See the video here!http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vx2aZFlwHSs
1.
Look at Elijah’s choices here: his choice to cross the border, as an immigrant, and cast his lot with a foreigner, and a widow; his choice to believe in a future – when all signs point the other way; his choice to insist that God’s blessing will cover the three of them – regardless of language, regardless of religion, regardless of incidentals. A touch of daring. Evangelical courage. This is the prophetic vocation. Elijah’s and ours.
So far as I can tell, this phrase, ‘evangelical courage,’ was coined by John Thomas, our John Thomas, who stepped down just last year after ten years as President and General Minister of our United Church of Christ. Not so coincidentally, it was John Thomas who came up with that other resonant UCC cry – ‘extravagant welcome’ – to describe our church’s fundamental commitment to inclusion and diversity. Talk about the power of language! For years now, John’s call to ‘extravagant welcome’ has inspired and excited us here at FCC. It’s everything we want to be. ‘Extravagant welcome!’
I read somewhere that in his first year as President of the United Church John was in a meeting advocating for the denomination’s “Open and Affirming” commitment. While the UCC’s often blazed a social justice trail, the trail hasn’t always been popular with the folks in the pews. Let’s just say there’s been some tension around some issues. And that day, tension got out of hand. A red-faced churchman – questioning the relevance of sexual orientation, questioning justice for minorities – a red-faced churchman got so worked up and angry that he lost his grip on the Bible he was waving in John’s face and flung it fifteen feet at the new President’s chest. Bible as weapon. Literally. He laughs about it now, John Thomas, and he quotes another pastor who reassures him: “Better to be a divided church that stands for something, than a united church that stands for nothing.” How about that! A church that practices God’s ‘extravagant welcome’ stands for something!
But over the past couple of years, John Thomas has started to link “extravagant welcome” with a second and equally provocative phrase: “evangelical courage.” “Evangelical courage.” Now, before we get all worked up about the “evangelical” part – and there’s some baggage there to be sure – let’s pay attention to the way John Thomas uses it. Because it’s really quite profound. “I want to reclaim [the word]...” he writes, ‘evangelical’, “as a way to talk about our justice commitments, as our being grasped by the gospel.” Let that sink in a little. “Evangelical” has to do with being “grasped” by the gospel. “Evangelical” has to do with being compelled to act on the basis of the good news of God’s love. “Evangelical” has to do with the justice commitments that emerge from gospel living. Christianity is not “anything goes” religion. Discipleship means being “grasped” by the gospel.
It makes so much sense, then, that a church that extends ‘extravagant welcome’ to seekers from all walks of life must also embody ‘evangelical courage.’ We are grasped by the gospel. We are compelled by the good news of love. We are on fire with God’s vision of sisterhood, brotherhood, justice for all at the human table.
2.
So I think we’ve got a story today – a lively, strange story – of evangelical courage. After all, Elijah’s living on the edge of disaster: his little brook dried up by drought, his community of friends scattered by violence and tyranny. Pride could easily destroy him, Elijah. Despair could finish him. But God suggests another way. And here comes the ‘evangelical courage’ part. Here comes the provocation.
“Get up,” says the Spirit, “and go to Zarephath in Sidon and live there. I’ve instructed a woman who lives there, a widow, to feed you.” Now it’s just a verse. But don’t let the Bible fool you. Don’t allow this to sound normal, routine. Because it takes a ton of courage for a Hebrew prophet to head for a Gentile village in search of a Sidonian widow. It takes a ton of courage for a lonely Jew with big dreams to go begging off a single woman a little biscuit and some water. They worship different gods. They speak different dialects. There’s history – mean history – between them. And there’s every reason for Elijah and the widow to fear one another, to deny one another, to reject even the spirit’s direction. Think about Israelis and Palestinians on the brink of disaster in the Holy Land. Think about North Korea and South Korea on the brink of catastrophe in Asia. Think about the Norteños and Sureños taking out one another’s kids here in California. With every reason to fear one another, to deny one another, to reject hope.
But Elijah doesn’t. And this Sidonian widow doesn’t. Oh, I imagine it takes Elijah a little while to work up his nerve, to find his way to the village, to get that first word out: “Please.” Imagine him standing there at the village gate, tired and parched and hungry and anxious. Working up the nerve to say just that first word: “Please.” And, it’s pretty clear, isn’t it, that the widow’s reached the end of her rope. It’s pretty clear that she’s lost just about everything: hope, strength, her spouse, no extended family here. She says – the first time they meet – that she has just a handful of flour in a jar and a little bit of oil in a bottle. She’s scratching together just enough to make a last meal. She expects this is the end. For her and her son. A grim last supper.
But Elijah chooses this ‘evangelical courage’ – or maybe this ‘evangelical courage’ chooses Elijah. That might be the better way to describe what’s going on. ‘Evangelical courage’ chooses Elijah. You will be an immigrant, says God. You will be completely dependent on your impoverished hosts: for food, for water, for survival. And somehow – this will be the blessing, the promise, the trail into a better future. “The jar of flour will not run out and the bottle of oil will not become empty before God sends rain on the land…” And courage – his, hers, theirs – transforms that grim last supper into something new, something holy, even something sustainable. Sustainable human community. Elijah – the immigrant Hebrew prophet – and the once-broken Sidonian widow and her son: a most unlikely, but delightfully sustainable human community.
