The eye of the storm

1 Kings 19: 1-15a
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
June 19, 2016

            First of all, let me say that yes, I am going to talk about Orlando, that violent storm amongst others that we are all living through right now. You may be wondering what in the world this story about the prophet Elijah has to do with that. So I invite you to journey with me through this text. But first let’s go back one chapter and then some to get the backstory.

            The story takes place in Samaria, the capital of the northern kingdom of Israel.  Under the kingships of David and Solomon, the twelve tribes of Jacob, whom God named Israel, were united.  But after the death of King Solomon, the ten northern tribes rebelled against the royal line of David and initiated their own kingdom and named it Israel.  The southern tribes of Judah and Benjamin continued the line of David and called their kingdom Judah, with its capital in Jerusalem.

            Our story picks up Israel’s history with King Ahab as king of Israel in the 9^th century BCE.  Like many dynastic nations who want to add strength and stability, King Ahab marries a foreign queen, the infamous Jezebel.  She brings with her the god Ba’al; God’s people now must worship both Ba’al and Yahweh.  But not on Elijah’s watch.  Elijah challenges the prophets of Ba’al to a showdown—god against God.  You can guess how that turned out:  Ba’al’s power never showed up while Yahweh rained down fire and blew away the competition.  Elijah then had the prophets of Ba’al and the goddess Asherah—all 950 of them—killed.  Jezebel had already ordered the deaths of Israel’s prophets, so like an eye-for-an-eye, the whole world goes blind.  The episode ends with Elijah running strong in front of Ahab’s chariot as Ahab travels to his palace in Jezreel.

Elijah under the broom tree

            Now our hero is running for his life.  Jezebel swears by her gods that she will end him.  So Elijah assumes that this is it, he’s out, he’s quitting, he’s done all he can.  He goes out into the desert, lies down under a tree, and asks God to take his life.  And like a good Jewish mother, God thinks “When was the last time he ate?  Maybe he’s just hungry”, and sends an angel with some fresh bread baked on hot desert rocks and a jar of water to nourish Elijah not just once but twice.  The journey will be long and God wants Elijah to live.

            When Elijah reaches Mt. Horeb, God’s holy mountain, he’s still sticking to his story:  “God, I’ve been passionate about you and your word.  Everyone else has either abandoned you or has been killed.  I’m the only one who’s left, and now I’m about to be killed off as well.”  Elijah is not only afraid but grieved, pained that he is the only prophet left and about to die.  He's got survivor's guilt.  It’s as if he’s failed God.  God then tells Elijah that she is about to pass by.  Suddenly there is a violent wind, then an earthquake, and last a fire.  Yes, earth, wind, and fire.  Knowing the Israelite history well, Elijah expects God to show up in one of these.  But no; rather, God arrives in a mighty silence.

            Here God shows up in the eye of the storm, where it is clear and quiet.  The storm is still out there.  Jezebel is hungry for vengeance; Elijah’s life is still in danger.  God’s people are divided.  God still has work for Elijah to do.  And we witness this violent storm, this vengeance and rage every day, on the roads we drive, in social media and in politics and the public square, perhaps even in our extended families and friendships.  But before we start identifying ourselves with Elijah in our feelings of being overwhelmed, of despair and hopelessness in the face of what appears to be unending violence, hatred, and bloodshed, let us be mindful that many of us here are not objects of hate and prejudice because of who we are and who we love.

            It was not our sanctuary, our safe haven that was violated.  It was not our community that was told it couldn’t donate blood to help its own.  It was not our religion that was vilified once again.  It was not our gender or sexual orientation, it was not our queerness combined with the color of our skin and our Latin heritage that became a target for someone else’s brokenness and inability to deal with his own sexuality and pain.

            Of course we are frustrated and angry that once again, someone legally purchased a firearm and used it against innocent human beings.  We want desperately to do something, to stop this madness; that when we say enough is enough, we would never have to say it again.

            Vamping up the fight to prevent gun violence is indeed something we can do.  However, the root causes of violence are still present, and those are hate and fear.  And those are spiritual problems, community problems, human problems.  That is something that faith communities can not only speak to but act on as well.

            African-American novelist and poet, James Baldwin, who was also gay, wrote:  “I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.”  Pain can overwhelm all of us.  It can drive us to despair and hopelessness, as it did Elijah.  It can drive us to anger, hatred, fear of the other, and violence, as it did Jezebel and Omar Mateen.  But it can also drive us toward community, which is what the nightclub Pulse provided for its clientele and for the city of Orlando.  Pain can drive us to confront ourselves and our own fears.  “What are you doing here, Elijah?”  Pain, in the midst of community, reminds us that there is still work to be done, there is healing still needed, there is still forgiveness to be had and given.

            If we as a faith community, as the Body of Christ, as church are going to do something not only about our own pain but to help heal the pain of others, then we need to be the eye in the storm, that place of peace and calm, that sanctuary, that safe haven that is open and welcome to all and visibly so.  In the almost 26 years that this church has been Open and Affirming, last Sunday was the first time this church displayed a rainbow flag on Main St.  

As Olivia and I taped it to the A-frame sign that afternoon, people stopped to thank us.  When I got a pole for it on Tuesday, a couple stopped to take a picture of it with the church sign.  A few folks honked from their cars.  A friend from Rainbow Chorale stopped by my office this week to tell me how much it means to see the flag here in Newark, not just in Rehoboth.

Declaring ourselves to be Open and Affirming on our website and on our Facebook page is good, very good, but not enough.  Having a rainbow flag displayed on Main St. says that we have come out.  It means that if we openly welcome LGBTQ folks, the message is that there is room for my quirks and your eccentricity and someone else’s weirdness.

Folks who still feel like they have to guard their every move shouldn’t have to make one extra step to find out if they are welcome in our church.  It should be plainly obvious.  For too long churches have put out “All are welcome” signs, only for LGBTQ folks to find out painfully that it didn’t mean them.  For too long churches have actively discriminated against and loudly proclaimed damnation against LGBTQ persons, using the Bible as a weapon and its words as bullets.  For too long LGBTQ people have had to fight for themselves, to find their own sanctuaries when Christians kicked them out of theirs.  For too long Church has sat on the fence.  For too long well-meaning people like us have been silent.

Church has done enough to hurt.  And we are sorry for all the hateful things that have been done in the name of the One who is Love.  Now it’s time we help with the healing.  And the speaking out and speaking up.  And taking Pride and having courage.  Now it’s time we stick our necks out for those whose necks have been on the line for too long. 

It’s time we were the eye in the storm for those who need peace, and that we head back out into the still-raging storm.  The hunger for vengeance is insidious.  Lives are on the line.  God’s people are divided.  Pain is everywhere.  God still has work for us to do.  God’s dream is that there be neither Jew nor Greek, male nor female, slave nor free, gay nor straight, black nor white, but it’s not done yet.  Thanks be to God we have each other, that one day, love will indeed win.  Amen.