"What Are You Doing Here?" (June 28, 2026 Sermon)

What Are You Doing Here?

Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing·June 28, 2026·Guilford Park Presbyterian Church

5th Sunday after Pentecost (Year A)

---

1 Kings 19:1–18

Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, “So may the gods do to me and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.” Then he was afraid; he got up and fled for his life and came to Beer-sheba, which belongs to Judah; he left his servant there.

But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die, “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, “Get up and eat.” He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water. He ate and drank and lay down again. The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, “Get up and eat, or the journey will be too much for you.” He got up and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God. At that place he came to a cave and spent the night there.

Then the word of the Lord came to him, 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.”

He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind, and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake, and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire, and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “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.” Then the Lord said to him, “Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus; when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king over Aram. Also you shall anoint Jehu son of Nimshi as king over Israel, and you shall anoint Elisha son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah as prophet in your place. Whoever escapes from the sword of Hazael, Jehu shall kill, and whoever escapes from the sword of Jehu, Elisha shall kill. Yet I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him.”

---

Alright, friends, I’m stepping out of the pulpit today for a slightly different kind of sermon. I spent some quiet time for myself this past week in Montreat at the Music and Worship Conference. I took time to breathe in God’s mercies for myself and breathe them out for others, and I spent a lot more time listening to other people’s sermons than writing my own. So today we get what I like to call “hopefully not too random thoughts from Pastor Stephen,” as we wrap up this first part of our sermon series through the books of First and Second Kings.

So first, let us pray. O Lord, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable and pleasing in your sight, O Lord, our rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

Naming Faith Fatigue

How many of you know what faith fatigue feels like? Maybe you’re not quite sure what that means, but you probably have a pretty good guess. This phrase was coined in a sermon I heard this past week by the Reverend Dr. Brian Blount, president emeritus of Union Seminary in Richmond, Virginia. He talked about faith fatigue — that feeling I trust you all share with me. When we look out at the world and see all the faithful things we try to do, in our own perfectly imperfect way, both as individuals following Christ and together as a church seeking to follow Jesus and to be agents of good change in the world — yet things don’t seem to be going in a very good direction.

We see a lot of people hurting, a lot of people suffering, a lot of people scared. We go out and do our best, and yet we watch as Haitian immigrants who have done nothing wrong — who have come here legally — are told by this presidential administration that they are expected to be deported. That broke my heart this week. We look out and see so much injustice in the world, and we wonder, “Lord, why are we here? How is it that we try, in our best way, to advocate for our neighbors — our immigrant neighbors, our neighbors experiencing homelessness — and yet there is still so much brokenness in the world?” We just want to run away.

Do you ever have that feeling? Because your pastor is here to tell you that he feels this way, and I’m guessing you do too, from time to time.

Elijah Runs

And you know what? There was a prophet in the Bible named Elijah who felt that way too. You may remember last week we recalled the story of Elijah standing up to the powers that were leading the Israelites into idolatry. He challenged the prophets of Baal at Mount Carmel in a great showdown in which both sides tried to call down fire from heaven. The prophets of Baal tried in vain — Baal didn’t show up. Then Elijah stepped forward and said, “Okay, God, time to do your thing.” And guess what? God showed up. Because we worship a God who shows up.

Well, Ahab and Jezebel were not very happy about that. In fact, Jezebel put a price on Elijah’s head. So guess what Elijah did? He ran. Elijah said, “I am out. I have worked so hard for justice, equity, and righteousness, and all I have gotten in return is a price on my head.” And so Elijah fled to a place called Mount Horeb, feeling tired, faith-fatigued, and despondent — so despondent that his prayer to God was that God would simply let him die.

And in that moment, an angel of God shows up with a message that is essentially this: “You need a nap and a snack.” That is exactly what the angel provides — rest, a freshly baked cake, and some fresh water. Take some time for yourself. And so Elijah does, sustained by that provision through 40 days and 40 nights in the silence, recovering and rejuvenating. Does that sound familiar? We are all entitled to a bit of a pity party from time to time, aren’t we?

After those 40 days and 40 nights, a great wind comes by. But was God in the wind? No. Then an earthquake shatters the ground. Was God in the earthquake? No. Then a great fire comes by. Was God in the fire? No. God was in a still, small, quiet voice — and that voice said to Elijah a very simple sentence: “What are you doing here?”

An Invitation, Not a Rebuke

Now, we could read that in any number of ways. We could read it as God shaming Elijah. But I don’t think that’s how God meant it. I think God was inviting Elijah into personal reflection — the kind we all need from time to time. Because we all need rest. We fight the good fight. We try to join the work of bending the moral arc of the universe, which moves stubbornly slow but is bending nonetheless. And sometimes we need time to be quiet, to reflect, to rejuvenate ourselves before we get back to the good fight of faith.

That is the question God asked Elijah: What are you doing here? After Elijah had taken the time he needed, God gave him new marching orders: I’m going to appoint you to anoint others. Though it’s not in this text, the very next thing God calls Elijah to do is to go and find another prophet named Elisha — to call him to share the mantle of leadership. Because what God is saying to Elijah, in the midst of so much violence, injustice, and pain, is this: I called you to do something, but I never called you to do it alone. So I’m going to raise up Elisha to help you carry the mantle of doing justice, walking humbly, and doing kindness.

A Relay, Not a Solo Marathon

Because, friends, one of the things I heard in the silence I took for myself this week — again, from that sermon by Reverend Dr. Brian Blount — is that the race of faith is not a solo marathon. It is a relay race. Sometimes we are out there fighting the fight. Sometimes, like Elijah, we take time for ourselves to care for our spirits — to take a nap and a snack. And then there is time to get back out there and take up the baton again.

