Where is the Lord, the God of Elijah?

Scripture Lessons: 1 Kings 19: 15-21 and 2 Kings 2: 1-14 Sermon Title: Where is the Lord, the God of Elijah? Preached on June 30, 2019 About two years ago, we moved here from Columbia, Tennessee, which is a considerable town. It has its own mall and its own newspaper, but Marietta often makes Columbia look tiny in comparison. For example, in the Columbia paper, The Daily Herald, I remember that coverage of a hay-bail fire once made the front page. When I read our paper, go to a Braves game, or when we’re out driving around and sitting in traffic, I feel like now we’re living in a big city. That’s until something like a power outage happens. Last Monday evening in our neighborhood, all kinds of people went out in the rain to watch the crew clear the power lines. You better believe we were there. We weren’t missing something like that. Not only was there nothing else to do, but it was good, small town entertainment. Plus, while we were standing there, our coonhound, Junebug made friends with a Labrador retriever. I started talking to this guy standing with his girlfriend. Something about him made him look like he knew what was going on, so Sara asked him if he knew how long it would be before we got power back. By day, this guy was probably an accountant, but in that moment, he rose to the occasion. He looked up and down the power line at the guys working in bucket trucks to see their progress and said, “probably not too much longer.” Some people like to look like they know what they’re talking about. Some people like to appear to be in charge, and a little later this guy stopped one of the linemen and asked him some question about the transformer. The look on the real expert’s face was the same as how I imagine Jimmy Carter looked watching last weeks’ democratic presidential debates. Sometimes, compared to real experts, the amateur looks a little ridiculous. We worry then, about the future, based on who we’re leaving it to. That’s a common enough theme in the worlds of literature, movies, as well as Scripture. It’s there, even in Toy Story 4. Have you seen it? I went to see Toy Story 4 week before last. I didn’t go by myself. Our daughter went with me, but I got a lot out of the movie. It starts off with Woody, a toy ragdoll who is also a Sheriff, dusty and dejected in a closet. He’s a toy come to life, and part of all four of these Toy Story movies is telling how toys live out their purpose by comforting children through life transitions like their first day of school. That’s a simple and wholesome theme in the movies, though it’s not so entertaining, so the drama in all these Toy Story movies comes from Woody the rag doll who has to deal with being replaced by new toys that his owner enjoys playing with more than him. In the first one it’s a spaceman named Buzz Lightyear, and by Toy Story 4, Woody and Buzz the Spaceman have been passed on to a new kid because their first kid grew up and went to college. Their new owner is a little girl who takes off Woody’s Sheriff badge, throws him the closet, and puts the badge on a ragdoll cowgirl named Jessie whom she plays with on her bedroom floor. Well, as soon as the little girl leaves the room what does Woody do? He comes alive, bursts out of the closet, and takes his badge back because Jessie the cowgirl can’t handle the responsibility that comes with such a title as Sheriff. To experts like Woody, amateurs are a nuisance. You can imagine these kinds of feelings coming from Elijah, who’s been a prophet in Israel for years. He’s been dealing with kings and famines, doing miracles, and speaking the truth. What does he need with some young guy following him around? It’s clear from what Elijah said to him in verse 20 of our First Scripture Lesson, “Go back again; for what have I done to you?” that signing on as Elijah’s understudy didn’t come with a hearty handshake and a corner office. Elijah doesn’t want him around and only anoints Elisha as “prophet” because God told him he had to. Now, why is he like that? Maybe you can imagine. It’s hard to pass some things on, especially if you feel like the new guy is replacing you. So, Woody took back his sheriff badge from Jessie and even while Elijah is marching off to be taken up into heaven, he’s still reluctant to entrust anything important to Elisha. He kept saying, “Stay here; for the Lord has sent me as far as Bethel.” Then, “Stay here, for the Lord has sent me to the Jordan.” Elijah just keeps going and Elisha keeps tagging along. Meanwhile, the fate of Israel’s prophetic voice hangs in the balance. This is a precarious place for a society to be. The expert is fading away and doesn’t want to. The amateur might not be ready. Ego and fear get in the way and the reader must wonder, “where is the