Peter JB Carman
Emmanuel Friedens Church
Schenectady, New York
August 12, 2018
I.
Elijah that mighty prophet, had hit the end of the line. Following a huge confrontation with the prophets of Ba’al, the favored god of the king and queen of his land, with a whole lot of blood on his hands, Elijah was running for his life. Even though he had also ended a terrible drought in the land, Elijah was public enemy number one. And now he was all alone, on the run, back in the desert, out of strength, out of courage, isolated from his loved ones, no followers. The big man was powerless now, not the hunter but the hunted.
All alone, Elijah asked his Maker for a final deliverance. The story goes like this: “…[H]e himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die: “It is enough; now, O God, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep.”
And that is when the angel came. Was it an otherwise normal human being, appointed this once as a messenger from God? Was it a celestial being sent straight from heaven? The passage in I Kings does not tell us. Maybe even Elijah didn’t know—or in his weakness, didn’t notice. What was important was the bread, baked on rocks heated by the sun, and the water, turned cool in its clay jar. What was important was the hand on his bone-weary shoulder, the encouraging voice telling him to rise up and eat and drink.
Angels still exist, you know? On the Appalachian trail, “Trail angels” leave hospitality—sometimes cans of soda being cooled by the waters of a flowing brook. And a trash bag for the empties. I can tell you from personal experience, that in some moments, such tiny acts of kindness are the difference between going on and giving up. Of course, Elijah wasn’t out for a walk in the woods, he was all alone and on the run, had lost his will to live. “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.”
II.
These days we tend to talk about depression in clinical terms. And we ought to. For some of us, depression is something that can and should be eased and controlled medically. And yet there are also moments when every one of us faces despair, or deep guilt, or a sense of futility that just seems more than we can handle. I know that many of you in this room know what that kind of despair is. More of us than want to admit it know what it is—to hit the end of the line, to want to lie down in the shade and let it all slip away. But since you are here today with me, perhaps you also know what it was to have an angel visit that day too—not from on high but from next door. It may not have been clinical depression, it may have been a loss or a breakup in a marriage, cancer in the body or a moral dilemma you could no longer face. What did your angel look like? What kind of bread was provided for you?
Over the past decade and a bit, I have gotten to know many people who have been exiled from their homelands, coming from refugee camps and jungle hiding places and villages where their farms have been destroyed, as they have witnessed horror. Getting to America, one might think it was all over? Not so.
In the winter of 2007-8 in Rochester, I was talking with a group of these new friends, asking them how people were dealing with the first winter. “Not well, Pastor Peter” said one man as his niece interpreted for us. “Many are talking about suicide.”
Thank God, we made it through that winter together. There were many people who had to be angels to each other that winter, in that place…. Most needed both to minister to others and receive support themselves.
You and I follow not only the God of the promised land, not only the God of a chosen people, but also the God of the exile, the God who does not forget us, far far from home, even when we hit what feels like the end of the line. We follow a God who sides, not with the mighty on their thrones, nor the arrogant in their power, but with those who are forced to run for the sake of love, or liberty, need or justice. This God comes through again and again, with an angel, or with a little stone baked bread, or a cool cup of water.
An angel came and woke Elijah up, once, and then when he failed to rise, twice: twice: told him to eat, and gave him water for to drink, and told him his time wasn’t up, and his work wasn’t done, provided strength for the journey.
III.
Last week I shared with you already one of my favorite quotations. D.T. Niles, a beloved Sri Lankan church leader of another generation, once said: “Christianity is one beggar telling another where he [and let us add “or she”] found bread.” We know, deep down we know, what it means to be reduced to that place where we are all on common ground, if only in our hunger and need. We are indeed all beggars who have tasted the exile of body or spirit. And yet we have also tasted the bread of God, on the road. Our faith is nothing more nor less than the readiness to share that bread, with whosoever has need.
God sees and sustains the beggar without bread, the exile on the road, the faithful person on the run. God brings a messenger to the messenger, when need is there. We believe in the God of the exile, just as surely as we believe in the God who will lead us to a land of promise, whether in this life or the next. We can testify that we too have been surprised by the gift of a sustaining love, in the places where we most needed it, and had least expected it.
You and I follow the path of the God of the exile: The God who doesn’t give up on us even when we have given up on ourselves, and doesn’t give up on our neighbors even when we do! Once we remember that, once we have grasped that reality, it can be an enormously freeing thing, if not always a very comfortable one! The singers of an old gospel song understood this when they first sang:
“Now is the needed time, now is the needed time….
I’m down on my knees in prayer, down on my bended knee saying…
Jesus won’t you come by here….”
God says “Yes, I am with you. Yes, I love you. Yes, I have a purpose for your life. Yes, you are my beloved. Yes, I am calling you. Yes, you have a home, no matter how lost you feel, no matter how alone you may be, no matter how hard the world may try to break you.”
Getting it, about the God of the exile means getting it that sometimes faith calls us to move beyond what is safe and familiar…and sometimes despair is what looks and feels safe and is oh so familiar. Getting it about the God who shows up in our greatest need means getting it that God will not abandon us, just when we feel most vulnerable, most at risk, most alone. Not even in the face of death. Getting it about the God of the exile means that we do not find our strength or our security in the same places where some may who have not found God… In the words of Martin Luther’s famous hymn: “Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also; the body they may kill, God’s truth abideth still; God’s Kingdom is forever.”
You and I are disciples of Jesus—and this means we will walk with Jesus on the road through the wilderness, and on the road back to a land full of promise—and full of danger. With Jesus we follow the God of the Exile! And so, we turn to that God in trust, even when we feel we have nowhere left to turn. And we turn to each other for the bread and for the courage to live—trusting that there are still angels in our midst. Now is the needed time….
