Limping About the Altar

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May 29, 2016

1 Kings 18:20-39

Ahab sent to all the Israelites, and assembled the prophets at Mount Carmel. 21 Elijah then came near to all the people, and said, “How long will you go limping with two different opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal, then follow him.” The people did not answer him a word. 22 Then Elijah said to the people, “I, even I only, am left a prophet of the Lord; but Baal’s prophets number four hundred fifty. 23 Let two bulls be given to us; let them choose one bull for themselves, cut it in pieces, and lay it on the wood, but put no fire to it; I will prepare the other bull and lay it on the wood, but put no fire to it. 24 Then you call on the name of your god and I will call on the name of the Lord; the god who answers by fire is indeed God.”

All the people answered, “Well spoken!” 25 Then Elijah said to the prophets of Baal, “Choose for yourselves one bull and prepare it first, for you are many; then call on the name of your god, but put no fire to it.” 26 So they took the bull that was given them, prepared it, and called on the name of Baal from morning until noon, crying, “O Baal, answer us!” But there was no voice, and no answer. They limped about the altar that they had made. 27 At noon Elijah mocked them, saying, “Cry aloud! Surely he is a god; either he is meditating, or he has wandered away, or he is on a journey, or perhaps he is asleep and must be awakened.” 28 Then they cried aloud and, as was their custom, they cut themselves with swords and lances until the blood gushed out over them. 29 As midday passed, they raved on until the time of the offering of the oblation, but there was no voice, no answer, and no response.

30 Then Elijah said to all the people, “Come closer to me”; and all the people came closer to him. First he repaired the altar of the Lord that had been thrown down; 31 Elijah took twelve stones, according to the number of the tribes of the sons of Jacob, to whom the word of the Lord came, saying, “Israel shall be your name”; 32 with the stones he built an altar in the name of the Lord. Then he made a trench around the altar, large enough to contain two measures of seed. 33 Next he put the wood in order, cut the bull in pieces, and laid it on the wood. He said, “Fill four jars with water and pour it on the burnt offering and on the wood.” 34 Then he said, “Do it a second time”; and they did it a second time. Again he said, “Do it a third time”; and they did it a third time, 35 so that the water ran all around the altar, and filled the trench also with water.

36 At the time of the offering of the oblation, the prophet Elijah came near and said, “O Lord, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, let it be known this day that you are God in Israel, that I am your servant, and that I have done all these things at your bidding. 37 Answer me, O Lord, answer me, so that this people may know that you, O Lord, are God, and that you have turned their hearts back.” 38 Then the fire of the Lord fell and consumed the burnt offering, the wood, the stones, and the dust, and even licked up the water that was in the trench. 39 When all the people saw it, they fell on their faces and said, “The Lord indeed is God; the Lord indeed is God.”

Sermon: “Limping About the Altar”

I wish I could go back in time to that day: the day Elijah challenged the prophets of Baal.

Because, while there are some things he got really right that day, there are some things he also got really wrong.

The demand for a sign was a bit showy, truth be told, but if he’d have let God do what God does and leave it at that, it might have been better.  Instead, he challenged those 450 prophets of Baal to a fiery, dramatic showdown. 

They brought their A-game.  They did all that their god, the Canaanite god of fertility, demanded.  That god wanted blood, so they bled.  Their oblation, or offering, was self-mutilation.  So when our text says they were “limping about the altar” it was no exaggeration.  They were in pain, desperate for their god to show up.

Here’s where I wish Elijah had been less of a jerk.  He saw their pain and limping and jeered a slew of snarky attacks:

“Speak up! Maybe your god is meditating, or he has wandered away, or he is on a journey, or perhaps he is asleep and must be awakened.”

Elijah reveled in the silence of that god and the pain of his worshippers.  This was wrong.

Then, he did something right.  He had the altar set for Yahweh, with 12 stones representing the 12 tribes of Israel.  And rather than soaking that altar in human blood, he soaked it with water.  There’s a beautiful connection with baptism we can’t help but notice here.  He called to Yahweh not through life-taking blood, but through life-giving water.  He prayed for God to answer and “turn the hearts of these people back.”  And God did.  That holy fire burned up the saturated wood, and the story goes that, “when all the people saw it, they fell on their faces and said, ‘The Lord indeed is God; the Lord indeed is God.’”

Elijah did something right.  And then he did something very, very wrong.

The next verse, conveniently left out of our lectionary reading says he had every last one of those 450 prophets of Baal killed.  Never mind that they were part of all those people who said the Lord is God in the end.  He let the fire and show and drama get the best of him, the blood lust, and gave human blood to the God who did not demand it, thus seeming a lot more like a Baal worshipper in that moment. 

I’ve pondered this choice of his a lot this week.  Why would he do such a thing?  Why did he ask those people to choose Yahweh or Baal but end up choosing Baal’s violent ways himself?  And why was he still threatened by those Baal prophets after Yahweh had silenced them with fire? And then, an answer emerged.  Perhaps not the answer, but an answer, nonetheless.  Why do any of us feel threatened by another?

Usually that threat is when something they do or say hits too close to home.  “They limped about the altar they had made.”  I think these prophets reminded Elijah of his own limping, his own suspicions that God wanted blood from him, that Yahweh required suffering as a prerequisite to faith.  (After all, he was living through a terrible drought and a bitterly divided kingdom.)  I think those Baal prophets reminded Elijah of his own need for blood, his hatred and anger and rage and hunger, and so he silenced them.

Now, before we get too high-and-mighty and think we’d never do the same, we should pause and reflect.  How are we limping about the altar, seeking to worship God through our wounds?  How do we crave revenge and retaliation against people who hurt us, often speaking as if we’re doing it on God’s behalf?  How do we repeat past hurts again and again, opening the wounds anew with bitter words or indifferent silences?  How do we make faith a status we earn through our piety, our pain and our self-righteousness?  These are not easy questions.  Which is perhaps why Elijah didn’t bother to ask them, but acted on violent instinct instead.

Do we worship Baal, a god who demands blood in greater and greater amounts, or do we worship the God who blesses through overflowing, drenching waters of grace?  This question can’t really be answered with simple words.  It answers itself in how we live: whether we limp about the altar, making our relationship with God one of toil and pain, or joyfully pray to the God who we trust will answer, in whatever way God chooses to do that. 

Whether we hold on to anger and past hurt, or release them to the God who has long-ago forgiven. 

Whether we believe that people can never be changed for the better or believe that, with our loving God, change is always possible. 

Whether we spend every waking moment of our days in anxiety and worry, fretting about what we cannot control, or whether we try our best, and trust that this is enough for God.

As I read this text again and again this week, a favorite poem kept floating to the surface of my memory.  For me it captures what faith is meant to be, when it’s not an exercise in harming ourselves or others to get God’s attention.  It’s called Wild Geese, by Mary Oliver.

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

God does not demand blood or perfection, friends.  Neither should we.  God announces our place in the family of things – in sun and rain, in prairies and trees, in wild geese and despair shared, and of course, in love.   Amen.