|
July
27, 2004 (Jimmie Johnson) II Kings 2:1-2, 6-14 Now when the LORD was about to take Elijah up to heaven by a whirlwind, Elijah and Elisha were on their way from Gilgal. Elijah said to Elisha, “Stay here; for the LORD has sent me as far as Bethel.” But Elisha said, “As the LORD lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you.” So they went down to Bethel. Then Elijah said to him, “Stay here; for the LORD has sent me to the Jordan.” But he said, “As the LORD lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you.” So the two of them went on. Fifty men of the company of prophets also went, and stood at some distance from them, as they both were standing by the Jordan. Then Elijah took his mantle and rolled it up, and struck the water; the water was parted to the one side and to the other, until the two of them crossed on dry ground. When they had crossed, Elijah said to Elisha, “Tell me what I may do for you, before I am taken from you.” Elisha said, “Please let me inherit a double share of your spirit.” He responded, “You have asked a hard thing; yet, if you see me as I am being taken from you, it will be granted you; if not, it will not.” As they continued walking and talking, a chariot of fire and horses of fire separated the two of them, and Elijah ascended in a whirlwind into heaven. Elisha kept watching and crying out, “Father, father! The chariots of Israel and its horsemen!” But when he could no longer see him, he grasped his own clothes and tore them in two pieces. He picked up the mantle of Elijah that had fallen from him, and went back and stood on the bank of the Jordan. He took the mantle of Elijah that had fallen from him, and struck the water, saying, “Where is the LORD, the God of Elijah?” When he had struck the water, the water was parted to the one side and to the other, and Elisha went over. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Last weekend, I participated in a headstone dedication. The family gathered at Oakwood Cemetery. We walked by all the graves with the stones telling the names and dates of the family members. Standing there amidst the stones of the cemetery, I read a text and voiced a prayer. With death all around us, we gathered there as a family and pastor. With death all around us, we saw life. Gathered at the cemetery, we were in the place described by Emily Dickinson in the poem I hope English teachers still require their students to interpret. Remember how it goes? We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible. The cornice but a mound. Since then 'tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity. In the 20th century we decided that the only things real were those we could see. I fully appreciate our Enlightenment heritage. But , I hope as we move year by year into the 21st century, we see that what is more real is what cannot be seen. Oh, I know and practice the beauty of skepticism. None of us wants to be victimized by a charlatan, taken in by a fake, conned by a con, particularly a religious one. We value the scientific method, but like the Bible, remember it, too, is penultimate as an authority. The Living God is our ultimate authority. Truth is our authority here at First Pres, rather than authority being our truth. We don’t believe “in” either the scientific method or the Bible; we believe in God. That’s the reason I believe and disbelieve all in the same breath because I don’t want an arrogant spirit toward the Holy but a humble, questing and questioning spirit. Emily Dickinson was like that. She both believed and disbelieved. In fact, she wrote a little poem about it: We both believe and disbelieve A hundred times an hour Which keeps believing nimble. God grant us all a nimble spirit. You know when I usually find myself disbelieving for a purpose other than religious humility? Usually, not always, but usually, it occurs when I am depressed. I can always tell when that time has come. You know how? It’s the time when my vocabulary is reduced to what I can see. But other times, when I have been given the grace of hope, then I cannot find the words to express what I feel, and I must, in such times, turn to images inspired by belief: images from Scripture, hymns, poetry, art--all rooted in reality being more than I can see. This past winter PBS did a series on the Civil War. Stonewall Jackson was featured one night. He was wounded, had to have an amputation, lingered on for another week, clinging precariously to life, and then finally slipped away. His last words were: “Let us go across the river and rest in the shade of the trees.” I am sure that is what he saw. I am sure that’s the way it was for him at the moment of his death, a crossing over to rest at last in the shade of the trees. I am sure it was something like that for Emily Dickinson. Death was like a gentleman caller, waiting until she got ready, then gently guiding her, taking her arm, helping her step into the carriage, sitting beside her, and accompanying her on the journey. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility. Then she provides the image of the grave: We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible. The cornice but a mound. Since then 'tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity. When Emily Dickinson was up in New England writing about death as a gentleman caller in a carriage, slaves in the south were singing, Swing low, sweet chariot, Comin' for to carry me home! This is powerful imagery which an oppressed people drew upon straight out of the Bible. This powerful imagery is capable of producing a creative response of soul-resistance to oppression and all that dehumanizes. In the words of St. Paul, “we look not to the things that are seen but to the unseen for the things that are seen are temporary, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” In singing about the sweet chariot swinging low to take them home, they were practicing an alternative way of construing reality where the promise of freedom was viewed as capable at any moment of swinging into their lives and carrying them to freedom. “We look not to the things