Double Double
2 Kings 2:1-12; Mark 9:2-9

February 26, 2006


We prefer a “high place” to run into the holy. Churches in many places are constructed on top of a hill, and it is no accident we are still sitting here on the second floor. The Old Testament refers often to the high places where the Canaanites worshiped their fertility gods and goddesses. There were those odd saints in the Christian era, such as Simeon Stylites, who sat for years high upon a pillar. And when Elijah had to go, he went up, up high in a phenomenal chariot of fire until Elisha could see him no more.

That’s what religious faith is all about, eh? Having a mountain top experience that is indescribable and ineffable, so removed from mundane existence that it can never lose its purity allows you to dream in it for the rest of your life and never have to change a thing.

Religious language and thinking has a habit that when the going gets tough, when it becomes more and more difficult to describe the precise nature of a human being’s encounter with God, the way we tell the story becomes less and less tangible. Some call it mythological or mystical, others parabolic, and still others call it a fairy tale. It’s what we do afterwards with such tales that counts.

The disciples figured they already knew all about Jesus - about his teaching and preaching, about his healing and driving out of demons, about his being able to stand up to the powers-that-be of religion and politics. That was important stuff, after all, the very public displays that Jesus was bringing about the kingdom of God.

But Jesus knew that for every human being there is something a lot more important than one’s CV. You are more than you do. It was up a high mountain that he dragged Peter, James and John to show them something more, something deeper. No explanatory introductions about what was going to happen, no warnings. Suddenly, everything changed. They saw all of Jesus.

But how do you describe seeing All of a person? The face and body are familiar, the voice and accent, the accomplishments and the attitudes, the failures and inadequacies. When it is said that “he/she surprised me,” it is usually because he or she said or did something not predictable, revealed some aspect of that person you could not see or comprehend. Thank God I never get to know the last thing about you.

All Peter, James and John could remember was brightness, blinding light, in which Jesus became something more than they could imagine. This was the same kind of phenomenon as Moses bumping into the Burning Bush and Elijah ascending out of this life in a chariot of fire. And there were Moses and Elijah in deep conversation with Jesus. Never did hear what they were talking about. Their minds were boggled. Peter was the talker in the bunch, so he blurted out about setting up three chapels or some kind of special seats for these three, but then he was interrupted. “This is my Son,” a voice came out of the thick cloud, “Listen to him.” It was baptism in the Jordan déja vu all over again. God had spoken and they had heard. Then in a flash, everything was normal, if anything could be normal again. Only Jesus was still there. How could they ever look at Jesus in the same way again? I betcha anybody giving Jesus some sass got a tongue-lashing from one or all three at once. We know that the three of them did not live in the same old way after this.

Elijah didn’t die, he just had finished all he would be doing. Somehow everybody seemed to know that this was the day. Elisha sticks to him like glue, sensing his mentor’s intensity and determination. This is no time for half-measures, as Elijah keeps trying to get rid of the student at Bethel, in Jericho, at the Jordan, but Elisha is a true believer and will not let go. At each place the prophets run out to Elisha and ask him if he knows what day it is, and Elisha nods yes, “but keep silent.” When you encounter the deep matters of God the best idea is not to talk, but to keep silent, whether you are walking with Jesus or with Elijah.

They came to the Jordan and Elijah slapped his coat on the waters. Walking across on dry ground, a routine event for the God-possessed of Israel, Elijah knows Elisha needs something. A double portion of the spirit of God possessing Elijah was all he wanted. Elijah knew he had no control or right to hand something like that over to anyone. If you see me being taken away, you will have it. Elisha sees the impossible, seeing all of Elijah being taken up in that fiery chariot. “I looked over Jordan and what did I see, coming for to carry me home? A band of angels coming after me, coming for to carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home.”

Elisha did receive a double double. Being a tea person, I had to look up what that means in the Canadian context. Elisha slaps Elijah’s coat back across the dry bed of the Jordan, and from that point it is almost mathematical how Elisha performs similar feats to his teacher, but in double time, double shares, for twice as many people. He was never the same afterwards: he was twice as much.

These are not stories or models of behaviour you and I can run out onto the street and put into practice with the next person we meet. Yet you are changed by someone who lives and acts with integrity and who survives a brush with God. There is no way to say it right.

I’ve run across several references recently to the book and movie “To Kill a Mockingbird.” A recent survey asking for the most memorable character in American film chose Atticus Finch, the white lawyer played by Gregory Peck, who defended a black man wrongly accused of the rape of a white woman in a small Southern town. In the end he lost the case against the forces of Jim Crow, but his passion and compassion, energy and fervour with which he conducted the defense - and his tremendous dignity even in defeat - earned him the deep respect of the black community.

At the end of the trial, everyone else had left except Finch, who is putting together his briefcase of papers, and the balcony full of the town’s black people, and one young white girl, Scout Finch, Atticus’ daughter. As Finch is turning to leave, one of the elders in the balcony turns and says, “Stand up, Miss Scout, stand up!” “What for?” she asks? “Your father is passing by,” he said as the whole balcony comes silently to its feet.

There was reverence that we seldom see any more. Atticus Finch was not identified as a religious man, but any person who has fought for truth and justice on behalf of an unfavoured human being cannot be but lingering near the divine presence. I do not believe there are any fewer Atticus Finches around, but it’s sadly the case that we have lost the ability to see them as they walk by. We prefer to cut down every leader and every person of accomplishment and chop them up into pieces that are less than human. Like those walking with Jesus and Elijah and Atticus, we need to keep silent and see All the person, not just his failings and foibles or her spectacular and famous deeds.

This is not a popular or even politically correct thing to do. Many will caution you against having any reverence for any human being as a breeding ground for arrogance and demagoguery. The point of these surreal tales is that God is not in the high heaven, but permeating our pores as human beings, transfiguring not only the Jesus-es and Elijahs, but the Atticus Finches and Nelson Mandelas, and I am certain you can name at least one more. God is contagious and catching; God catches you, is made flesh and dwells among us.

Preached by Robert Kitchen
Knox-Metropolitan United Church
Regina, Saskatchewan