How Far Will We Go?
THE LAST SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY
2 Kings 2:1-12 • 2 Corinthians 4:3-6 • Mark 9:2-9
Where must we go to see the power of God manifest in the world? How far are we willing to travel in order to find God’s Spirit taking hold in this life?
When the Lord was about to take Elijah up to heaven by a whirlwind, he said to Elisha, his protégé, “Stay here, for the Lord has sent me as far as Bethel.” But Elisha replied, “As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you.” A second time, Elijah said, “Stay here; for the Lord has sent me to Jericho.” But Elisha replied, “As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not forsake you.” A third time, Elijah said to his faithful companion, “Stay here, for the Lord has sent me to the Jordan.” But Elisha replied yet again, “As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not abandon you.”
Elijah knew that his time had come to depart the earth. Elijah knew it. Elisha knew it. All the prophets knew it. Everyone knew that the day had come for God to take the prophet from them. In his last great act of faithfulness, Elijah travelled from place to place throughout central Israel, going wherever the Lord commanded him. He knew that being faithful to God had gotten him this far and that remaining faithful would see him through. But, for some reason, he didn’t want Elisha to follow him.
“Stay here,” he said three times. But why? Maybe it was because Elijah believed that his successor was already called to work among the cities and villages of Israel and not to waste any time venturing out into the wilderness beyond the Jordan River. Or maybe it was because Elijah wasn’t fond of tearful goodbyes and wanted to approach the end of his life on this earth alone. Or maybe it was because Elijah knew that, unlike any human being who had ever lived, he was to be taken up into heaven in a fiery whirlwind and that God’s power and might, which were to be revealed in that dramatic ascension, should not be seen—or could not be seen—by mere mortals.
But Elisha would not listen. “As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you,” the prophet-in-training vowed three times, using a word for “leave” that carries the force of abandonment. If Elijah knew that being faithful to God meant going wherever the Lord sent him, Elisha knew that for him it meant staying beside his master until God decided to split them apart.
Among God’s people, no prophet except Moses had rivaled Elijah in importance. God had sent him to confront Ahab, the King of Israel, who had made a career of leading God’s people astray. False worship, unholy alliances, and inhumane practices had defined Ahab’s rule, and Elijah alone had stood up to the monarchy and all its pomp and power. Numerous times, after denouncing the king’s policies, Elijah had fled for his life. And it was during one of those desperate times that God came to Elijah and, in a whisper, told him to seek out Elisha and anoint him as his successor. When he found him, the great prophet threw his cloak around the unsuspecting man’s shoulders, literally passing the mantle onto his successor. But neither of them knew whether God’s Spirit could be passed along so easily.
“Tell me what I may do for you, before I am taken from you,” Elijah said to Elisha after they had crossed the Jordan and entered the wilderness. “Please, let me inherit a double-share of your spirit,” Elisha begged, in effect asking for the double-size portion of an inheritance that would traditionally pass to a first-born son. Elisha knew that, if he were to follow in the footsteps of Elijah’s greatness, he would as much of the prophet’s spirit as he could receive. But God’s Spirit does not change hands as easily as a piece of land or a beloved cloak. “You ask a hard thing,” the senior prophet replied to the junior’s request, acknowledging his own uncertainty of whether that spirit was his to give away. “Yet, if you see me as I am being taken from you, it will be granted you; if not, it will not.”
Elijah recognized that the passing of the Spirit from one prophet to another is the work of God and God alone. If God allowed Elisha to see this holy departure that was about to take place, it would be a sign that God had indeed chosen him to be Elijah’s fully empowered successor. But, if the would-be prophet were not worthy of that charge, he would not be able to see his master being lifted up into heaven, and he would know that the full power of God’s Spirit would not rest on him. As it was beyond their control, all Elisha could do was remain beside his teacher as far as he could go and pray.
Our reading from the Old Testament stops before we know for sure whether the spiritual transfer was complete. In fact, even Elisha isn’t sure until he leaves that place and comes back to the Jordan River—the boundary between the untamed wilds where God’s Spirit runs free and the domesticated territory of the king, who does his best to suppress that Spirit. Like Elijah before him, Elisha takes the prophet’s mantle and rolls it up, striking the river’s surface, proclaiming, “Where is the Lord, the God of Elijah?” The text is unclear, Walter Bruggemann argues, whether Elisha strikes the water once or twice, suggesting that the successor prophet may not have as much spiritual power as his predecessor. Regardless, it is enough. The river divides in two, and Elisha walks across on dry ground, returning to the jurisdiction of the earthly king and taking with him the power that God had bestowed on him to confront that king.
The kingdoms of this world rely upon clearly defined mechanisms for the transfer of power. Whether it is the death of a monarch, the inauguration of a president, or the surrender of a general, we recognize how authority is passed from one leader to the next. And we know that when the peaceful transfer of power is disrupted or discredited—when the mechanisms that we have established and accepted are threatened—our confidence in the society in which we live can be shaken. And we don’t like that.
But God doesn’t rely on the mechanisms we choose. God’s Spirit and power cannot be confined to predetermined channels. We do not get to decide when and how that Spirit will show up or on whom that Spirit will come to rest. Not even Elijah had that power. And sometimes the church has a hard time remembering that. In a church like ours, we pretend that we are good at defining the ways in which God’s Spirit will become manifest. Principally, we pass along the Spirit’s power through the hands of bishops, who, themselves, were set apart by the hands of other bishops, who were set apart by bishops before them. With the laying on of those episcopal hands, we set people apart for the holy work of ministry. But is that the only way we think God works among us?
God’s Spirit and power cannot be confined to authorized prayers and processes because how else will God’s Spirit ever rise up and challenge those in authority? How can the untamed power of God confront those in power if only those in power get to decide when God is allowed to show up? We don’t spend a lot of time in this church talking about the gifts of the Spirit—gifts like prophecy, healing, and speaking in tongues—because there aren’t many things less Episcopal than speaking in tongues. But who are we to tell God how God should become manifest? Who are we to decide when and where God will show up? Maybe God is already showing up in powerful ways that we haven’t noticed because we aren’t willing to leave our domesticated lives behind and look for them out in the wilderness.
How far are we willing to go to find the power of God taking hold in this world? When our lives are enhanced by the earthly powers at work around us, we are generally content to stay put—to stay here—and leave the work of prophets to someone else. But, when we see that the ways of the world are a betrayal of the ways of God—when God opens our eyes and shows us how far we have strayed from the world that God envisions—how can we afford to stay put?
© 2024 The Rev. Evan D. Garner
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church – Fayetteville, Arkansas