Oak Chapel United Methodist Church

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Henry David Thoreau had protested some injustice, and the authorities there in Concord Massachusetts had thrown him into jail. There he was visited by his old transcendentalist friend, Ralph Waldo Emerson. Emerson, a bit of a fuddy-duddy, was always very proper, neat as a pin, courteous, a gentleman in every way. But not a protester. The famous story tells how Emerson arrived at the jail, peered through the bars at Thoreau and asked, "What are you doing in here, David?" To which Thoreau replied, "What are you doing out there, Ralph?" The question, "What are you doing?" can be a simple one, in which case the answer might be, "I'm combing my hair. I'm watching TV." But that same question, "What are you doing," can imply a great deal more.

As it did when God asked it of the prophet Elijah. Twice. The scripture lesson I just read, from I Kings, is the second half of a great story. The Interpreter's Bible calls this part "the aftermath of valor." And that is quite accurate, for, this little prophet, Elijah, who we see here running and hiding, has just done one of the bravest things any man has ever done. All by himself, he has faced down the evil queen, Jezebel, a very powerful and vindictive woman. He has killed the two hundred and fifty prophets she brought with her from the gentile world, prophets of the pagan god, Baal. You remember how Elijah humiliated the prophets of Baal with his famous trial by fire, way up on the top of Mt. Carmel, during which trial he made fun of them and taunted them mercilessly for worshipping a nothing god, and then (when the trial was over, and Baal had remained silent but Jehovah had proven his power once again) he ordered all two hundred and fifty of them killed. And it was done. But success is a fleeting thing! It appears that those same people, who, when the trial was over and the results were in, had shouted, "Yahweh, he is God! Yahweh, he is God!" deserted Elijah when Jezebel vowed to wreak vengeance upon him. She sent the prophet a bitter warning: "Let me die, if I don't kill you, as you killed my prophets, by this time tomorrow."

So he ran. He ran all the way down through the Holy Land, to Beersheba, the southernmost city, and then walked one more day, all by himself, into the desert. He fell asleep under a broom tree - exhausted, I suppose -- and an angel awakened him with food. In the strength of that food he moved on down through the desert to Mt. Horeb (another name for Mt. Sinai, where Moses received the Ten Commandments), and there, on the holy mountain, he found a cave and hid in it. And God came to him and asked, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" And he bleats: "I've put myself on the line for you, Lord. All the Israelites, your people, have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I'm the only good person left. And now they're chasing me, seeking my life. So, if you must know, I'm hiding in this cave."

God tells him to go stand on the mountainside, and displays for him his power and his glory, in earthquake, wind and fire. And then God speaks, in a still, small voice. "What are you doing here, Elijah?" And Elijah repeats the same helpless litany I'm good, but everybody else is bad, and now they're after me. And God hardly seems to listen this time. He just sends him back to work. There's much more to do. Can't waste any more time feeling sorry for ourselves. Elijah returns to the real world, anoints two kings, discovers seven thousand faithful Israelites who (surprise, surprise) "have not bowed the knee to Baal," and enters into a fellowship with Elisha, who eventually will take his place as the Word of God in Israel.

Look what God did. First, he gave Elijah escape and rest, and sustained him in it. There are times, critical times, when as Christians, we must get away, retool, regroup. It's not a surrender. It's a strategic retreat, to make us stronger and prepare us to fight again. God understands that, but sometimes we don't. We try to give more than we have to offer. In the church, we take our best horses and run them to death. At home we try to be all things to all people, meeting everyone's needs but our own. Dorothy, a home maker, comes to her pastor obviously frazzled. "I'm exhausted," she says. "Everybody wants a piece of me. I can't keep up. My husband wants this. My daughter wants that. The school wants something else." And the pastor asks, "What does Dorothy want?" And she weeps, quietly. For she has not considered her own needs in a very long time. We must protect ourselves. We must find sanctuary and rest. So that we can fight on another day.

Second God inspires Elijah, makes him stand on that mountainside and watch what turns out to be quite a show: God literally shakes the earth with his power. Remember, Elijah had been in a cave mood. His mind and heart had gone into hiding. To himself he seemed little, and helpless, and (as is always the case when we are depressed) God seemed little and helpless, too. Elijah needed to be lifted out of his littleness. And it was this vision of God that did it. His gaze was lifted from his own weaknesses to a divine source of enormous strength. God is not small, nor is he weak.. The earth is his. He made it. And we are his. And nothing is too great for God. And here's the part most people miss: if we ally ourselves with him, and allow him to work through us, nothing will be too great for us, either.

An older minister used to preach one sermon each year on astronomy. One day his young assistant asked him why, since astronomy had no direct baring on peoples' lives. "You're right," said the old man, "Of course it is of no use at all, but it greatly enlarges my idea of God." (And that, of course, is terribly important.) We should not play down the importance of inspiration, of the mountaintops, of experiencing God in all his glory. When our hearts are right, we can do anything. When they are not, we are utterly helpless. Is that not true?

So, when the going gets rough, God first gives us escape and rest (makes us lie down in green pastures, leads us beside still waters - everybody needs down time), and then God inspires us again (on a mountaintop), and then (more often than not) he sends us back to work, renewed. Bruce Wilkinson's little book, the Prayer of Jabez, is now number two on the best seller list (which makes us ask if perhaps there are seven thousand Americans out there who have not yet bowed the knee to Baal). The book is based on a short prayer spoken by an obscure figure in the Book of Chronicles. In one line of that prayer, Jabez cries, "Oh, that you would enlarge my territory!" Wilkinson's chapter about that line is entitled, "Living Large for God." He points out that the Hebrew word for "territory" ("enlarge my territory") can just as well be translated "coasts" or "borders." "Enlarge the borders of my life, O God, so that I can make a greater impact for you." Not so that I will be honored, but so that you will be. The last thing we want when we are in that cycle of depression and self-pity, like Elijah - the last thing we want is more responsibility. We're looking for less, not more. Whenever I hear Jesus' parable about the man who was responsible ruling one city so God gives him ten, I want to cry out, "What kind of a reward is that? Who wants to run one city, much less ten?" But Wilkinson reminds us that it is never we who do the work. It is God working through us. We are not the power, we are the channel through which the power flows. In that sense, we can do anything. "Not me," Paul said, "but Christ living in me." I would challenge you this morning to push back the boundaries of your life, to widen the coastlines, and let God do his work through you.

I have always wanted to be rescued, in an avalanche or a snow storm, by one of those St. Bernard dogs with the little barrel of brandy hanging from his collar. (It's not so much the dog I would be glad to see!) Truth is we all need rescuing from time to time, when our burdens gets too heavy. God has a little rescue-kit he brings with him. First rest, then inspiration, then a return to life and new challenges. Paul wrote to his young friend, Timothy, "Stir up the gift of God which is in thee….For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind." The picture is that of stirring up the embers of a fire that has gone cold. I don't know if Timothy was discouraged at the time, but it sure would have been wonderful advice if he were: Stir up that heap of gray coals, make them red hot again. Let the oxygen of God's Spirit get to them. Get rest when you need it, seek inspiration where you can find it, come on back to a wonderful blessed life - full of challenges - in Jesus Christ.