"Showdown on Mt. Carmel" 1 Kings 18: 1b, 17 – 39

      Will Kane, longtime sheriff, walks out into the dry, dusty, deserted street—ready to face the recently returned outlaw, Frank Miller and his gang.  Sheriff Kane faces the bad guys alone at high noon—while the townspeople hide behind their doors.  John McLane, a New York City detective visiting his estranged wife in Los Angeles at Christmas, takes on a gang of terrorists who have seized a high-rise.  Because the others in the building are all hostages, McLane faces the bad guys alone—ready to die hard. 

            Like the movies “High Noon” and “Die Hard,” today’s text shows one man standing up to evil against all odds. Three years into the drought, Elijah, the one remaining prophet of the Lord God of Israel, challenges the Israelite people.  “How long will you hobble back and forth between the Canaanite gods of rain and fertility and the Lord your God of Israel?  How long will you hedge your bets on who will provide for you?  How long will you hedge your bets on whom you will serve?  How long will you wait to decide whom you can trust? What’s keeping you from making your decision?  Do you need a sign?”

            Elijah, the one remaining prophet of the Lord God of Israel, challenges the 450 prophets of Baal to a showdown.  The setting—high atop Mt. Carmel.  In this corner—the prophets of Baal and in this corner—Elijah.  The rules of engagement—the prophets will prepare sacrifices to their gods and wait for the one true god to light his sacrifice with fire.  The odds are in favor of the Canaanite gods.  After all, Baal was known as the god of the sky and storms—think lightning.  The odds are in favor of Baal.  Since his priests go first, if fire consumes their sacrifice, Elijah—representing the Lord God of Israel—won’t even get his turn.  Elijah challenges the prophets of Baal to a showdown—and the winner gets the people—their hearts and their loyalties.  Confident of the outcome, Elijah thunders, “Are you ready to rumble?”

            Dividing into teams, the prophets of Baal quickly prepare their altar and the bull sacrifice.  Then, they put on a show the likes of which the fence-sitting Israelites have never before seen.  Whipping themselves into a frenzy—egged on to some degree by the taunts and jeers of Elijah—the prophets of Baal offer a dizzying sensual display of sights, sounds, and smells.  But there is no sound, no answer, no response whatsoever from their god—Baal.  

            So, now it’s Elijah’s turn.  Quietly, thoughtfully, he begins his sacrificial preparations.  Rebuilding the altar with 12 stones, Elijah’s actions remind the Israelites of the 12 tribes of their ancestors.  Elijah’s actions reminds them how those 12 tribes were freed from slavery by the Lord their God. Pouring 12 jars—we’re talking huge jars—full of water, Elijah symbolizes the power of the Lord God who led their ancestors through the waters of the Red Sea.  Silently, symbolically, sacramentally, Elijah prepares the sacrifice.  And when he quietly calls upon the Lord God of Israel, fire consumes not only his soaking wet sacrifice but also the wood and stones on which it lay.  The fire even consumes all the water pooled in the trenches around the altar.  The people have their sign, and they respond, “The Lord is the real God!  The Lord is the real God!”[1]

            Why was it so important for the people to choose which god to serve?  Up to that time, the Israelites had encountered and lived within 3 different understandings of God— and 3 different systems of worship. First—the Pharaoh system. Its hallmark was power above all else. Its motto:  Might makes right.  In Egypt, the Israelites were nothing more than a commodity to be used and to be used up by the god, Pharaoh.  Second—the Lord God of Israel system.  Leading the people out of Egypt, the Lord changed their identity from Pharaoh’s slaves to God’s treasured people.  Desiring a loving relationship with the people, the Lord gave them the law.  Following it, they would learn to live in relationship with the Lord their God and to live in relationship with one another. Community is the hallmark of this system. Caring for one other is the motto.  Third—the system of Baal.  It was a quid pro quo system.  If we worship Baal, then he will send rain for our crops.  The motto for the Baal system:  “If you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” “I’ll do something for you only if you can do something for me.”  Because worshiping and living within either the Baal or the Pharaoh system actually tears down community, the Lord God of Israel demands complete loyalty from his people.  Moses had commanded the people, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your mind, and with all your strength[2].  But in 1 Kings, we find the people hedging their bets—

not willing to give all their loyalty to God, not willing to put all their trust in God, not willing to trust each other.

            Do you know about hedging bets?  I do.  As I was applying to the For Such a Time as This program in the spring of 2011, I also applied for a year-long chaplaincy residency in Austin.  I was accepted into it before I knew my name had been given to this presbytery.  The residency would have provided me with good pastoral experience and training—meeting the spiritual needs of people in times of crisis.  And it would have made it possible to remain in Austin another year—among our emotional and spiritual support group. The residency would not begin until the end of August 2011.  Why not hedge my bets?  Why not hold on to my chaplaincy slot?  After I interviewed in Heartland presbytery and your Pastor Nominating Committee and your Session extended their parts of what would become the call here in mid-June 2011, I held onto the residency spot. Even though I was certain God was calling me here—to this church—for such a time as this—I hedged my bets.  Then, I realized, hedging my bets was actually showing a lack of trust in God’s plan, a lack of trust in God’s timing— a lack of trust in God.  So, before I came here in mid-July to meet you and preach my candidate sermon, I withdrew my name from the residency program.  I understand the people’s desire to hedge their bets . . . especially in the midst of drought.