3.
And then, before you can catch your breath, another crisis. Isn’t this how it always goes? Another crisis. You survive Katrina and BP blows an oil rig in the Gulf. You ride out chemotherapy and then your partner gets sick. You pay your way out of debt and your car dies. Before you can catch your breath, another crisis. They survive the drought – Elijah and the widow and her son – but some time later he gets terribly, terribly sick.
And what happens? What happens when this second wave hits, when the widow looks around at her dying son and her strange guest? She does what so many of us do – she’s got to blame somebody, so she blames the immigrant. She blames Elijah. It seems almost epidemic in our generation: epidemic, irrational and xenophobic. “Why?” she roars. “Why did you ever show up here in the first place – barging in, exposing my sins, killing my son?” Does any of this sound at all familiar? So-called natives blaming so-called immigrants for social distress? We’re surrounded by it.
Now Elijah might run. It seems that the worst of the drought is over. It seems possible he could find his way home, or at least back to familiar faces in familiar places. Facing her fear, her disappointment, even her rage, Elijah might want to call the multicultural experiment off and go home.
But again, ‘evangelical courage’ provokes a prophetic choice. “Hand me your son,” Elijah says to the widow. “Hand me your broken boy.” And it’s not even clear – from the story – that she willingly does. The story says: “Elijah then took the boy from her breast, carried him to the loft and laid him on his bed.”
And this ‘evangelical courage’ is raw, human, passionate, broken. The prophet grieves and weeps and argues with God. Elijah cries out: “O God, my God, why have you done this? Why have you brought this terrible thing on this widow, this generous woman who opened her home to me? Why this suffering? Why this heartbreak? Why?”
Then three times, he stretches himself out, full-length, upon the breathless boy. Three times, he prays to God, with all his might. Prays to God for life and for breath and for the widow’s son. And the boy comes back. The broken boy lives again. The immigrant prophet picks him up, off the bed, and hands him again to his mother.
Friends, it’s going to take no less courage to heal the battered lives in our own generation. It’s going to take no less courage to dismantle walls built to divide and infuriate and frighten. In our 21st century, we’re going to need every ounce of Elijah’s ‘evangelical courage’ to retrace our steps and re-imagine our human relationships with the rest of creation. I kind of think that’s what Sunday morning’s about these days: inspiring, awakening, remembering. ‘Evangelical courage.’
4.
So let me say just a couple of things about this, about ‘evangelical courage.’ Because it has so much to do with our dreams, our visions as a progressive Christian congregation.
First, theologically, spiritually, politically…we are free from fear, free from fear, sisters and brothers of Jesus. Hear that again. We are free from fear – because, deep down, we know that we belong, body and soul, in life and in death, not to markets on Wall Street, not to the American empire, not to universities on our resumés. Deep down, we know that we belong to our brother and savior Jesus Christ. Jesus is the true source of our security. And this makes our courage not only possible, but inevitable. We can risk privilege and prosperity for justice. We can tear down walls and welcome strangers with joy. We can take the wounded into our arms and homes. Because we are free from fear. Because we belong to Christ. That’s ‘evangelical courage.’
And second, and just as importantly, the kind of courage we’re talking about, the kind of courage that stirs in Elijah and maybe you and me: it’s nurtured and strengthened and fired up in communities like this one. In friendships right here. In relationships right here. I have to believe that Elijah found a soulmate in that Sidonian widow. They struggled to understand one another. They wrestled with their differences. But I have to believe – over time – they found courage together – the kind of ‘evangelical courage’ that opens doors for immigrants and shares bread with the hungry and embraces multicultural mysteries.
And you and I can do, must do, will continue – to do this for one another. Think about it. Look around the room. There are friends in this room who need you. There are friends in this room ready to make huge decisions in their lives. And they need the courage you can inspire. Look around the room. There are seekers in this room who need you. They’re not sure what they’re looking for, what’s around the corner. But their hearts are wide open. They’re ready for whatever Spirit has in mind. And they need the courage you can inspire.
Think about it. When one of us is moved to pursue gender reassignment – it happens right here – when one of us is moved to go ahead with that kind of surgery, it’s your friendship that makes ‘evangelical courage’ possible. It’s your love that nurtures ‘a touch of daring.’ It’s the church that helps that young person name himself and claim his blessing.
And when that group of 25 touches down in Jerusalem next month, when they begin to absorb the losses of grieving parents on both sides and ancient hostilities, when that group lands next month, it’s your friendship that makes ‘evangelical courage’ possible. It’s your love that reminds them of faith and hope and unbroken blessing. It’s the church that helps peacemakers keep hearts open – when doors are slamming shut all over the place.
So let’s remember that we are not alone. In any of this. We are not alone. We belong to one another. And we belong to Jesus our risk-taking, life-daring, peace-making, bread-breaking brother. We belong to Jesus.
They told him back then not to touch the untouchables. But he touched and healed and embraced them just the same. They told him not worry about the hungry multitudes, not to waste his time on the poor. But he took a few loaves, broke them wide open, and there was food for thousands. They told him he was foolish to believe in love – when force and violence were clearly the way to power and glory. But he refused to fight, he turned the other cheek, he loved only love. We belong to him. We belong to Jesus. And today his courage is ours.
