Don’t look at me, I did my part!

Bible text: 1 Kings 19:1-15a

This might not be the sermon you’re expecting. It’s not the sermon I expected. When I first read this story about Elijah, the sermon I thought of right away was about how Elijah was so clever at recognizing what was God and what was not: God is not in the rushing wind, God is not in the shattering earthquake, God is not in the roaring fire. God is in that “still small voice.” There’s your moral, right there: listen for God to be quiet and subtle, not loud and obvious. End of story.

Except! Except for Elijah. Even after fire, wind, earthquake, and EVEN AFTER HEARING THE STILL SMALL VOICE, he doesn’t change his tune one bit. What he says before is the same as what he says after: “I’ve been doing the right thing, but those people are disobeying you and trying to kill me.”

So what’s going on with Elijah? To understand this story, it will be helpful to have a little bit of background. Because Elijah is a prophet, and a major one at that, he gets compared to that greatest prophet of all: Moses. Moses is to Old Testament prophecy what George Washington is to American democracy. So when the story about Elijah overlaps with Moses’ story, the storytellers are trying to tell us something about Elijah and how he does or does not measure up to Moses’ example.

Think of it this way. The story about George Washington is that he chopped down a cherry tree, and when his father angrily confronted him, he said “I cannot tell a lie. I did chop down that cherry tree.” But by comparison Bill Clinton might say, “I did not chop down that cherry tree,” or George Bush might say, “That cherry tree had direct Al Quaida ties.” That’s what the Bible story is doing with Elijah and Moses.

Elijah goes to the same mountain Moses went to. He hides in the same crack in the mountain as God passes by in glory. And as in Moses’ day, the Israelites are wayward and thoughtless and basically don’t treat God right.

But the time comes for Elijah to do what Moses did—to talk God out of horrible punishments, to sway God from righteous wrath, to prevent a smiting, and what does Elijah do? He eggs God on! He says, “the Israelites have forsaken YOUR covenant, thrown down YOUR altars, and killed YOUR prophets with the sword.” He goes on: I’m the only one left who’s faithful to you and they’re trying to kill me!

I have a hard time liking Elijah right here. Mostly because he reminds me of myself as a kid, on a bad day of course—the tattletale, the one who can’t let anyone make a mistake. When I was in elementary school, it used to make me so angry when other kids would misbehave, but the teacher would punish everybody. It wasn’t fair! I never understood it, and always thought that the only reason the teachers did that was because they couldn’t figure out who was guilty. So imagine my surprise a few months ago when a friend of mine who teaches fourth graders explained her reasoning.

What happened was this: a couple of the kids in her class were being disruptive, so she punished the whole group that was sitting there. One kid protested that he hadn’t been participating but she said, “You didn’t do anything to stop it. Keeping the class in order is everyone’s responsibility.”

So Elijah is a little like that kid here—he’s perfectly happy to let the Israelites suffer their fate. You might say his attitude was—“Don’t look at me, I did my part.” He says this before God goes by, and he says it after God goes by. He doesn’t change his tune. God’s very presence doesn’t affect him—give him a sense of awe, or human frailty, for example.

So what is God’s response? God sends Elijah back to the people. “They are your responsibility, Elijah.” Elijah hasn’t finished doing his part. There is more work left for him to do.

What does this say to us in the here and now? I didn’t say this before, but Elijah also reminds me a little of how I am now when it comes to church. Not that I try to be this way, but sometimes I think, “Those people out there, they can figure it out for themselves. I go to church, I do my part.” But the truth is, there are people who are spiritually lost who won’t be able to find God without help.

In our gospel story this morning, we find Jesus reaching out to such a person. The possessed man from Gerasene, who everybody was afraid of, and nobody seems to be able or willing to help, finally finds peace because Jesus sees him, reaches out to him, heals him. Jesus does not avoid him or say, “Hey, look, I’ve been doing my teaching thing, all right? I’ve done my part.”

Who are our lost Israelites? The United States is a changing nation, religiously speaking. The number of people in mainline denominational churches like the United Church of Christ has dropped steadily for many years, as the average age has risen. Most people I know in their 20s and 30s (assuming I don’t know them through church) don’t go to church. People like to refer to themselves as “spiritual, but not religious.” The thing is, though, it’s hard to build up your spirituality without a faith community to help you do it.

I’m preaching to the choir here (ha ha), but this is something important to repeat: It is good to be in church. It is good that we are here. Church is a gift from God, meant to be cherished and shared.

Here are some suggestions for sharing these gifts, for reaching out to today’s lost Israelites.
First, invite people you know and care about to come to church. For a class I took recently, one of the requirements was that I attend worship services somewhere besides my usual place, and preferably somewhere that had a very different musical style. I thought about trying to find a synagogue, or a charismatic church, but realized that I wouldn’t feel comfortable somewhere so new and different unless I had someone with me who could help me fit in a little. Knowing someone can make all the difference for a new person.

Second, invite people because you have a gift to share. This church has gifts. I know, I know, you’re thinking—“she’s only been here for one Sunday” but it’s true. Every church has gifts—you know what gifts this particular church has. Consider it.

And what could those gifts mean to someone new, coming in uncertain, but thinking “maybe, just maybe, I’ll find what I need here.” What could a new friendship mean to someone who is lonely? What could a heartfelt welcome mean to someone who feels excluded? What could a prayer mean to someone who has felt distant from God? We have gifts to share.

Finally, trust God. I admit this is the hardest part for me, but the most important. In the last couple weeks I’ve started up a small group at my home church to teach beginning guitar. My idea was this—it would be much easier for someone new coming into church to meet people in a smaller group and get to know them while having a common task. Maybe something not quite so heavy as Bible study or Reformation theology. So I think it’s a good idea, but I need to figure out a way to ask some non-churchgoers. That’s hard for me. It makes me nervous. What if they’re put off? What if they think I’m pushy or fanatical?

But there’s where God comes in. We’re not doing this unaided. In today’s story, Elijah is in the desert alone and helpless on his journey and God feeds him. God makes sure that Elijah is equipped for the labor. God will not abandon us, either. The bread and water will be there. We only need to take that first step.