God of Elijah?” That’s a place many find themselves. Maybe that’s a place we all find ourselves. Sometimes we debate whether or not we are still living in a Christian Country. Many things are changing. A generation steps back as a new generation steps forward, only this new generation isn’t always watching where they’re going for staring at their cell phones. Where are we going and what’s going to happen next? “Where is the God of Elijah?” Well, however you’re feeling about the state of things here in our nation, our Judeo-Christian roots are still very clear when you consider this Second Scripture Lesson. Maybe you’ve heard the phrase, “passing the mantel” of leadership. That comes from this Second Scripture Lesson as Elijah passes his “mantel” or robe to Elisha. This passage is also where we got that great Spiritual, “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” for Elijah is swept up into heaven on a Chariot of Fire, leaving him with no other option other than passing his mantel on to the next generation amateur Elisha. That he leaves so dramatically, and that he’s completely gone is helpful in a way, for until the expert leaves, the amateur hardly knows what to do. Maybe you remember that moment in Homer’s Odyssey, when Odysseus, returns from his travels to a home used to getting a long without him. His son, Telemachus, has sort of become the man of the house. He’s not used to running things by his father. When he goes out at night, he doesn’t want anyone asking him to be home by 11:00. But when Odysseus returns the son goes to string his father’s bow, and he can’t do it. Or he says he can’t any way. I remember my English professor telling us that there had been books written on this one brief moment. At that time in my life I couldn’t imagine why. That was because we studied the Odyssey before I ever tried to buy my dad dinner or had to help my grandfather find his way through the hallways of a hospital where he kept getting lost. Whenever the mantel is passed the one who receives it must be mindful of the dignity of the one who is giving it. That’s important to consider, because many of our heroes fade away slowly from positions of influence and power, expertise and authority, taken up into heaven piece by piece rather than all at once in a Chariot of Fire. I remember so well a story folks used to tell about a man who had stayed too long as a member of the board at the local bank. Preparing for one meeting no one wanted him at, he was all upset about the way another member of the board had handled some investment and was prepared to question this man (I’ll call him Bill)’s integrity in front of everyone. Bill’s daughter was the one so worried about it, not wanting her father’s reputation to be questioned in such a public way, but she told me that by the time discussion of her father’s handling of this investment came up on the agenda, the past-his-prime board member had fallen asleep. We are all moving in and out of our positions on this earth. Some are ridding off into the sunset, others are just now stepping on to the stage. There’s plenty to fear in either case, for if Woody, the Sheriff is to give up his badge he has to discover who he is without it and Jessie the cowgirl must summon the courage to live up to the high office of toy-sheriff. If Telemachus can string his father’s bow, then Odysseus must start to wonder about his place in his own home, and his son must learn to live in a world where he stands on his own rather than in his father’s shadow. If Elijah is to accept this ride into heaven on a chariot of fire, he puts his faith completely in the God who does impossible things, and if Elisha is to take up his master’s mantle he must do the same, trusting that the God of Elijah will not leave the earth as his master rides off into heaven. That’s a terrifying thing. What guarantee is there that blessing will be passed down from one generation to the next? What assurance do we have that God’s provision will continue? How can we have hope for the future when all we know of God’s presence is that He has been our help in ages past? Elisha saw Elijah take his mantle, roll it up, and strike the water. When he did the water parted so that they two of them crossed on dry ground. “Where is the God of Elijah,” the prophet Elisha asked as he struck the water of the Jordan with his master’s mantle, but the waters parted again. As the 4th of July approaches, I want to share with you a quote from Ronald Reagan: Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same. It’s not so different with God’s blessings, which are handed down from one generation to the next, not confined to the past but here and now. Where is the God of Elijah? He is with you and with me, and he isn’t going anywhere. Thanks be to God. Amen.