You Have Asked a Hard Thing

Every year, on this last Sunday before Lent, we hear the very same story. It is the story of Jesus being transfigured on the mountain, in the company of three of his disciples—Peter, James, and John. Every year we hear a somewhat different version of the story—because it appears in three of the Gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke. We get the shortest version of it this year, Mark’s version; Mark always manages to say the most with the fewest words.

And every year that Gospel reading is paired with a reading from the Hebrew Scriptures that tells a story about a different kind of transformation. Last year it was the story of Moses being called up the mountain to receive the covenant code, the Ten Commandments. Next year it will be the other half of that story—Moses coming back down the mountain, with his face shining because he has been so close to the holy presence of God.

But this year—this year it’s something different. It’s the story of the end of Elijah’s ministry, the commissioning of Elisha to be his successor as a leader of the prophets—the ones who speak God’s truth to the kings and the rulers.

It is a story that depicts a moment of transition—of one who has been a confident leader leaving, and of the preparation of the one who will follow.

Much earlier in the story God spoke to Elijah and told him to go find this man Elisha, because God had chosen Elisha to succeed him.  So the two of them have been traveling together for a while. Elisha has been supporting Elijah’s ministry as a disciple. And now the end of their relationship is coming near.
Elijah and Elisha know exactly what is happening. And the people around them, their colleagues, know what is happening. Everyone knows that Elijah’s time is coming to an end. They all ask that question—“Do you know that today the Lord will take your master away from you?”

And if you pay attention, they’re asking that question during a long journey—as the two friends travel from Bethel, to Jericho, to the Jordan. That is a lot of ground to cover in a day. And in every place they stop, Elisha gets asked that same question.

Then it’s Elijah who asks him a question. You’re about to take over from me. You’re going to be the one who carries this forward. What can I give you to prepare you for the work you are called to do?
And Elisha gives a really wise answer. He asks for a double share of Elijah’s spirit—his wisdom, his discernment, his courage, his connection to God.

Elijah’s response are the words we need to sit with this morning. “You have asked a hard thing.”  Just why is it hard?

You might think that it’s hard because of what Elisha has to do to get the gift he’s asked for. Elijah tells him he has to make sure he watches what happens when he is taken up into heaven by God. It’s like learning the secret trick to advancing to the next level in a video game.  But actually, I don’t that’s what this about. I don’t think that’s why Elisha has asked a hard thing.

I think Elijah knows how hard it is to work every day to try to share God’s message with people who more often than not won’t listen. I think Elijah knows how hard it is to get people to give their best and highest selves to the relationship that they have with God. I think Elijah knows how hard it is to work so much, to worry so much, about God’s people.  And I think he knows that twice of all that will be very hard. It will be a heavy, heavy burden.

It can’t be an accident that we happen to hear this story at this moment in this year. Elijah and Elisha are living through a transition moment. And we are, too. This is not just a story about ancient Israel. Pay attention—because this is a story about us.

Now, maybe you think that I am imagining some kind of scene in which Father Austin is swept up in a chariot bound for California, while whoever it is that will follow him, whatever priest out there God has already anointed as our next pastor, watches him go.  But actually, that isn’t it. What I have in mind is something a lot less cinematic, and a lot more frightening.

Because if you tell that old story in the terms of our church today, then yes, maybe we cast Father Austin in the role of Elijah—because he has left, after all. But Elisha?

Elisha is us, friends—all of us. It’s no one other person. This work, this ministry, this hope, this beloved community, all of it, all of it, now falls to us.

We are the ones who need the gift of a double spirit. We are the ones who are picking up the mantle. Because this is our church—all of us together.

Some of you here, I know, have been here for many years. You’ve seen priests come and go. And others of you have only been here a little while.  Some of you are here today on a visit, and may never be here again. And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, well, maybe I came on the wrong day or something? I mean, I’m glad to be here, but this sermon really doesn’t apply to me.

Well, yes it does. We are all in this together. Every one of us has something we can offer. Whether you have been here for years or for minutes, we are the community of Saint Paul’s.

We’ve celebrated the history of this church in the past year, marking the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of this building.  It’s easy for us to fall into the mistake of thinking this is an old church, just like all the other churches around here. We can come and go in them, move through them and admire the artwork and learn a little more about this ancient city, and then move on.

But this is not that kind of church. This church has never been that kind of church. And it isn’t now, either.
This is a church that’s up to us. No one provides for this church but us. We have friends in other countries who support us, yes—but they will only do that so long as they can see and know that we are doing all we can to assure the success and the vitality of this church.

We are not a Roman Catholic Church. And we are not a chapel of the Church of England. We are an Episcopal Church. And that means this church is up to us. It depends on all of us to flourish.

Now I am your bishop, and I love you. And so I am saying these words to you in love. This is a great big church with a great big ministry and very, very few people who are taking their part in tasks we need people to lend a hand to in this church we share.  We are a self-governing church. No one does these things for us. We have to do them ourselves.  This church is not simply run by the priest. It is governed by all of us together. We elect the people who serve on the governing board, the Vestry. But we have a hard time finding people willing to give just a little of their time and expertise to share the responsibility of leadership here.  And so this great big church, with all of its ministries, heading into this time of transition, has a small Vestry. They need colleagues to join them. Maybe you could be one of them.

We have children here who deserve an experience of church school. It is so hard to grow up in this faith in the world young people live in today. But we have to teach them. Maybe you could teach them.  We prepare this sanctuary for Sunday worship by dressing the altar, and preparing the table, and making sure everything is in place for our celebration. But right now, the only person doing all that work is Father Francisco. He should not have to do that alone. Maybe you could help him.

We have programs, and ministries, and we help out thousands of refugees every year, and we have organ scholars and Young Adult Service Corps interns and a whole bunch of other stuff that all adds up to—are you ready?—more than eight hundred thousand Euros a year. We want all of that to flourish. But those of us who are members of this church…we don’t even contribute ten percent of what it takes to make all that happen.  Maybe you could make a pledge. Or make a little more of a pledge.

Being the church—being this church—is not easy. But being the church is amazingly, incredibly joyful.  Do you know what we get here? We get the richest possible experience of life in community, because it is the one place any of us have to integrate our whole selves—our spiritual, social, intellectual, aesthetic, physical selves.

We experience the fullness of this life we have been given when we give more of ourselves to the life and work of this community of faith.

So let us be bold enough to ask for what Elisha asks for. Let us ask for a double share of the spirit. Let us not be afraid to ask for hard things. Because God will not fail to give us what we ask for in faith. And when we give more of ourselves to the life and work of God’s church, God will provide us with the energy, the time, and the goodwill we need to be the church we are now called to be. Amen.