All Saints, Dorval
February 11, 2024
Who is your Elijah?
We all have forebears in our faith and calling. Perhaps a grandparent faithfully brought you to Sunday School when you were little, or perhaps an older, experienced coworker took you under their wing early in your career and taught you how to do the work you loved and wanted to do well.
I’ve spoken about a few of mine from this pulpit – my mother, my godmother Aunty Gwen, my mentor in ministry who’s also Peter’s godfather. These are people who are central to your story, without whom you would not be who you are.
Elijah is indubitably that person for Elisha, which is why the time of the older prophet’s departure is such a wrenching experience for his young protégé.
We want our beloved leaders and mentors to stick around. We want them to keep being strong and wise and reliable. And even if their divine calling is confirmed by the appearance of a chariot with horses of fire, when they disappear into the heavens, we are left bereft, and rend our garments with grief.
No wonder, when the various companies of prophets try to helpfully warn Elisha of Elijah’s coming departure, Elisha gets all snippy at them: “Yes, I know; keep silent.” Like, please! You don’t have to keep rubbing it in!
When a piece of our life’s foundation falls out, it can destabilize the whole thing.
And a mountaintop experience like the Transfiguration can be almost as disconcerting, in its own way. The peaks are exhilarating but also terrifying – as Peter’s response to Jesus’ appearance with Moses and Elijah indicates; the text flat-out says “they were terrified” to have Jesus’ true identity revealed to them, even before he commanded them to tell no one and started predicting his own death.
Being yanked out of our regular expectations, our solid routine, whether it’s a catastrophic loss or a spectacular vision of glory, is liable to throw us more than a little off balance.
On this Annual Vestry Sunday, I’m feeling like life in the church in the 21st century is composed of an awful lot of peaks and valleys and not much else. It used to be that the church was one of those solid, reliable institutions that was always there and didn’t change much. (Or at least, that’s what it felt like; I suspect that was never quite as true as we thought it was.)
We’ve certainly had some spectacular highs recently, as a congregation; approving the kitchen project, celebrating Dion’s award with the Primate present, and we will have more soon, as we welcome new members of Christ’s Body and of the Anglican Communion through Baptism and Reception at Easter, Pentecost and Trinity.
The lows are perhaps less obvious, but you’ll hear about them at the meeting: the loss of beloved members through death or departure, a very tight operating budget, difficulty finding people for volunteer roles and positions of leadership, a persistent sense of anxiety in the system.
These things are not unique to us. In fact, you’d be hard pressed to find a church these days – at least in North America – that isn’t dealing with these factors. (And many of them have it much worse.)
Throughout the western world, the church is losing its place as a social centre and cultural institution, and is reverting to being a band of misfits on the edge of society. Our Elijahs are being taken up to heaven, leaving Elisha lamenting. We are meeting Jesus on the mountaintop, seeing him revealed in all his glory, but then having to descend to the valley and get on with the very imperfect business of life.
(The first thing that happens in Mark’s Gospel after this scene of transfiguration, is Jesus healing a boy who has fits, and whom the disciples had been unable to cope with; in the process, he gives vent to an outburst about this “faithless generation” and asks “how much longer must I put up with you?” The perfect revelation of divinity on the mountaintop apparently didn’t make the disciples any more competent, nor inoculate the Divine Son against crankiness.)
But while Elisha lamented and the disciples bumbled in the aftermaths of their visions, God wasn’t done with either of them. Elisha became a great prophet in his own right, and after the Resurrection, the disciples turned the world upside down.
If we must live in a time of peaks and valleys, we’re in good company. Faithful people for thousands of years have contended with high highs and low lows, frequently back to back, and have continued to put one foot in front of the other, have continued to call on God and to support each other, have continued to seek the riches of God’s word and the comforts of prayer.
This is an all-hands-on-deck situation. It is not a time in the church’s life when most people can sit back and let others take the lead. I am deeply grateful to those who have already stepped up to take on essential and unglamorous responsibilities, and I look forward to the Ministry Fair and the upcoming workshop on money matters (tentatively titled “Nuts, Bolts, Dollars, and Cents: Demystifying Church Finances) as ways of ensuring that folks understand what it takes to keep this place running and do what we do. The peaks are less terrifying, and the valleys are easier to manage, when we all pull together.
And perhaps, in this moment, each of us is being called not only to remember our own Elijahs, but to be Elijah for someone else.
In individual conversations, in our monthly potluck Bible study, in testimonies offered in worship, I see tremendous spiritual growth and richness. I see people stepping up to claim a faith that is fundamental to who they are and how they live their lives. And in so doing, they set an example for those who come after.
Whether it’s cooking for Messy Church, teaching a child how to pass the plate in worship, or jumping in to invite brand-new visitors to be trained as acolytes, one of the most meaningful things we can do with our faith and commitment is to pass it on. Show someone just starting out what it’s like to live the peaks and valleys with God.
Things may be challenging, but that’s nothing new. God is still with us, whether revealed in glory or quietly going about his business. As we ask God to give us strength for the living of these days, may we remember our Elijahs, draw from the wisdom they gave us, and resolve to be Elijahs ourselves, for others.
Amen.
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