that are seen, but to the unseen.” The image of the sweet chariot is from the book of 2 Kings, which was read as our Scripture lesson for this morning. It is the story of Elijah’s ascension into heaven, how he didn’t die, he just went up. Do you know that even today during Passover the Jews leave a vacant chair at the table symbolizing that Elijah might return? The great wonder-worker of God might show up and work godly hope in the midst of despair and all that calls God into question. The empty chair symbolizes this just might be the time Elijah shows up as God’s worker of hope. What Elijah and the chariot symbolize for our brothers and sisters, the Jews, is the same symbol we Christians employ when we talk of the ascension of Jesus into heaven. “He ascended into Heaven” we say in the creed. Sometimes we forget in our repetition just what a breathtaking, world-shaking claim we are making. The claim is that in this life with death all around us, we are those who still see life. We are those who refuse to have a vocabulary determined only by what we can see. That’s what we theologically mean when we say, “He ascended into heaven...” It means hope now rules. It is not containable. It is not limited to the visible. This 2 Kings material is great stuff. Elijah is old now and chooses a successor, a man named Elisha. Elijah teaches Elisha how to be a prophet, teaches him the craft. One day Elijah says, “The time is drawing close when I must leave you.” Elisha says, “As the Lord lives, I will not leave you.” What Elisha is saying is the kind of thing I hear families and friends saying to those near death. “No, I won’t leave you. I’ll stay here by your side. We won’t let you go.” It also is a way of saying, “I don’t want you to go. I can’t imagine my life without you.” In a wonderfully humorous and creative move, the story says the Sons of the Prophets appear on the scene. That strikes me as funny. The Sons of the Prophets sound like a back up singing group. People my age can remember a country western group called The Sons of the Pioneers. Actually, the Sons of the Prophets serve like a chorus in this scene. They move the story to its climax; they heighten the anticipation of the end. They sing to Elijah, “Today is the day. Today it’s going to happen to you.” Elijah responds, “Yes, I know. Hold your peace,” which probably means: “Don’t worry, I’m ready. Cool it.” Then Elijah calls for his assistant, his successor, Elisha. They head for the River Jordan. When human beings talk about “crossing over,” this is the ancient story to which we are referring. Remember the Exodus story of the Jews crossing over the River Jordan into the Promised Land? And ever since, the River Jordan has been a symbol for us of what we believe but cannot see—that death is a crossing over from this life to another, from this land into a Promised Land. The story says Elijah and Elisha cross over the river. They walk up the banks on the other side. No one is there. Nothing seems to happen. The action halts. Maybe they are early. I don’t know. But they sit down and have a little chat. Elijah goes over the instructions again, “I want you to cancel the newspapers, be sure to mail the checks I gave you so that the bills get paid. Have them stop the mail...” Perhaps they were chatting about the kinds of things you talk about while you wait for your ride to come and take you to your new home. Then this happens: “While they still went on and talked, behold, a chariot of fire and horses of fire separated them, and Elijah went up in a whirlwind into heaven. Elisha cried, ‘Father, Father!’ and saw him no more.” Man, I would love to go that way. Forget about just going to sleep-- I want to go in a chariot of fire being pulled by flaming red horses. They could land on the church parking lot. There’s plenty of room. Instead of dropping my mantle, my cloak, my alb, as Elijah did, I could drop the keys to the church car. I won’t need them anymore since I’ll be riding in a chariot of fire from now on. Swing low, sweet chariot, Comin' for to carry me home! I looked over Jordan and what did I see, Comin' for to carry me home! A band of angels comin' after me, Comin' for to carry me home! Swing low, sweet chariot, Comin' for to carry me home! What a marvelous image! It is the affirmation of our faith that God is with us which means that death, just like every moment of life, is a moment filled with hope. There is in death, just as in every moment of life, more there than we can see. The New Testament has all kinds of poetic, symbol-images for this. St. Paul talks about a cloud and the sound of trumpets blowing. I bet all you musicians like that one, particularly you jazz players. Personally, I’d prefer a chariot to a cloud as a means of my conveyance, but I guess I’ll take whatever they send. On some future day we all will gather in a place with stones, and we will grieve. Some of us already have been to such a place. However, we do not grieve as those who are without hope because all our lives we have been believing and disbelieving a hundred times an hour learning to turn things on their head by letting what we believe interpret what we see. With death all around us, we still see life.
|
First Presbyterian Church • 1100 Austin Avenue • Waco, TX
76701 • (254)752-1665
Questions, comments, or broken links? Please email the webmaster at bgilliam@firstpreswaco.org.
Unless otherwise
stated, all material contained in this web site is Copyright © 1999-2005
First Presbyterian Church of Waco, Texas. Right is hereby granted
for any congregation or governing body of the Presbyterian Church
(USA) to copy and use this material only as long as proper credit
is given as to its source. The scripture quotations contained within
are from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, Copyright © 1989
by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of
Churches of Christ in the United States of America, and are used
by permission. All quotations from the Book of Confessions are reprinted
by permission and are Copyright ©1996 by the Office of the General
Assembly, Presbyterian Church (USA).