Emmanuel Friedens Church
Schenectady, New York
August 12, 2018
I.
Elijah that mighty prophet, had hit the end of the line. Following a huge confrontation with the prophets of Ba’al, the favored god of the king and queen of his land, with a whole lot of blood on his hands, Elijah was running for his life. Even though he had also ended a terrible drought in the land, Elijah was public enemy number one. And now he was all alone, on the run, back in the desert, out of strength, out of courage, isolated from his loved ones, no followers. The big man was powerless now, not the hunter but the hunted.
All alone, Elijah asked his Maker for a final deliverance. The story goes like this: “…[H]e himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die: “It is enough; now, O God, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep.”
And that is when the angel came. Was it an otherwise normal human being, appointed this once as a messenger from God? Was it a celestial being sent straight from heaven? The passage in I Kings does not tell us. Maybe even Elijah didn’t know—or in his weakness, didn’t notice. What was important was the bread, baked on rocks heated by the sun, and the water, turned cool in its clay jar. What was important was the hand on his bone-weary shoulder, the encouraging voice telling him to rise up and eat and drink.
Angels still exist, you know? On the Appalachian trail, “Trail angels” leave hospitality—sometimes cans of soda being cooled by the waters of a flowing brook. And a trash bag for the empties. I can tell you from personal experience, that in some moments, such tiny acts of kindness are the difference between going on and giving up. Of course, Elijah wasn’t out for a walk in the woods, he was all alone and on the run, had lost his will to live. “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.”
II.
These days we tend to talk about depression in clinical terms. And we ought to. For some of us, depression is something that can and should be eased and controlled medically. And yet there are also moments when every one of us faces despair, or deep guilt, or a sense of futility that just seems more than we can handle. I know that many of you in this room know what that kind of despair is. More of us than want to admit it know what it is—to hit the end of the line, to want to lie down in the shade and let it all slip away. But since you are here today with me, perhaps you also know what it was to have an angel visit that day too—not from on high but from next door. It may not have been clinical depression, it may have been a loss or a breakup in a marriage, cancer in the body or a moral dilemma you could no longer face. What did your angel look like? What kind of bread was provided for you?
Over the past decade and a bit, I have gotten to know many people who have been exiled from their homelands, coming from refugee camps and jungle hiding places and villages where their farms have been destroyed, as they have witnessed horror. Getting to America, one might think it was all over? Not so.
In the winter of 2007-8 in Rochester, I was talking with a group of these new friends, asking them how people were dealing with the first winter. “Not well, Pastor Peter” said one man as his niece interpreted for us. “Many are talking about suicide.”
Thank God, we made it through that winter together. There were many people who had to be angels to each other that winter, in that place…. Most needed both to minister to others and receive support themselves.
You and I follow not only the God of the promised land, not only the God of a chosen people, but also the God of the exile, the God who does not forget us, far far from home, even when we hit what feels like the end of the line. We follow a God who sides, not with the mighty on their thrones, nor the arrogant in their power, but with those who are forced to run for the sake of love, or liberty, need or justice. This God comes through again and again, with an angel, or with a little stone baked bread, or a cool cup of water.
An angel came and woke Elijah up, once, and then when he failed to rise, twice: twice: told him to eat, and gave him water for to drink, and told him his time wasn’t up, and his work wasn’t done, provided strength for the journey.
III.
Last week I shared with you already one of my favorite quotations. D.T. Niles, a beloved Sri Lankan church leader of another generation, once said: “Christianity is one beggar telling another where he [and let us add “or she”] found bread.” We know, deep down we know, what it means to be reduced to that place where we are all on common ground, if only in our hunger and need. We are indeed all beggars who have tasted the exile of body or spirit. And yet we have also tasted the bread of God, on the road. Our faith is nothing more nor less than the readiness to share that bread, with whosoever has need.
God sees and sustains the beggar without bread, the exile on the road, the faithful person on the run. God brings a messenger to the messenger, when need is there. We believe in the God of the exile, just as surely as we believe in the God who will lead us to a land of promise, whether in this life or the next. We can testify that we too have been surprised by the gift of a sustaining love, in the places where we most needed it, and had least expected it.
You and I follow the path of the God of the exile: The God who doesn’t give up on us even when we have given up on ourselves, and doesn’t give up on our neighbors even when we do! Once we remember that, once we have grasped that reality, it can be an enormously freeing thing, if not always a very comfortable one! The singers of an old gospel song understood this when they first sang:
“Now is the needed time, now is the needed time….
I’m down on my knees in prayer, down on my bended knee saying…
Jesus won’t you come by here….”
God says “Yes, I am with you. Yes, I love you. Yes, I have a purpose for your life. Yes, you are my beloved. Yes, I am calling you. Yes, you have a home, no matter how lost you feel, no matter how alone you may be, no matter how hard the world may try to break you.”
Getting it, about the God of the exile means getting it that sometimes faith calls us to move beyond what is safe and familiar…and sometimes despair is what looks and feels safe and is oh so familiar. Getting it about the God who shows up in our greatest need means getting it that God will not abandon us, just when we feel most vulnerable, most at risk, most alone. Not even in the face of death. Getting it about the God of the exile means that we do not find our strength or our security in the same places where some may who have not found God… In the words of Martin Luther’s famous hymn: “Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also; the body they may kill, God’s truth abideth still; God’s Kingdom is forever.”
You and I are disciples of Jesus—and this means we will walk with Jesus on the road through the wilderness, and on the road back to a land full of promise—and full of danger. With Jesus we follow the God of the Exile! And so, we turn to that God in trust, even when we feel we have nowhere left to turn. And we turn to each other for the bread and for the courage to live—trusting that there are still angels in our midst. Now is the needed time….