            In our droughts—real or imagined—this text challenges us to choose how we will serve God.  Will we follow the Pharaoh system, the Baal system, or the system of the Lord our God?  This is important because it determines how we are the church.  Will we use the pharaoh model?  Will we let the powerful make all the decisions—ceding our own power to the strongest, the loudest, the most insistent? Will we use the Baal model? Will we follow those who claim if you do things my way, then I’ll support the mission and ministry of this church?  Will we in turn make the same kind of ultimatum?  Or is the Lord God our model?  Will we let go of our personal desires so that the needs of the community are met?  Will building relationships, caring for the powerless, and nurturing the entire group be our focus?

            This week I watched 2 people choose the system under which they will serve—the model they will use.  Wednesday, B, L and I drove to an assisted living facility in D, KS to visit E.  E is a long-time member of this church.  Her husband of 57 years, died 2 months ago—right after they moved from their home. When I said I am going to D,KS, B and L volunteered to come with me. During our visit, I watched as they responded to the underlying fear and grief in E’s conversation.  I listened as they shared words of comfort and words of wisdom—words from their own experiences of losing their husbands. I watched and listened as they ministered to E.  There were no power plays nor was there any “you scratch my back and then I’ll scratch yours” in E’s room.  Instead there was unlimited compassion and total attentiveness to the concerns weighing E down.  For B and L, it was all about community.  They chose to be the church using the Lord our God system.

            Like the people in today’s text, we are asked to make a choice. Are we willing to serve the Lord our God—who calls us out of what I want for me and into what is best for the entire community?  Are we willing to serve the Lord our God—who invites us to take off the blinders that focus us inward, so that we can see the needs all around us?  Are we willing to serve the Lord our God—who calls us, not to cede our power to others with their own personal agendas but to pool our power together to build up the community? 

           Are we willing to serve the Lord our God—who expects each of us to shoulder the load of the mission and ministry of this church together.  Are we willing to serve the Lord our God—who expects for each of us to give to support the financial, physical, spiritual, and pastoral needs of this congregation? Unlike the townspeople in “High Noon,” we are called out into the streets to save our community.  Unlike the hostages in “Die Hard,” we are free to choose and to serve.  Are we willing to proclaim “The Lord is the real God!” Are we willing to trust God to take care of us now and in the future?  Are we willing to trust in our faith community to lift us up?

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[1] 1 Kings 18: 39 (Common English Bible)

[2] Deuteronomy 6:5 (Jesus refers to this in Matthew 22:37, Mark 12: 30, and Luke 10:27)

“There is Enough” 1 Kings 17: 1, 7b, 8 – 16

           After earning his master’s degree, in the fall of 1983, Kevin began his 1^st fulltime college teaching job—at Midwestern State University in Wichita Falls, TX.  By January of 1984, he realized, that despite what the recruiter there had said, he would have to earn his doctorate in order to secure a tenure-track position.  So Kevin applied for UT’s doctoral program, and I applied for a teaching job with school districts in Austin. Planning a 3-month summer sabbatical, our former Austin Presbyterian pastor asked us to house-sit.  So, at the end of May 1984, with a temporary place to live and a spot in the doctoral program, we moved back to Austin.  Facing a drought—teaching jobs there had dried up—we wondered how will we survive?

            Elijah faces a drought in today’s text.  There is a power struggle in Israel—a power struggle between the Lord God of Israel and Baal, the Canaanite god of rain. Through the prophet Elijah, the Lord God of Israel promises no rain, no fog, no dew, no moisture.  In drought, Baal will be proved powerless.   Elijah faces the drought, and he wonders how will he survive.  First God sends him back into the wilderness, where he drinks from the waters of Cherith Brook and is fed by ravens.  But the Lord God will allow no rain, no fog, no dew, no moisture.  The drought continues, and Cherith Brook dries up.  Sitting by the now dry creek bed, waiting on ravens that no longer come, Elijah wonders how will he survive. 

            God promises Elijah water, food, and shelter in the town of Zarephath. God sends Elijah the loner into community.  God sends Elijah the backwoods man, to town.  God sends Elijah the bachelor, to a widow.  Now in the ancient near east, widows were among the poorest of people. They could barely scrape out a living in the best of times.  Imagine their prospects in the midst of drought.  No wonder Elijah hung around that dry creek bed a few extra days. 

