Elijah

I originally posted this on a blog I used to have about  4 or 5 years ago.  I wrote a half dozen character studies over the course of several months and had a lot of fun doing it.

The sun, usually a welcome sight, maintained its merciless beat-down. Waves of scorching heat were palpable and visible as undulations in the breathless air. The parched land grew more parched, if possible, as the daylight hours lingered. No clouds. No relief. No shade.

If only Elijah weren’t such a man of God, we wouldn’t be dying in this drought. No crops. No grass for our livestock. Wells all run dry.

It’s been almost three years already.   We can’t survive much longer.

A roughly-dressed prophet man, with wild hair and intense eyes. That was Elijah. An imposing figure when he appeared before you. The King listened when he spoke. But the King didn’t usually like what Elijah had to say. No matter, thought Elijah – I must speak what the Lord commands me to speak. Nothing more, nothing less.

Elijah lived in prayer, immersed himself in prayer. Petitioning and worshipping and listening. His power came at the Spirit’s desire and timing.   Elijah’s power also came at great personal sacrifice – if you could call it that. Although he didn’t think of it that way. What is this life anyway, in view of forever?

Thick darkness, a darkness seen with his mind’s eye, and felt with this spirit. More like a suffocating black fog. He fought his way through it for a long time. The hours and days passed unknowingly as he wrestled mightily with an unseen but powerful force. He pleaded, he reminded, he worshipped, he held on tightly, refusing to let go. The words he shouted aloud with growing vehemence were flung back at him, striking deeper into his soul, as if a white hot blade were cutting him and laying bare his heart. So he increased his struggles, never giving way once he’d gained some ground. On and on the battle – for that is what it felt like – continued.

Finally the fog disintegrated, and a calmness stole over his soul. His mind and eyes were clear. He was ready. The training for his next task was complete.

450 prophets of Baal.

Mount Carmel.

Two altars.

Two sacrifices.

One Elijah.

Looking for fire from heaven to prove just whose god is God.

All 450 prophets of Baal prepared themselves, prepared their sacrifice, placed it on the altar, and began to cry out to their god to send fire down from heaven and consume their offering. Nothing happened. They cried out more loudly. Nothing. They began to cut themselves until the ground ran slippery with their blood, staining their white ceremonial robes crimson. Still nothing. Hour after hour they implored their god to answer and act.

No answer came. No acknowledgment. Nothing. Not even one streak of heat lightning.

The sun hovers low in the sky. Now it is Elijah’s turn. He walks around the area, searching for and locating twelve stones – one for each tribe of Israel – and fashions the altar. He prepares the sacrifice according to the law of Moses, and places it there.

“Bring water and pour it over the sacrifice”, Elijah instructs the servants. So they do. “More water”, says Elijah. And still more water. Until even the deeply dug trench around the altar is full and overflowing onto the thirsty ground.

A saturated sacrifice and a trench full of water.

Everyone knows water quenches fire.   Everyone sees the impossibility.

Finally Elijah is ready.

Lifting up his hands and face to heaven, Elijah prays with authority. Every prophet of Baal and every onlooker waiting for something to happen, suddenly and simultaneously hear an explosive sound and stand spellbound as an overpowering conflagration falls straight down from heaven. The intensity of the heat and shock of the event knocks them back. The holy fire consumes the sacrifice and greedily laps up every. last. drop of water in the trench.

After the initial shock, pandemonium breaks out.

And then Elijah slaughters every. single. one of the 450 prophets of Baal. That’s right – he killed all 450 of them.

Justice is served.

The end. Roll credits.

Elijah, now, is bone-tired, covered in blood, reeking of death.

To top it off, Jezebel signs his death warrant when she discovers what he’s done. A queen’s solemn vow to make it her mission to see Elijah dead – dead – dead.

Obliterate him. Just like he did her prophets. Jezebel’s subjects had seen her angry many times before but this time – Elijah had better watch out.

This mighty man of God – this man who prayed and the rain stopped – this man who spoke and fire fell – began to shake with fear and took off running as fast as his wobbly legs would carry him. He ran for a full day before collapsing from fatigue.

This is the point in the story where your brain makes you stop and pause and ask a question. Why was Elijah, of all people, afraid of Jezebel? We all read the same words she said. What happened? After what he had just accomplished – what in God’s name happened to make him quake in terror and run for his life?

Inexplicable, right?

The Spirit had shown up in great power, with Elijah as the conduit. Elijah was prepared. He had gotten the victory in his fight against evil and for good.

So, let’s take a moment and think. What happens when we use up the last of our physical resources – emotional and physical exhaustion. I know for me, when I’m overly tired and emotionally drained, that’s when I’m at my most vulnerable.

And that’s when Satan moves in, quick as lightning, for the kill. He’s been lying low in the brush until now, tail impatiently swishing back and forth, flexing his paws, watching, watching. Waiting for just the perfect time, and then – pounce.

But God – nourished Elijah and protected him. Fed him. Then sent him on another journey.

Elijah is so far above us spiritually, or so we tell ourselves, we would give up before we even started. We could never do anything like what he did.

But the Apostle James gives us encouragement. He tells us Elijah was just like we are. So that means we can be just like him. Used just like him.

It will take time, effort, and pain. You’ll become exhausted after wrestling with God. Scars from battle. Increased attacks from Satan. Uncomprehending family and friends.

God’s power and desire to use us is only hindered by our lack of commitment and desire to be used. We have great power available to us – let’s maximize that power and so maximize our influence.

There’s work to do for the kingdom. Time to get on with it.

