Fear, Love, and Raisins--August 17, 2023
"Then the word of the LORD came to Elijah, saying, 'What are you doing here Elijah?' he answered, 'I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away." [1 Kings 19:9b-10]
You probably know that powerful line of Langston Hughes' poem that begins, "What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?"
That's such a poignant image to me--how the experience of being held down can make our souls shrivel up and dry out, to make us less than ourselves. When that happens in life--whether from the systemic racism that prompted Hughes to write his poem, or from having to flee from war when enemy bombs and drones blow up your town, or from feeling utterly alone, or whatever else might cause it--it damages us, down to our deepest selves, like dry rot eating away at a piece of wood until it is just a brittle husk of its old self. Those kinds of experiences have a way of stealing our joy, making us brittle with anxiety, provoking us to being defensive and prickly to others, and exhausting our energy until we feel like we can't go on. Hughes captures in just a few words (the whole poem is only eleven lines) what it feels like, and how being starved of love can deform our spirits.
I think that's also going on in this story about the prophet Elijah, too, in this passage many of us heard last Sunday. This is a moment in Elijah's life when he feels threatened and attacked by those in power, and even feels utterly let down by God. He has been doing his best to be faithful and courageous, to speak up against the corruption and idolatry of the king and queen, and to deliver the messages God had sent him to bring. And at this point in his life, Elijah feels like everyone is out to get him. He doesn't stop believing that God exists (any more than he could give up believing in gravity because of being injured from a fall), but he does really struggle with whether God is with him... and whether God really does love him. And you can tell, even in this short little scene, that Elijah is starting to shrivel up like a raisin. He is getting bitter and resentful, and fear is making him prickly toward everyone--even God.
Now, there's good news eventually for Elijah--he's just a few verses away from hearing from God and being given the assurance that he's not alone after all, and never has been. But for right now, I want to ask us to stay with this moment for a while, and to consider Langston Hughes' question again, from the perspective of Elijah's story. It seems to me that Elijah is having one of those raisin-in-the-sun moments; all that has been done to him, and all that he's afraid will still happen to him is sapping him of his resilience and wearing him down. And the one thing that had kept him going all this time was his confidence that he he was loved and cared for by God. When everyone else was against him he found courage in his faith that God was with him. And that courage allowed him to keep speaking up for those who needed someone to advocate for them, to keep taking a stand against the powers of the day, and to keep speaking God's word to the people God sent him to. But after so much exhaustive, draining suffering, Elijah was really faltering. He feels like he is wearing out, and that seems to have a lot to do with his ability to keep trusting that God has got his back. Without that trust, he is ready to give up. Without that deep confidence in God's love for him, he has a whole lot less reason to keep putting himself out there and serving the people he's been sent to. Without the grounding and security that come from sensing you are held in God's care, Elijah is quicker to lash out, slower to keep getting back up, and less willing to risk himself for the sake of the people God loves.
I want to suggest that there's an important lesson for us there, just even in this part of the story. It is harder for all of us, not just Elijah, to put the energy into loving others when we aren't confident of God's love for us. When we doubt that God loves us, or when we think that God's love is conditional on our performance or successes, we shrivel up, too, like Langston Hughes' poetic raisin in the sun. When we fear that we are not acceptable, and when we are anxious that we are left to face the world alone, it has a way of distorting our spirits and shrinking our souls. It makes us less willing to keep trying, less able to love others, and quicker to attack and criticize others. When fear takes a hold of us, we become less able to love--because we are less solidly rooted in the assurance that we ourselves are beloved.
And I want to suggest here that this is the real crisis of faith that Elijah is having here. He's not doubting whether Yahweh is the true God and the other idols of the royal court are counterfeits. He's not debating the existence of God, or questioning particular doctrines he was taught to memorize in childhood. He's doubting whether God's love is for him in that moment, whether God really is on his side, and whether God's care will support him. In other words, the point at which his faith is wobbly right now isn't a matter of incorrect theology, but about whether he can trust that the God he has always believed in is really still there for him.
I think for many of us, and certainly for a lot of folks in the watching world who struggle with faith and with organized religion in general, that's the real question. It's the question of whether God really is there for them--whether the God being preached about and sung to in hymns really loves them, accepts them, and cares for them. Without that core assurance, "You are beloved," it is very hard to keep giving out energy from yourself to love others. And without the deep confidence that God's love for you is unshakeable and unconditional, our spirits start to shrivel under the stifling power of fear.
So by the end of this episode in Elijah's life, it will be clear that what he really needs is not a theology textbook to explain philosophical answers of why there is suffering in the world or how God's plan works. Nor does Elijah just need more firepower and weapons to fight off the people he sees as his enemies. What he needs to keep going is the assurance from God that he is not alone, and that he remains beloved. That will give him the strength to keep on keeping on. (Good news: eventually that's what Elijah will get from God, just when he needs it, too!)
As we've been looking this month at how faith and love are related, I think this is something we need to hold onto for ourselves, too. Ultimately what gives us the courage to love others is the confidence that we ourselves are already beloved, without conditions or fine print. When we can trust reliably that God's love will not let us go, our own strength is renewed, so that we can keep caring for the people God sends across our path. And without that assurance, our hearts become hardened, and we become bitter, hostile, stingy, and apathetic. We dry out and deflate like, well, raisins.
All too often, we church folk talk about the importance of faith as the thing that "gets us into heaven." We can make it sound like faith is just a matter of memorizing answers so that we'll get accepted into the afterlife, like we're applying to get into an elite college in the sky. We can treat faith like it's only an investment in our location for after we die, but as if it doesn't mean anything for how we live right now. But I'm convinced from Elijah's experience in his dark night of the soul here that being able to trust God (which is really what faith is) is what either opens us up to joy, peace, and love... or what closes us off from them, and leaves us susceptible to dry rot of the soul. When I can't bring myself to trust God's love for me, I am a lot less likely to keep giving love to the world around me. But when I am grounded in the fact of God's deep care for me, I will find my own care for others keeps getting replenished like water coming up out of a spring that keeps filling the well.
Today, if you find yourself in one of those dry and shriveled times when you are running on empty, it's worth it to follow Elijah's example and be honest about it. We start with honesty, and it gives us the ability to get help when we need it, to see how we've been running on fumes, and to get re-grounded in God's love. That's why the heart of our Sunday worship services in the tradition from which I come are centered so consistently on the ways God's love and grace are communicated to us. We are centered on God's gifts of love to us at the table, and God's promise of love for us in the water and in the Word, because those are the places where God's own love is made new and made tangible for us, so that we will find courage again to keep loving and to keep serving.
What happens when fear cuts us off from the assurance of God's love? We do start to shrivel up like raisins in the sun.
Ah, but what happens when that love seeps in through the cracks and dry places in our parched souls to deepen our faith in the One who love us again? We come back to life, like the deserts bursting into bloom.
Lord God, assure us of your love so that we can continue to love others with renewed energy and resilience.
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