By the time that we arrive at this point in scripture, Elijah has only been an active prophet for two chapters, but he’s already made quite an impression on the local royalty. After three years of drought, he pops up out of nowhere, blames the king, and proceeds to humiliate the prophets of Ba’al in the most ostentatious way possible (you can read about it yourself in chapter 18). He’s not kidding when he says he’s been zealous for the Lord - he’s made it absolutely impossible for anyone to ignore God’s power, including the queen.
But now, he’s feeling the full weight of his actions. Jezebel’s threats have left him feeling afraid, burnt out, and utterly alone, to the point that he’s ready to throw in the towel completely. God sends an angel to force Elijah to practice some self care, but the message that accompanies these provisions isn’t especially reassuring: “Eat something, because you have a difficult road ahead of you.” Great. Just what a person approaching wit’s end wants to hear.
It’s in the midst of all this that the Lord asks Elijah a strange question, especially for an omnipotent God: “Why are you here?” Elijah seems to assume that God hadn’t been paying attention during the past three years and takes the opportunity to remind God about everything he’d been railing against, throwing in a little bit of self-pity for good measure. “THIS is why I’m so tired and ready to give up! Prophecy takes absolutely everything out of me, and I can’t keep going at the pace that it demands!” It’s a retelling of recent events that matches the energy and tone of the work he’d done up to this point - forceful, emotional, and vivid.
I would venture to guess that many of us have been able to relate to Elijah at some point in the recent past. We’ve all been working hard to speak out, to stand up, to do whatever we can to combat all those who seem so determined to worship the idols of greed and power instead of following the God of mercy and justice. We are running with perseverance the race set before us, just as Paul instructs in Hebrews 12:1, but even the best-trained athletes can’t keep running forever. Faithfully following Christ in these times is exhausting to our bodies, our hearts, and our spirits, and there truly seems to be no end in sight. It’s understandable if we, too, just want to hide away in a cave.
But Elijah’s response doesn’t seem to be the answer God is looking for. Instead of continuing the conversation, God takes a moment to offer Elijah an object lesson. The message, it seems, is that as impressive as the wind, the earthquake, and the fire all are - and although they’re all places that God has been found in the past[1] - they are not where God is *right then*. Instead, God shows up (depending on the translation) in a “thin, quiet sound”, in a “gentle whisper”, in a “still small voice”, or even in the “sheer silence”.
Perhaps, God seems to be saying, going full-tilt at all times isn’t the only way to live righteously. Maybe there’s a time and place where it’s necessary to step back and allow there to be silence and even emptiness. To be vulnerable. To hurt. To mourn. To be quiet for a moment, not because you care less or have failed, but because you’re human. If divinity can exist in this way, withdrawing from power and strength to be small and still, how can stopping to catch your own breath be such a sin?
So God asks again, a bit more pointedly this time, “Why are you here, Elijah?” But Elijah is still riding the same momentum as before, caught up in his own feelings of desperation and hopelessness. He can only see his situation through the lens of giving his all to the point of loneliness and exhaustion, so - perspective unchanged - he gives God the exact same response as he had before, word for word. “I’m here because I have been your most passionate, committed, and faithful warrior, and this is apparently just the cost of righteousness.”
At this point, God stops being subtle and gives Elijah the answer. “No,” God declares, “You are not here because of what’s in the past - let that go. You are not here to burn out in a blaze of glory. No matter how you feel, you have not arrived at the end of the story, yours *or* mine. You are here for what is still to come. You are to anoint kings and prophets, who will carry out my work and accomplish what you no longer have the strength to do, because despite what you may think, you are not left to bear my Word alone. You’ve seen what can be done in moments of strength and power. You are here NOW, in this moment of utter emptiness, to see what I can do in the quiet and empty spaces.”
It seems obvious to us “why we’re here” when we feel fired up and impassioned and strong: we are here to preach good news to the poor and release for captives, we’re here to change lives for the better, we’re here to knock down idols and lift up God’s kindom. We’re here to run that race that Paul was talking about, and run it hard! But what about when we don’t feel that way? What about those times that we feel broken and beaten, empty and without anything more to give? Are we, as Elijah says, “no better than our ancestors”? Is our usefulness in the past?
God doesn’t think so. God insists that it’s not the past that has brought us to where we are in this moment. It’s not the sacrifices we’ve made or our own righteousness and the victories that we have to show for it. Nothing that we’ve earned or done has brought us to this point - that’s not where our purpose lies. We are here because of what lies ahead - even though our exhaustion means it might look different for a little while. God is not done, and even when we’re ready to give up, God is not ready to give up on us.
No one’s contributions to the kindom of heaven are consistent over the course of their whole life. They may not even be the same from one week to the next. But that’s not a personal flaw - that’s what it is to be human. To be fallible. To be finite. Only God can be wind and earthquake and fire at all times. All the rest of us need to withdraw into smallness and silence from time to time. To feel our grief and hopelessness - to be human - and to wait and see how God can use us even there. It’s in those times that God will point us towards those who are in a season of strength when we’re not. It’s in those times that God will remind us of the great cloud of witnesses surrounding us that we celebrate today - both the saints who have gone before us into the Church Triumphant and those who continue to run the race alongside us here on earth.
So to that end, I want us to take a moment to name aloud those things that are making us feel burnt out - exhausted - hopeless - the things that make us feel like giving up. Then, I want us to sit with all these things in silence for a minute or two - to see if we can sense God’s presence in our moment of vulnerability and stillness. If you’re not in a season of vulnerability right now, use this time to share your strength with your siblings in Christ by wordlessly surrounding them with love and prayer - see if you can make them feel it in the sheer silence.
Whenever you’re ready, go ahead and give voice to whatever is making you feel like Elijah.
…
Let us pray: God, we gather here faithfully each week, whether in body or spirit, to learn from you and to renew our strength for the work ahead. Sometimes, we arrive full of joy and excitement, zealous for your Word and its promise for the world that you so love. Other times, though, we arrive with smiles on our faces that don’t match what we feel inside. We are burdened by doubt in ourselves, fear for our loved ones, and despair for the world. As we sing the hymns and speak the prayers with our lips, our hearts silently ask: why am I here? Why am I here, if nothing ever seems to change? Why am I here, if hate and evil stubbornly persist both within myself and in the world? Why am I here, if I’m not making a difference? Why am I here, if I have nothing left to give?
When we feel this way, O Lord, remind us of your truth: we are here because you call us here, as you have always called to us from the moment of our birth. We are here, because you understand and embrace our humanness, meeting us exactly where we are. We are here, because you never meant for us to carry our burdens alone. We are here, because no boundary, no setback, no limit can ever mean “the end” for the God of Resurrection. We are here, because even in our doubt, our fear, and our hopelessness, we put our trust in you.
With our joys and our sorrows, we are here. With our full humanity, we are here. With our hearts open to you, we are here.
We are here.
We are here.
Amen.
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[1] Exodus 19:18, Job 38:1, Genesis 1:2, Exodus 3, Exodus 13:21-22, etc.
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