Letting It Go A sermon preached August 9, 2015
In 1 Kings 19:1-8 it says that “the angel of the LORD came again a second time and touched [the prophet Elijah] and said. ‘Arise and eat, for the journey is too great for you.’ And he arose and ate and drank, and he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb, the mount of God.”
This day to day world we are living in right now is actually a school, beloved, a school in which we are enrolled for a few years to acquire the lessons we need to prepare ourselves for what is coming next, for our graduation into Eternity, into that life that really is Life. And the lessons we fail to absorb in this one, we will have to mug up in the next life. Here or there, they must be learned.
So if going to church doesn’t help us absorb those crucial lessons we need to learn before we die, beloved, what good is it? If we aren’t here to learn something eternally useful, why on a Sunday morning you and I could just as well be at Dunkin’ Donuts drinking coffee and eating those plump donuts filled raspberry jelly we used to call Bismarcks. But we can’t sit around eating Bismarcks our whole lives long; we need something more substantial. So we come here to listen to the Spirit of Jesus who says—I am the living bread that came down from heaven. The Spirit has a lesson to teach us this morning, beloved, so let’s get right down to business.
We have before us a part of the life’s story of the Old Testament prophet Elijah. At the moment when we catch up with him, the prophet is caught between a rock and hard place. Obedient to what he regarded as the LORD’s command, Elijah had first defeated and then slaughtered the prophets of the pagan god Baal. Now Baal had an awful a lot of prophets. They were even greater in number than those who have announced they are candidates for the presidency of the United States.
There were four hundred and fifty of them, the Bible says, and they were under the protection and patronage of Queen Jezebel of Israel, who made the wicked queen in Snow White look like Betty Crocker. So when Jezebel found out that Elijah had put all her prophets to death, she sent a message to him saying—“So may the gods do to me and more also, you wretched, disgusting little man, if I do not make your life as the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.” (I added in the “wretched, disgusting little man” part so you would get the idea that Queen Jezebel meant business.) She was not a woman to be trifled with. Elijah knew it, and it says, “He was afraid, and he arose and ran for his life.”
So it is against this background which our story takes place. Elijah is between a rock and hard place, almost literally. He is out in the stony wilderness all alone. He sits down under a solitary broom tree and says, “It is enough, now, O LORD, take away my life.”
So what is enough? Well, you and I both know perfectly well what enough is. Enough is a place, a wilderness place where we have all been at one time or another. Elijah had reached enough. He was oppressed by his own violent past and sapped by the hatred of the wicked queen Jezebel. She was strong, and a hatred like hers drains the life blood out of you. And at the same time Elijah was disgusted with himself, ashamed because in the face of her threats he had turned tail and run. “I am no better than my fathers,” he says. Furthermore he was alone and hungry, and hunger and isolation always make everything seem worse even than it is. But most of all Elijah was just mortally tired, tired of trying to be stronger than he really was, tired of trying to change the things that resist change, tired of trying to do the will of the LORD in the face of overwhelming evil. And you and I can certainly identify with that. We too have been to the place called Enough.
“LORD, take away my life,” Elijah says. He just wanted to die. Now whereas suicide demands a particular sort of person with a despairing courage few of us have, and relatively few people seriously contemplate it, all of us get to the place where the prophet was, the place called Enough. It is a wilderness where we can’t see any reason for going further, where we look back on our lives and see only failure, where are so dead tired all we want is just to lie down and die.
But instead of dying we lie down and go to sleep. And that’s exactly what the LORD’s prophet did. Depressed and exhausted, he lay down under the broom tree and slept. What happened next was strange, but it was real, and not a dream. An angel touched him and he awoke to discover that the LORD had provided him with food, not coffee and jelly-filled donuts, but something more substantial–bread baked on hot stones and a jar of water. And the messenger from God said, Get up and eat. No please. Just a simple command. Get up and eat something. You’ll feel better. I can hear my mother saying it—It’s not that important. It doesn’t matter. Let it go….
When you are in a foreign city your ears are always alive to the sound of your own language being spoken. We were in the lobby of our hotel in Paris a few weeks ago when I caught the sound of two women speaking English. They spoke, as Americans often do, just a little too loudly not to be overheard. They were discussing some problem they had had with their baggage. Something was broken or missing or hadn’t shown up when it should have. It wasn‘t clear what was wrong exactly, but something surely was. One woman was angry and she all for going back to complain and seek some sort of restitution—an apology at the very least. “It isn’t right!” she kept saying. “They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that sort of carelessness!” The other woman heard her out, but she was equally determined to let the matter go. “We’re in Paris,” she said. “We may never be here again. I don’t want to waste our time here with things that’s don’t matter. Just let it go.”
So they went off together, still arguing about their baggage. It didn’t sound like a resolution was in sight. Now I love to travel, but I am convinced that the best way to travel is carelessly. Bad things are going happen along your journey. It’s inevitable. Your baggage will sometimes get misplaced, lost or damaged. You can’t always ignore the bad things that happen, but the best way of dealing with them is by just letting them go and moving on. The journey is so much more important, beloved, than the baggage we take along on it. So let it go.
Let it go. “Get up and eat,” the angel had to say to Elijah a second time, “otherwise the journey is too great for you.” The command has two parts: First of all–Get up–and then—eat something. In life, which is the journey we are all taking, we are constantly being presented with a choice whether to fret and brood about our baggage and cling to it like grim death or get up and let it go. Our anger and our guilt, the memory of our past failures, the pain of our present heartaches, and the anxiety of our future fears are nothing but dead weight. If we drag all that baggage along, the journey will be too great for us. So what are you carrying, beloved? Whatever it is, let it go.
There is a story told of two monks, a master and his disciple, who were on a journey. It had been raining for the past two weeks—we can identify with that!—and there were deep muddy, greasy puddles everywhere. As they passed through a town along their way the monks saw a richly dressed woman trying to cross the street. She had apparently been shopping and had gotten caught by the rain, and now she stood there, looking very cross and impatient—like Donald Trump in a frock–scolding her servants. But she couldn’t step across the deep muddy puddles in the street without spoiling her beautiful yellow silk dress. And her servants were so loaded down with parcels and packages that they couldn’t help her. So without further ado the older monk picked the woman up, put her on his back, and carried her across the muddy street, setting her down gently on the other side. But she didn’t bother to thank him. She just pushed him aside and went on her way.
The younger monk saw all this happen and all that day he brooded on it. Then at last he could contain his indignation no longer. “Master,” he said, “that woman back there was very rude to you. You picked her up and carried her across the street, and she didn’t even bother to thank you.”
“I set that woman down hours ago,” replied the master to his disciple. “So why are you still carrying her?”
So, beloved, why are you still carrying whatever—or whoever–you are still carrying? This is the place you need to set your baggage down. And now is the time to get up and leave it behind. Each week the Lord says to us–“Arise and eat.” We each have excess baggage we are dragging along, but this is the place to leave it, and Holy Communion is the time.
We can’t set our baggage down once and for all, not in this life. It is always being restored to us. It is always being returned to us out of the Lost and Found. That’s why we have to come back here each week to leave it behind again. And here the Lord provides us with a meal, not of donuts and coffee, but of his own self, the bread of heaven. “Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good!” the psalmist says. Holy Communion gives us a place to set our baggage down and the strength to do it. So hear the Lord saying to you, “Arise and eat, otherwise your journey will be too great for you.” Then come and let it go.