There are many interesting and inspiring stories in the books of the kings. The epic stories of the prophets Elijah and Elisha with healings, miracles and epic power clashes between prophets and kings are found in these parts of the Bible. On the other hand, there are also disturbing passages. As a preacher, I wish I could focus on the inspirational parts only, turn a blind eye to the more uncomfortable passages, and simply pretend they weren’t there. But I can’t do that. Today’s Old Testament reading is a case in point. One prominent Mennonite Brethren, I am sure a very peaceful man, wrote in a Christian Magazine about Elijah, the prophet who is in the center of the stories in 1. Kings chapters 18 and 19: “1 Kings 19 tells the story of how the mighty Elijah succumbed to human weakness, and how the remarkable grace of God renewed this once fearless prophet and restored him to his ministry.” And I am thinking, “That sounds wonderful!” “That sounds just like what I want to hear.” And I wish I could leave it there…
Unfortunately, I cannot overlook the other, rather obvious implications of Elijah’s ministry. His “ministry,” if we really want to call it that, was unlike anything we would call ministry in our times, in our church. In chapter 18 he had the priests of Baal slaughtered and at the end of today’s passage he is asked to anoint kings and make sure a bloody cleansing of the country is being conducted. How can we as Christians, as followers of the peacemaker Jesus, stomach such a passage? And how could we just overlook these gory details and celebrate Elijah as a hero? I can’t do that.
I thought, instead of avoiding this touchy subject altogether, I needed to bring it up because people who read the Bible and try to understand our book of faith might get tripped up right here. They might ask, “Why is the God of the Old Testament so violent? Is this a different God compared to the one Jesus called his Father in heaven?” And other people will go a few steps further by asking: “Why has so much blood flown in the name of religion?” Indeed, why?
And even as I am asking this question myself, not for the first time and probably not for the last time, I cannot help but think that our understanding of God has evolved, and has evolved even within the Bible itself. I’d like to use a quote by the Apostle Paul in one of my favorite chapters of Paul’s letters, in 1. Corinthians 13, to explain what I mean. Paul wrote, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I was an adult I put an end to childish ways. Now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face.” We can easily follow Paul’s argument. Most of us have grown up a little bit since we were children, right? (Don’t answer for your spouse, please!) Most of us have a better understanding of who we are, even as we still grow and change in certain ways. Well, it is just like that with religion and our understanding of God. In the beginning, the Israelite’s understanding of God was tribal. It was something like “our God” against “your God,” “our people” against “your people,” and it often turned into a bloody affair. Parts of the Old Testament document that. Yet it evolved, and people started to realize at some point that there may only be one God, creator of heaven and earth, creator of all people and all that is, “seen and unseen,” as we say in our creed. That started to tilt people’s understanding toward a more inclusive and tolerant view of other people. Well, it evolved again and the Almighty appeared to us as someone who died on the cross for us and showed great strength in forgiveness and humility; by the way, he also taught non-violence. That was 2,000 years ago and we still try to learn the lessons implied in that, and the church has not always been a good student of Jesus. So, looking at the stories and chapters of the Old Testament through the lens of the gospel, there will always be parts that we cannot uncritically adopt, such as Elijah’s slaughter of the Baal priests in the chapter before today’s scripture passage, such as his mission to anoint a new king and wipe out the old regime at the end of today’s passage.
Yet, even in those problematic narratives that bring us back into the early days of our religion, there are passages that point to the gospel we know. In this story of the journey of Elijah to Mount Horeb, it is particularly inspiring how God speaks to the prophet. Scripture says, once Elijah reached the peak of Mount Horeb, he was given a demonstration of the creator’s language. He gave him quite a show.
The voice said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.”
It is in the ensuing silence that God speaks to the prophet. This was the initial inspiration for calling this Sunday: Into the Silence. How important is silence to us? We know from the gospels that one of Jesus’ most important spiritual practices consisted of silence and prayer. At the beginning of today’s gospel passage, Matthew writes, “After he dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone…” So, my question to you this morning is: How comfortable are you with silence? Is silence and prayerful listening something that you try to incorporate into your daily life? If not, give it a try! And if some of you say, “I am so busy… I am too busy for prayer…” you need to remember this quote by Martin Luther, who said, “I have so much to do today that I shall spend the first three hours in prayer.”
There is a small but important brand of Christianity that emphasizes silence and mediation. In 1984, a German film maker by the name of Philip Gröning approached one of the most silent communities on earth, the Carthusian monks in the Chartreuse mountains in the French Alps. His request: he wanted to make a documentary film about their life style. As you can imagine, the monks’ response was not a resounding, enthusiastic, “YES! That’s what we’ve been waiting for!” “Finally, a camera team discovers us!”
But the Carthusians said they wanted to think about it. And they did. Sixteen years later they told Gröning they were willing to permit him to shoot the movie if he was still interested. Gröning then came. He came alone. He lived at the monastery, where no visitors were ordinarily allowed, for a total of six months in 2002 and 2003. He filmed and recorded on his own, using no artificial light. Then he spent another two and a half years editing the film. The final cut contains neither spoken commentary nor added sound effects. It consists of images and sounds that depict the rhythm of monastic life, with occasional intertitles displaying selections from Holy Scripture. It turned out to be a documentary worthy of this Christian monastery and a lasting tribute to the spiritual power of silence, meditation, and discipline. In one of the movie’s scenes, a blind monk is quoted, his words displayed on the screen,“The past, the present, these are human. In God there is no past. Solely the present prevails. And when God sees us, He always sees our entire life. And because He is an infinitely good being, He eternally seeks our well-being. Therefore, there is no cause for worry in any of the things which happen to us.” May God find us as we seek him in silence and may he give us a portion of the wisdom and insight of this monk! May God lead us into silence more often and speak to us!
Amen.