What is it that we have to pass on? What is it that really matters? What is it that will last, beyond ourselves, into the future of the promise of God?
In the name of God, source of all being, eternal word, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
On the river last Monday, as Sarah and I were in our canoe sitting by a dock, we saw coming up the river a young woman in a large-brimmed straw hat, standing in the middle of a canoe, with a pole in her hand. It was our cousin Mary and she was poling her canoe upriver. She looked, Sarah said, like a picture that could have been out of the 19th century - had she been wearing a long dress instead of a more modern boating costume. And it was true; Mary was poling up the river just as she had been taught by her grandmother, whose own mother had indeed, pole in hand, in long tweed skirt, a Liberty print blouse with a Peter Pan collar, and a cardigan sweater - and pearls, traveled up that same river, standing in a canoe, propelling herself with a pole. The skill was taught them by an Ojibway river guide (and canoe builder) named Laroque. Great grandmother learned, then grandmother learned; then Grammy taught her daughters and grand daughters. And the knowledge of the river and the skill of the pole were passed along, a living tradition, from generation to generation. Were passed along; are passed along; will be passed along.
A living tradition is something we pass along, something that gives strength, something that gives skill and even power, to those coming along.
The first disciples, the witnesses to the life and death and resurrection and ascension of our Lord, passed along what they had seen and what they had heard, what they had touched with their hands and embraced in their arms, to those who came along after them. And what they received they also passed on. To you.
What we have received we must also pass along. And we must decide what matters, what matters most, and that is what we must make sure to share with the new generations that are coming along.
What is it that matters most to us? What is it that will last?
What we know, what we have received, as church, as the family of God, always sustains us through these several elements: the sacred Word, the story of the love of God for humankind; the water of Baptism, in which we receive a sign of new life in Christ; the wine and the bread, transformed for us and, received in faith, transforming us ourselves into the body of Christ; and then the gift of each other, that Body of which we are all members; and - the Holy Spirit, in which all this lives and moves and has its being.
These are things that we have received, that we live by, that we pass on. These things are all gifts given us to give others, to share with them the grace and peace of God.
For on the night before he was betrayed our Lord took the bread and blessed and broke it and distributed it to his friends, saying, this is my body broken for you: remember me whenever you do this. And at the end of the meal he took wine in a cup and passed it around, having first blessed it and said, this is my blood, shed for you, and for many, for the forgiveness of sins. Whenever you drink it, remember me.
In the first reading this morning we are confronted with a great man of God, Elijah the prophet, leader of the resistance by the followers of the Lord, as their own king turned from worship of the one true living God to the worship of idols, false gods, known as Ba'al. Elijah confronted the king, named Ahab, and said these words of power:
‘As the Lord the God of Israel lives, before whom I stand, there shall be neither dew nor rain these years, except by my word.’ (1 Kings 17:1)
That was enough to get the message across to the king. Then Elijah following the Lord's command left the royal presence and travelled east of the Jordan to a stream called Cherith. There for a while he was safe, and survived, on food the Lord provided. The drought and the famine had come upon the land, however, and so eventually the stream dried up. Elijah gathered himself together and began walking, west and north. He left his homeland behind.
Eventually he made his way over toward the coast in the land of Sidon, where he came into a village.
A woman was there, and he approached. May I have some water? And, exhausted, famished, at his last strength, he asked one more gift. Could you give me even a morsel of bread?
She was famished too. She was down to the last of the food. She was at the end of her rope. She was a widow with one child, a son, and they were both about to have their last meal.
And yet, hearing his assurance of the Lord God's promise, this woman, outside of Israel, answered him. Yes. This is the last I have, but here--have this bit of food and water. And so they both began to regain their strength.
The book of Kings tells us they did not run out of food for many days. And then the worst blow fell. Her son, her only son,--had no life in him. What have you done? she cried. Why have you visited the wrath of my sins upon me? Why?
And Elijah, distressed, stretched himself upon the body --and prayed. God, bring this boy back to life.
And the boy lived, and the prophet gave the woman back her son.
On the strength of that encounter, that saving and sustaining grace, Elijah went in the power of the Spirit back to Israel and defeated the priests of the false worship. He did great and powerful things, or more accurately, prayer saw them happen in the will of God.
Jesus referred to this story of the widow and Elijah, when he spoke in the synagogue at Nazareth, his hometown. The widow of Zarephath was the one to whom the Lord sent Elijah, the prophet of God. And it was in her house that the real miracle began. It began with a little thing, that you could hold in your hand. More spectacular things were to follow; but first there was a handful of meal and an alabaster jar of oil, and a little morsel of faith.
