Sermon for Grace and
St. Stephen’s 6/30/19 2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14, Luke
9:51-62
A couple of weeks ago I flew to Ohio
for my annual conference. Most of you
know that I am a United Methodist pastor and my conference membership is with
East Ohio where I grew up and was ordained.
Every other year there is one Episcopal priest who uses a week of his
vacation time to go to Ohio and hang out with our kids while I attend
conference sessions. The East Ohio
Conference is in the same small community on Lake Erie every year. In the center of the little town is an
auditorium and that is where we have our meetings, worship and ordinations.
Tuesday evening I dodged the bugs and
entered the humid auditorium in my alb and red stole. I walked in the procession and found my seat
all the while gripping tightly to a beautiful red stole in my hands. It was handed to me by a young woman who I
met 13 years ago when I was fresh out of seminary and serving as an associate
pastor. She was about 14 years old and
part of the youth group I oversaw in my role.
Over the years we spent a lot of time together: lock-ins, mission trips,
conferences, church events, planning youth group calendars when she became
youth group president, long talks about theology, the Bible, faith, struggles …
calling. She graduated, I began
pastoring a different church and eventually I was writing seminary
recommendations for her … three years later proof reading her paperwork for
ordination and then I was sitting there with a red stole on my lap, as she had
given me the honor of being the person to go on stage with her, lay hands on
her with the Bishop and then place it over her shoulders.
At the rehearsal for the service I jokingly said to her “it’s like I’m Elijah and you’re Elisha!” to which she replied “but hopefully without you disappearing on a chariot into the clouds.” And soon after I did get on a plane and disappeared into the clouds headed back home to Colorado.
I came back and opened up to the
lectionary scriptures for my Sunday to preach and what do I find … the story of
Elijah and Elisha. The passing of the
mantle.
As I reflected further on this story,
particularly in the context of one of our other lectionary scriptures for
today- the Gospel reading where Jesus is walking around inviting people to
follow him and they are shouting back their excuses- I could hear a clear message
of calling and invitation but also in these texts I hear a bold statement about
sufficiency.
Elijah is a tough act to follow. Even with the moment of discouragement and
despair we read about last week, he stays deeply connected to God, courageously
faces powers and rulers equipped only with his assurance of God’s presence and
power. In deep famine he finds
sustenance not only for himself but also a widow and her son completely given
in to hopelessness.
And now Elisha has to carry on, wear Elijah’s mantle, continue his work. Apart from a similar name, how could he have possible felt prepared for such work? A life of saying things that people don’t want to hear and having the odds stacked against you. But, Elisha knows what he needs to do the work ahead. So he asks for it. He doesn’t ask for an army, a funding source or even that endless supply of flour and oil that sustained Elijah and the widow. Instead he asks for that spirit. Elisha asks Elijah for a double share of his spirit. Armies get conquered, food fills only until the next meal and fortunes get spent but that spirit, that deep connection with God, the courage and faith that made miracles, that is what he needs. Elijah says “ok, but you gotta stick with me until the end.”
Elijah soon goes in a whirlwind … but
God remains -with Elisha, with prophets after him, with the Holy Spirit and
with each of us called in our baptism to do God’s work thousands of years
later. God remains and that spirit
carries on.
And that’s what I saw that night on
stage at the ordination, under bright lights standing in front of hundreds of
people. I saw the Holy Spirit, God’s
presence with God’s people, carrying on, calling new people in new ways, and
providing what we need for building the Kingdom of Heaven on earth.
When I went to conference this year I
did not have much hope for what would happen.
These are very divisive and uncertain times for The United Methodist
Church. It may be my last conference
there and it will almost definitely be the last conference with the
denomination looking the way it currently does.
When I entered I saw a lot of retirees, heard a lot of strategizing,
agendas and opposing views. Pillars of
the conference have died, many of my mentors have retired and the young people
were underrepresented. And this is not
unique to just that area or that denomination.
While we here at Grace have a vibrant
community and so many wonderful faith filled young people, many churches in
America are struggling and trying to hold on to what is familiar while
realizing that change is inevitable. In
many churches the number of funerals far outnumbers baptisms.
But God’s spirit is still moving. God is providing sustenance. God’s spirit was alive and present at that
conference- the young woman I stood on stage with is bold, deeply faithful and
courageous in her calling. And whether
or not a denomination changes, she is a reminder to me that God is still at
work and providing what we need.
There is a tradition every year at the
end of the ordination service. The
congregation in that big auditorium sits down and sings while some
representatives stand at the front. An
invitation is put out for anyone who may feel called by God to ordained
ministry to come forward. And then we
wait. We sing and we wait to see if any
brave souls will walk to the front to be prayed over. I have been worshiping at Episcopal churches
long enough to feel a little awkward at this altar-call type experience, but
despite initial awkwardness after a few minutes I, like everyone around me had
tears down my cheeks.
People came forward. From all walks of life and all ages, they
came. They came not because the church
can promise them wealth, security or armies of support, but because they
believe that the Spirit calls and sustains us.
And I thought back to many years ago when I was a young teenager and
took that awkward walk to the front of the auditorium, in front of all of those
people, to say that I felt called to ordained ministry.
I thought about what that calling has
looked like over the years since then. Some of it has been in church ministry,
some of it has been through friendships, volunteer work, parenting and casual
conversations. Some of it has been
through loneliness, doubt, depression and uncertainty. Some of it has been through places I never
expected, I didn’t expect that I would be standing here in an Episcopal pulpit
in Colorado. Some of it has been through
deeply painful deaths and saying goodbye to the people who supported me. But all of it has been sustained by that
spirit, that spirit of God that moved over creation, passed from Elijah to
Elisha and fills this room now.
It is that same spirit that we taught
the children about one week ago when they filled our space with the songs they
learned in Vacation Bible School. The
spirit that enables them to be strong and courageous even when the lions
roar. It is the same spirit that stirs
within us when we see injustices that break our hearts in the world. When we see the faces of children suffering. The same spirit that moves within us when we
are tempted to throw our hands in the air with helplessness, overwhelming
guilt, or silencing despair.
And this is why Jesus says “follow me.”
Because he knows that we can. He knows
the spirit sustains us. He knows nothing
in the world can quench the fire within us.
And so we are called to the difficult places, the pains of the world and
the challenges of each day with courage, faith and hope. Knowing that God is enough and the spirit of
God will never leave us.