Arizona Summer

As the blazing Arizona sun begins its languorous descent toward the distant mountains, the air tries without success to cool. Even after the sky bursts bright neon-orange with stains of pink and purple and varying shades of blue and the guardians fade to a dark presence, the stifling heat lingers, unwilling to yield, well into the night.

Sweating is just a fact of life in summer-time. Carrying a bottle of water wherever you go is a matter of life or death, at least it could be.

The lizards dart past and under a welcoming rock offering a smattering of shade, as quickly as their little toes will take them. How they can move that fast in such heat is an amazing accomplishment. They seem harried and nervous, as if the hounds of hell were searching them out. Not much else moves during the day. Siestas are commonplace among man and beast alike.

Saguaro stand tall seemingly without a care even in the most intense heat, miserly in their use of stored water. Who knows when the next rain will fall? Like sentinels they watch over all and record the inexorable passing of time. They have learned how to make the most of what they have, and how to make the most of what they are given.

Leggy plants with brave flowers do their best to enliven the landscape. Whites and yellows and pinks and purples soften the sharp spines of cactus and round the sharp edges of unyielding rocks. Their contribution is a feast to the eyes and thirsty soul, speaking poignantly of perseverance and steadfastness in the face of adversity. No matter the heat, no matter the lack of water, no matter the lack of soil. They stubbornly grow out of rock and lift their faces serenely to the sun that scorches their petals and fades their colors too soon.

The searing brightness bleaches out color. Arriving under a stand of Mesquite and Palo Verde trees color seems to pool there like small oases of painter’s palettes amidst a blinding washed out canvas. I measure my water. I want to make sure I have enough to get back without going thirsty.

Night-time is when cool-starved humans sit outside gazing at the deep black sky filled with stars and wonder at the magnificence of it all. Silent constellations with their silent messages attempt to reveal mysteries to deaf ears and blind hearts, and bats fly erratically back and forth snapping up unsuspecting bugs for their supper, and the still air is quiet.

In the distance a pack of coyotes spontaneously cry to the moon and their raucous cacophony sounds like the lost souls from Dante’s nightmare, jangling and disturbing in its longevity. Minutes tick slowly by and still they scream. Dogs bark their own displeasure at the ripping of the peaceful night veil. The bats continue to dip and flutter eating their fill. The constellations continue to quietly speak.

One last deep sigh of contentment and into the air conditioned house to finish out the evening and then to bed and then to rise again to the welcoming sun announcing a new day to enjoy and live.

Jess and the sparrow

I first penned this back in the Spring of 2014 when I was struggling with that age-old issue of forgiving.  Why is it so hard to do, and why is it so hard to remember how important it is?

The chains were too tight. They threatened to cut off her breath. Jess kept waiting for her tormentor to let her go.

“Please!” She begged – “I have nothing more to give you!”

She slowly sank down to the ground in her small, dark cage and leaned her back against the cold bars. Drawing her knees up to shield her face, she sobbed out her grief. How long has she been here? She had lost track of time. The days and nights crept forward, never halting, and without illumination.

She knew she had been here for many days.

There was a very small opening in the stone wall up near the ceiling that let in air and just a hint of light sometimes.

Would her little friend stop by to visit again today?   He was just a sparrow, but she really looked forward to hearing him pecking around outside her window.

Just yesterday she thought she heard him speaking to her. I’m getting delusional, she thought.

But she distinctly remembered his squeaky whispers.

“Let it go”. That’s what she heard. It echoed in her mind and she couldn’t shut out the voice. Was that really what he said?

No, that can’t be right. What could she let go of? She was chained here – a prisoner.

“Jess, Jess!”

Who is there? Was it her little friend again today?

“I can hear you, little sparrow!” Oh, dear God please don’t let me be losing my mind! Jess thought.

“I have the key for you, Jess!”

Those squeaky whispers made her heart leap for joy.

“Where is it? I’m right here!” A sob caught in her throat as her hope awakened.

“You must listen ever so carefully, ok?”

“Ok!”

“Let it go.”

“What?”

“Let it go. Forgive.”

“What?!”

“Let it go. Forgive.”

Her new hope withered and died. Just like that. Clearly she was delusional. Let go of what? And forgive who? Surely he wasn’t suggesting she forgive her tormentor?

Out of the question! How could she forgive the very one inflicting her pain day in and day out? No one should be expected to do that.

By the time she came to herself, her little friend had left.

She felt more lonely and abandoned than she had ever felt in her life. Even her little friend mocked her pain.

But his words drilled themselves deep down inside her heart. And became a mantra.

Three days later, after listening to this mantra almost non-stop, she heard her little friend outside.

But, wait, it sounded different.

“Are you there, little friend?”

“Don’t listen to him – you’ve been wronged! You need justice and revenge! Don’t listen to him!”

“Who are you?”

“Hold tightly and never forgive and never forget!”

“Wait! What?”

She heard a slithering sound and then silence.

Confusion filled her heart. Oh, please, I just want my little friend back! Please!

She threw herself down to the filthy dirt floor and cried out her frustration and conflict. After a while, she became calm. Her thoughts drifted and she began to remember.

There were some good times. Yes, that’s true. They weren’t all bad. Her thoughts went further back in time. Back beyond her own personal knowledge of events. She saw her tormentor as a child. Then as a young person. Then as an adult. She saw things and her heart warmed to this person who had experienced their own brand of hurt.

And she began to understand.

“Hi, Jess!” whispered her little friend. She could hear a smile in his voice today.

“Are you ready to use your key?” he said to her.

“Yes, oh, yes!” she cried out.

“Wonderful! I’ll see you outside then. It’s a beautiful day here – come on!”

Her little friend was so right – it was a gorgeously beautiful day, and Jess, with her arms lifted high danced around and around until she fell to the ground laughing , inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers.