, born as one of us, entering our condition – our frailty, our hopelessness and the apparent finality of the death that awaits us. He goes on standing beside us, sharing our tears and offering us hope.

What form might this hope take?  Sometimes we experience the presence of Christ in the touch of a hand or a hug or a meal cooked or someone looking at our treasured photographs with us, because grief has knocked us down. Christ can use the community of faith to show his care.

And when we meet together on a Sunday or in our home groups, with Christ at the centre of His disciples, do we make allowance for grief and loss in our worship?  For lament?  We sometimes fall into the trap of thinking that we must leave our feelings and the reality of life at the church door when we come to worship. Or that we must be unremittingly cheerful. What unbiblical nonsense! The psalmists knew, better than us, that worship is bringing the whole of life before God.

Today is All Souls Day. Along with yesterday's All Saints Day, this is a feast that we Baptists have disregarded – perhaps with some suspicion. Yet I feel they are useful points in our church calendar to remember, to reflect and in quiet gratitude to give thanks for the lives now past that have touched ours and for our continuing lives.  To hand over, once again, those we have loved and who have died into God’s tender care. We do so knowing that there is no safer place than in the hands of the God who imagined them and called them into existence; the always-with-us God, who stands and shares our tears. He declares that he is the resurrection and the life and demonstrates that in the gift of new life to Lazarus. As his people, let us share life together with its joys and its sorrows, bringing them both in our worship of God. Let that worship include thanksgiving and lament as we gather round the God of tears and solid hope, to whom we now pray:

Everlasting God, our maker and redeemer, give us, together with all those we remember with love and gratitude, the joy of Jesus' glorious resurrection, so that, in the last day when you gather up all things in Christ, we may enjoy with them your presence for ever. Through Jesus Christ your Son. Amen

Thoughts from Palm Sunday

Mark 11: As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage and Bethany at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of his disciples, ² saying to them, “Go to the village ahead of you, and just as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. ³ If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ say, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here shortly.’”

⁴ They went and found a colt outside in the street, tied at a doorway. As they untied it, ⁵ some people standing there asked, “What are you doing, untying that colt?” ⁶ They answered as Jesus had told them to, and the people let them go. ⁷ When they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks over it, he sat on it. ⁸ Many people spread their cloaks on the road, while others spread branches they had cut in the fields. ⁹ Those who went ahead and those who followed shouted, “Hosanna!” “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” ¹⁰ “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David!” “Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

The Sunday before Easter is called Palm Sunday – all four gospel writers tell us the story of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey.  People pulled palm leaves down and waved them in the procession. 

I took part in such a procession once.  We were staying with friends in Cornwall on Palm Sunday one year and we joined the local Methodist church as it paraded through the village waving leaves and following a donkey. There was a great sense of atmosphere – both among those of us in the procession and those looking on. No one asked what the donkey thought of it.

All these people who are crying out “Hosanna!” – “Save us!”  What did they want to be saved from?

Well, they lived in enemy-occupied land and we know they wanted freedom to rule their own country. They wanted freedom from arrest and torture.

Just 2 weeks ago, you will have heard on the news that Taliban bombs had exploded outside two churches in the Youhanabad district of the Pakistani city of Lahore. 16 people were killed, 10 critically injured and around 80 more affected by blast injuries. A local pastor friend of mine was preaching in his church nearby when the blasts were felt.  Another contact of mine lives just 4 minutes’ walk from one of the damaged churches.

Both of these families have since spoken of how Christians in that place live in fear of arrest, injury or death for their faith.  I know what they cry ‘Hosanna’ for…

Today, what is it that people around us in Southend want saving from? 

When we ask God to save us, what do we really want God to save us from? 

What about anger? Save me from my credit card debt or the Department of Work & Pensions? 

How about save me from the arguments that rip apart my relationships?  Save me from the people on my estate. Save me from my addiction to booze or weed or porn. 

Jesus riding into Jerusalem in this way is an event of significance. In Luke 19, the Pharisees beg Jesus to tell the crowds to stop their hosannas. "I tell you," he replied, "if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out!"

The stones by the roadside would start to sing because God is on the move, wanting everyone to know and celebrate that, through what Jesus will do, there will be a new creation where everyone can have a fresh start.

When Jesus enters Jerusalem I hear an echo of His first words in Mark’s gospel: “Now’s the time!”  God is saying “Enough is enough!”  A change is gonna come!  It may not be the change that you think or seek but it’s on its way…

That’s why Palm Sunday is more than waving branches and singing hosannas. It shows us a God who loves all of us enough to take the journey through Jerusalem; to pain and humiliation and death and then beyond that…to life and a new hope for the future.  

The sound of silence

Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed (Mark 1:35)

I began my recent sabbatical with a retreat at a Franciscan retreat house in a quiet and lonely place in the Lincolnshire fens.

Jesus set us a good pattern for living when he went away for a short time from daily life, not just to get a break from it all but to rediscover peace and the quiet voice of God, which is often heard when we stop making so much noise.

I wake up to the radio. Almost without thinking, as I get into the car I put on the radio or a CD. When I am working, Facebook or Spotify are often on in the background. And even when there is no external noise, still inside my brain is whirring with thoughts and unfinished conversations. 

Surprisingly, faith as we know it often gets in the way of just-God-and-us-together.  We sing. We read aloud. We watch videos and read books. My prayers are full of me speaking.

"When we try to express….God in words, our minds quickly come up short. But, in the depths of our being, through the Holy Spirit, Christ is praying far more than we imagine.

“Although God never stops trying to communicate with us, this is never in order to impose. The voice of God is often heard only in a whisper, in a breath of silence. Remaining in silence in God’s presence, open to the Holy Spirit, is…..prayer.

"The road…..is not one of achieving inner silence at all costs by following some technique that creates a kind of emptiness within. If, instead, with a childlike trust we let Christ pray silently within us, then one day we shall discover that the depths of our being are inhabited by a Presence." 


Brother Roger of Taizé

So I spent a short time at a Franciscan house in a quiet location, to try and reset the balance. This place has a focus on finding Jesus at the centre through bring quiet. 

I went to the 4 simple gatherings in the chapel each day – a few words of liturgy following by 20-30 minutes of shared silence. This is not the kind of retreat where you are given something – for example, a verse of two of the Bible – to reflect upon. Silence is simply being in God’s presence without having to prattle prayers or do anything.  

It quickly becomes very liberating, not least for someone addicted to activity, noise and being in control.

I took some long walks - there is a river opposite and a nature reserve close by.  I saw many butterflies and watched a barn owl patrol the river bank.  I saw a heron snatch an eel from the river and fly away with it. There is some spiritual companionship available if you wish it, though I simply shared coffee and a little conversation with the hosts once a day.

In the guest barn you cook for yourself.  There is no TV.  There is broadband but actually I let go of the Internet for my short stay. The pace of life is slower: walking, reading, cooking and enjoying a bottle of velvety Merlot.

It was a good start to a period of slowing down and stopping, though I should have stayed a little longer.  I returned from sabbatical determined not to slip back into thoughtless activity. 

All my previous retreats have been silent ones. They suit me; they may not suit everyone.  But if Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed (Luke 5:16) then maybe it’s worth a try.  

I’d be glad to steer anyone towards places and ideas for a day retreat or longer.

Where is God when bad things happen to good people?

Jesus is talking to a crowd and people ask him about a real-life situation, sharing their questions about what God is like.

There were some people demonstrating against something they believed was wrong. They get killed. Where is God when all this is happening?  What kind of God allows this?  

Jesus then raises another incident.  A building had collapsed and 18 innocent people had been killed. Again, people dying for no apparent reason. This second story is so poignant today because of the resonance with the 9/11 tragedy.

Then, as now, the questions were about finding significance and meaning in dark times:

·                     Why did this happen to him / her?

·                     Why is this happening to me?

·                     Why would God allow this to happen?

Click this link to listen to one response:  PLAY