Okay. Bear with me. The Old Religious Guy is not always given to cogent thought. Sometimes with an abundance of Biblical imagery and/or world events swirling around in my middle-aged brain, it's hard for me to sort out a cohesive message. So I beg your indulgence.
Anyway...
Like many Americans, I was very sorry to learn of the death last weekend of pop diva Whitney Houston. The tragedy of an early demise notwithstanding, it is somewhat gratifying to know that the American public has a forgiving nature. Ms. Houston is being celebrated for her phenominal vocal range and expression and her contribution to contemporary music. The rather embarrassing details of her personal life are being overlooked in the face of her death, and that is as it should be. We want to remember the glimpse of glory--however brief it may have been.
But such is the nature of glory: It's always gone before we realize how wonderful the moment really is. An older colleague from my days as a college instructor once told me, "Owen, it is sad for me to think that there's no Fred Astair in this world anymore. There's no Cary Grant." I guess he was nostalgic for an age of elegance he felt had vanished with the deaths of those gentlemen whom he named. I recall another great mentor of mine saying, "The twentieth century will truly be over when Frank Sinatra dies."
The bright lights go out, one by one. But time goes on...
What am I nostalgic for, you ask? Sometimes I feel that the neighborhood churches of my childhood are rapidly becoming a thing of the past. I see them closing, one by one. Society is changing, and pretty soon these little religious communities of 100 or 200 worshipers will disolve into tiny house churches or be swallowed into mega churches. Parishes like the ones in which I grew up and the one which I now pastor will go the way of all flesh. And that will be sad.
But, hey! Time goes on...
All of the above puts me in mind of the Hebrew scripture lesson the Revised Common Lectionary has assigned for Transfiguration Sunday. It's 2Kings 2:1-12, and it's the story of the passing of the prophet Elijah. Elijah, if you will permit me, is the Frank Sinatra/Whitney Houston/Fred Astair of prophets. He's a mega rock star in the world of Hebrew holy men. There's never been anyone like him. He's called down fire from heaven, slain 400 prophets of Baal, prayed for and achieved a drought, multiplied food, and even raised the dead. He's withstood fire, earthquake, and hurricane, and he's found the presence of God in silence.
When we meet him in 2 Kings chapter 2, he's nearing the end of his ministry and is going on something of a farewell tour, accompanied by his faithful protege, Elisha. Elisha is devoted to the old guy, remembering his glory and tactfully forgetting Elijah's great talent for violence and self pity. Elijah tells the young prophet he need not accompany him on the whole tour, but Elsiha, who sees Elijah as a kind of father figure, won't desert his mentor. When other prophets tell Elisha that his boss isn't long for this world, Elisha gets a bit snippy with them--just as any of us might do when reminded of the uncomfortable fact of the imminent loss of someone we love.
When Elijah reaches the end and finally crosses the Jordan (literally in this case), he askes his companion if there's anything he can do for him before he goes to meet his maker. Elisha asks to receive the oldest son's portion of inheritance. That is, to be the successor. "Wow, kid. You don't know what you're asking for. But if you stick it out with me to the end, I guess you'll get the job."
And Elisha does. He sees God take the old man to heaven in a chariot of fire--a moment of glory both beautiful and exqusitely painful. It's always sad when the fire goes out. But Elisha, after an appropriate bit of mourning, crosses back over the Jordan to see what God will do next.
Sometimes it's the memory of glory that keeps us going. As with Peter, James, and John on the mount of the Transfiguration, we so often don't realize what we're experiencing when we're experiencing it. It's over too soon, and then we head back down the mountain, through the cloud, trusting that it will all make sense some day.
We've seen the glory of God. We trust we'll see it again. In the meantime, we heed the instruction to listen to Jesus and keep on going.
So thanks for checking in, my friends. May God bless you as you prepare for Lent. Remember the glory, and keep hopeful.
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