Elijah went a day’s journey into the desert,
until he came to a broom tree and sat beneath it.
He prayed for death saying:
“This is enough, O LORD!
Take my life, for I am no better than my fathers.”
He lay down and fell asleep under the broom tree,
but then an angel touched him and ordered him to get up and eat.
Elijah looked and there at his head was a hearth cake
and a jug of water.
After he ate and drank, he lay down again,
but the angel of the LORD came back a second time,
touched him, and ordered,
“Get up and eat, else the journey will be too long for you!”
He got up, ate, and drank;
then strengthened by that food,
he walked forty days and forty nights to the mountain of God, Horeb.
The angel doesn’t come when you’re feeling all right.
He doesn’t come when the whole congregation is feeling the spirit. Not when the music is especially good and everyone is roaring the hymn at the top of their lungs. Not when the leader prays over you and you fall over backwards. Not when the signs and wonders are everywhere, and you feel as if you’re living in the Days of Elijah. God has so little to do with that.
The angel comes when you journey in the desert.
He comes when you’ve collapsed under the broom tree, listless, exhausted, wanting to end it all because you are no better than your ancestors. Your ancestors heard the voice of God at Sinai in the desert, and then they didn’t hear Him anymore. You wanted to be better then they, but you’re not.
The Lord only told you, “Go, show yourself to Ahab, and I will send rain upon the earth.” He didn’t say anything else. You just had to show yourself to Ahab, and you did. And now you want to die, but you can’t. The angel won’t leave you alone.
Your ancestors ate manna in the desert, and you are no better than your ancestors. Here’s bread in the desert. Wake up and eat. Here’s water where there wasn’t any water. Moses also got water where there wasn’t any, but he struck the rock instead of speaking to it gently. The water came out just the same, because the people were thirsty, but Moses was barred from entering Canaan for that show of force. You are no better than Moses. You poured out buckets of water on an altar, which God didn’t say anything about; all God said was “Go, show yourself to Ahab, and I will send rain upon the earth.” You set up this challenge with the prophets of Baal, and you soaked the altar with precious water they’d been storing up in the terrible drought. The fire came from Heaven when the Lord had planned to send the rain, because that was what you asked for. Then you took part in a mob and did what mobs do, which was also your idea.
That was when the rain showed up, but by then you were a wanted man. The terrible queen wanted to murder you just as you’d done to her prophets, just as she’d tried to do to all the prophets of the Lord, so if holy Obadiah hadn’t hidden them, they’d all be dead. You ran for your life, and saved it, but you don’t want to live anymore. You’re in the desert, instead of enjoying the rain.
You collapsed under the broom tree and prayed for death. If you can’t die, you at least want to sleep, but the angel of the Lord won’t let you.
“”Get up and eat, else the journey will be too long for you!”
Oh Lord, it’s already so long.
You eat and drink, and journey forty days to Mount Horeb, to a cave.
“What are you doing here, Elijah?”
What kind of a question is that?
The Lord knows why you’re there.
You are there because you are no better than your ancestors.
You are there because the queen wants to kill you.
You are there because the angel wouldn’t let you die.
“Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord.”
That’s not fair. You just found the cave. But you do as you’re told. And you feel the wind knocking you over and the earthquake breaking you to dust, and then the fire falls just like it fell on your altar, but this time you’re not fooled. You wait for the still, small voice. The still, small voice is the voice of God.
The word of God is the same as before you went to the mountain.
“What are you doing here, Elijah?”
And you tell Him how bad it is and everything you’ve done.
And the Lord speaks to you.
It doesn’t happen when you’re feeling all right.
It happens when you journey in the desert.
Mary Pezzulo is the author of Meditations on the Way of the Cross, The Sorrows and Joys of Mary, and Stumbling into Grace: How We Meet God in Tiny Works of Mercy.
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