            Unkempt and uncomfortable, Elijah waits at the town well until a woman approaches.  He tells her he is thirsty.  Drawing from the well, she offers him not only a cup of water but also her hospitality.  For she turns away from her task—collecting a just little firewood.  She puts away her own concerns—preparing what she expects to be her last meal.  She offers her hospitality as she attends to the need of this stranger.  He tells her he is hungry.  She replies she has only a handful of flour and a small amount of oil with which she will bake one last small loaf of bread for her son and herself—and then they will wait to die.  Perhaps Elijah put his head in his hands for a brief moment, wondering, “What is God thinking?” This widow with “such scarce means is to be instrumental in God’s plan to provide for”[1] me?  Summoning his faith, Elijah proclaims, “Don’t be afraid.  Share that loaf with me and by the word of the Lord my God, neither the oil nor the flour will run out until God sends the rain again.”  “And the widow went and did what Elijah said.”  Sure enough, she and her son and Elijah had enough to eat for the next days, weeks, months, and years of drought.   

            The Elijah stories we will encounter this summer depict God’s power over the powerful.  They show God’s provision for and protection of the powerless.  In today’s scripture, God provides—for Elijah and the widow and her son in the midst of drought. The storyteller does not tell us how God provided—Was it through some supernatural miracle?  Each night as the widow’s household slept, did an invisible spigot open wide and pour oil into the bottle while an invisible scoop poured grain into the jar?  The storyteller does not tell us how God provided—Did Elijah’s presence give the woman confidence to go out into the fields and glean grain to bring home each night? The storyteller does not tell us how God provided—with a man of God in the community, were the widow’s neighbors encouraged to share their grain and oil with them? 

            The storyteller does not tell us how God provided because how is not important.

That God provided is important.  That God provided is important.  Where the logical conclusion was “there is not enough,” God provided an experience—a physical, bodily experience—of There is enough. There was enough for each day’s meal  . . . throughout the 3 ½ year drought.  

            Unlike the widow in today’s scripture—powerless and all but shut out in the ancient Near Eastern economy, in May of 1984, Kevin and I—who were young, healthy, energetic, intelligent, skilled, and degreed—had economic prospects.  Nevertheless, in the drought of Austin teaching jobs, we, like the widow and Elijah, were faced with scarcity—wondering how will we survive?  Like Elijah, we followed where God led.  Like the widow, we took a chance with our remaining resources.  And like Elijah, the widow, and her son, Kevin and I experienced the physical reality of God’s abundant provision.  By the end of June, I was hired by Round Rock ISD—a district near Austin. By the end of August, Kevin began a teaching assistantship at UT.   We didn’t have to wait 3 ½  years for the job drought to end.  Nevertheless, we experienced God’s abundant provision in what we had expected to be long-term scarcity.

            I wonder what we, this congregation, can glean from this Elijah story.  Like the widow, are we ready to cook our last meal and sit down and wait to die because our 2013 budget currently projects a deficit?  As we gather the firewood for our last meal, will we shut our eyes and ears to the voices of need around us?  Will we close our hands into tight fists to hold on to what is left—our $120,000 savings?  Will we turn inward, succumbing to the myth of scarcity, eat our last meal and wait to die?  Or will we be attentive to the voices of need around us?  Will we turn outward and, with God’s grace and power, face those in need with hospitality? 

            Is it possible that this Elijah story—like the story of God providing manna in the wilderness—for all the wandering Hebrews for 40 years—Is it possible that this Elijah story—like the story of Jesus feeding the 5000 people with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fishes—is it possible that this Elijah story exposes the lie that God is not powerful enough?

            Seven months ago, when the Christian Education Committee first explored the possibility of partnering with Heartland Camps to bring a day camp here to our site this summer, a small group of voices proclaimed, “We can’t do that.  There is not enough.”  We don’t have enough children to attend.  It’s not just for our children.  It’s for children in this community.  Here is our opportunity to show hospitality. “We can’t do that.  There is not enough.”  We won’t have enough volunteers.  We now have 10 volunteers for our day camp in 1 week. “We can’t do that.  There is not enough.”  We don’t have enough money to fund the camp. Campers are paying some of the costs.  Donations have come from PW and from individuals both within and outside this congregation.  The camp is funded, and we did not have to touch any of our savings.  The fact is—There is enough.  When we attend to God’s work—sharing the good news of God’s love—there will always be enough.

            The enough may come from special gifts.  The enough may come from everyone in the congregation sharing proportionately of our resources—as in the Stone Soup story I read to our children earlier.  How God provides the enough is not important.  That God provides the enough is important. 

            When we hear voices proclaiming a drought of finances, a drought of membership, a drought of energy, a drought of commitment, when we hear voices proclaiming drought, may we hold fast to the truth in today’s scripture.  The Lord our God is more powerful than any drought—real or imagined.  The Lord our God will see us through any drought—real or imagined.  When we attend to God’s work, the Lord our God will provide abundantly amidst the drought.  For with the Lord our God, there is always more than enough.

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[1] Choon-Leong Seow, “The First and Second Books of the Kings,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible:  a Commentary in Twelve Volumes.  Vol. III.  Nashville:  Abingdon Press, 1999, p. 128.