From that small beginning came greater things. In the little feast they shared between them, the widow and the prophet laid a foundation of faith that God built upon, rebuilding the faith of the people of Israel. (It was like the feeding of five thousand people with five loaves and two fishes.) Small beginnings, greater ends; simple things, made holy.
Jesus had told this story, and then moved on. He came to Capernaum, and a centurion sent to him, asking him to heal a very sick man, a slave of his. Jesus responded and came toward the house. But the centurion sent a message: Lord, I am not worthy to receive you under my roof, but only say the word and my servant shall be healed. And so it was.
Jesus moved on again, coming into the town of Nain, and a large crowd was with him. They came upon another large crowd, in that town, a funeral procession carrying the only son of a widow to his grave.
Jesus sees what is going on; as he enters the place, a woman, a widow with only one child, a son, is there -- and she is already bereft of him, and of her future, her hope, embodied in that child of hers. Jesus knows -- and we know -- what that means. He stops the procession. Hold it right there!
The funeral march comes to a halt.
Then there came an extraordinary collision; the encounter of the power of life and of resurrection and hope with the power of death and anger and despair.
Jesus says to the woman, do not cry.
And then Jesus comes up to the bier and says: Young man, rise up!
And he does.
And the young man lives, and the Lord restores him to his mother.
A great prophet has arisen, the people say -- and well they might. You can hear the echoes of Elijah's story in this miracle of our Lord.
What is this about? Who is this that has such power over life and death -- and life beyond death? It is the Lord.
It was the Lord; the Lord before his own crucifixion, his own glorification, his own resurrection.
After Easter, His appearing to the disciples, the women at the tomb, the apostles, and many others, is the beginning of something new. He is the first born of the new creation, the first fruits of the resurrection. He tells us that there is something beyond life under the powers of this world, that life lived in God is life that lasts.
The Lord is Lord of life and death, and of life that lies beyond death. The hope of the resurrection, in the risen Christ, is not for the restoration of what was but of the beginning of what will be.
Even in death, we believe, life is changed, not ended. Changed. (Not a tape or a film rewound in the projector and played again, but the mounting of a new reel altogether.)
We are transformed in the newness of life.
Resurrection is not a return to the old life, but the creation of something new - it is moving forward, not back.
What we have to pass on is a living faith in a living God. It is renewal, it is new, it is life itself: it is life in Christ, not the old way of law and sin and death, but the way forward into life in Christ, into the kingdom that begins now, that indeed is all around us.
Bill Lewellis, a friend of mine, once explained that in the Celtic way of looking at things there is such a thing as a 'thin place', a place where the veil between this world and the next, the earthly realm and the heavenly, is thin and easily passed through. It is as if there were a membrane between the everyday and the eternal, and it is permeable somewhere, sometimes.
Then Bill went on to explain that the 'thin place' is really anywhere we are open to the Spirit, and anytime our hearts are open to Christ. That is where the eternal breaks through to the everyday, and transforms it: where our hearts are open and when we are present to the abundance of grace.
The widow in Sidon and the widow in the village of Nain, separated by many years and miles, both were facing scarcity and the end of their own resources, and yet both responded with a morsel of hope and received the gift of abundance.
They did not have much left, and what they had was being taken away from them. And yet the Lord acted, and their lives were changed.
So what was it they had to pass on? It was not their physical comfort or success. It was something that lasts. Something that abides.
What it is might not be abundantly clear right now. It may not be clear until we too share in the resurrection, when our hope is fulfilled in the kingdom of Christ.
For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.
But we have a pretty good idea, of what lasts: the things we have spoken of, the word, the sacraments, the fellowship, are things that bring us closer to God and carry us forward together in God's mission and God's purpose.
All of these things come to us in the gift of the Spirit. And it is the abiding promise and presence of God that shows us what really lasts, what really gives life meaning. Some things will pass away, good things as they are, for when the time for them is over, they will fade away.
We know that; we look for the things that last, that are our greatest gifts to pass on to those coming along in our midst and coming after us.
What are these lasting gifts?
And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.
May we live by faith,
walk in hope and be renewed in love,
until the world reflects your glory
and you are all in all.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus. Amen.
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1 Kings 17:8-16 (17-24)
Psalm 146
Galatians 1:11-24
Luke 7:11-17
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