The good news is that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses who have run this race and are passing the baton to us. You and I will carry it, and we may not see this race finished in our lifetime. But that is the life of faith — a time when you and I will hand that baton off to the next generation.

Finding the Geese

So, friends, that is the message I want you to hear today: find that still, small voice, because it is looking for you wherever you are. I’ll tell you where I found it this week. Our house in southeast Guilford County has a pond in the back, and three families of geese have made our backyard their home. We have about two dozen geese that my family has loved watching grow over the past two months. They come to our house every day around five or six o’clock — I could set my watch by it. I’m not crazy about what they leave behind — watch your step if you come to visit — but we absolutely love watching these baby geese grow up.

A week or two ago, we had a huge storm. Thanks be to God, because we needed the rain. The thunder was loud and scary, and it especially frightened our girls. I took Winnie outside and said, “Look at the geese.” They were just hanging out, calm and still, doing their thing — quiet as could be while the very heavens were thundering all around them. And I said to her: “Look, there is the still, small voice of God, right in the middle of all the craziness and the noise.”

So, friends, look for your geese — whatever those metaphorical geese might be for you — and trust that that still, small voice will call you to where God is calling you to be.

Because the good news of this text is that things do not go well for Ahab and Jezebel. They both die. Jezebel gets thrown out of a window. Does anybody know the word for that? Defenestrated. One of my favorite words. And Elijah? He eventually gets carried off to heaven in a chariot. Maybe we will see those glorious days when the chariot comes, and maybe we won’t. But we continue the work.

As we close every worship service here at Guilford Park, remember: we are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are we free to abandon it. Listen to that still, small voice, friends. It is calling you to where God is calling you this day.

In the name of God — Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer — may all of us, God’s beloved children, say: Amen.

"The God Who Shows Up" (June 21, 2026 Sermon)

The God Who Shows Up

Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing·June 21, 2026·Guilford Park Presbyterian Church

4th Sunday after Pentecost (Year A)

1 Kings 18:20–40

So Ahab sent to all the Israelites and assembled the prophets at Mount Carmel. 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. 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. 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. 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!” 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.” 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. 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.” Then they cried aloud, and, as was their custom, they cut themselves with swords and lances until the blood gushed out over them. 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.

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; 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”; 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. 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.” 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, so that the water ran all around the altar and filled the trench also with water.

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. 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.” 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. When all the people saw it, they fell on their faces and said, “The Lord indeed is God; the Lord indeed is God.” Elijah said to them, “Seize the prophets of Baal; do not let one of them escape.” Then they seized them, and Elijah brought them down to the Wadi Kishon and killed them there.

Rain, Drought, and Divided Allegiance

Glory, glory, hallelujah! It rained a few days ago! I don’t know about y’all, but my poor yard is about as parched as the Sahara at the moment. Our region of North Carolina is in a severe drought, one that I’m told would require approximately 15 inches of rain over the span of a month to end! So when it finally rained a substantial amount at our house last Thursday evening, Winnie got scared of the thunder while she was trying to sleep. I invited her to join me on the front porch of our home, where we have half a dozen rocking chairs. Together, we sat and listened to the rain, watched the lightning, and marveled at the thunder, as I tried to show Winnie that such a storm is a beautiful thing our world needs for our plants and trees to grow and flourish.

Though our drought has only been going on for a few months, the drought in today’s passage had gone on for more than three years! The text gives us a clear reason for it, too: the Israelites, under the leadership of King Ahab, began to worship a pagan idol named Baal. As a reminder, last week we observed the split of Israel into two kingdoms, with Solomon’s son Rehoboam arrogantly ostracizing his constituents to the point of rebellion. Jeroboam and ten of the tribes of Israel seceded from the monarchy and became “Israel” in the northern territories, while Rehoboam and the remainder of the people became “Judah” in the southern territories. Today’s story concerns the events in the northern nation of Israel since last week’s passage.

Jeroboam’s reign lasted 22 years and was followed by a series of rather unremarkable, short-lived reigns. Fast-forward to 869 BCE, and the worst of them arrives, a man named Ahab. Scripture doesn’t hold back its disdain for his leadership. 1 Kings 16:33 says unceremoniously: “Ahab did more to provoke the anger of the Lord, the God of Israel, than had all the kings of Israel that were before him.” This was largely because Ahab took for himself a wife named Jezebel, who was the daughter of King Ethbaal of the Sidonians. The Sidonians worshiped a pagan idol named Baal, the god of fertility. And, unsurprisingly, Jezebel brought with her the religion of her home, and King Ahab led the Israelites away from worshiping God and instead turned their devotion to Baal.

Needless to say, God did not take kindly to this turn of events. The first commandment is pretty clear, and the Israelites (not for the first time, mind you!) seemed to have forgotten it. So God brought forth a prophet to set the record straight and return the Israelites to faithfulness. His name was Elijah, a Tishbite. His first face-to-face encounter with Ahab is one I’ve always found humorous. Elijah runs into Ahab while Ahab is literally walking around looking for water for his people, because things have gotten that desperate. It’s an absurd notion that when a drought gets so bad, the king himself has no better idea than to wander around looking for water. Apparently, Elijah’s reputation preceded him, because the first thing King Ahab says to him is, “Is it you, you troubler of Israel?” Here, I want to pause to acknowledge this thing called “projection.” Projection is a psychological term for the phenomenon of one person accusing another of something they themselves are guilty of. For example, a corrupt politician might accuse someone else of corruption as a way to detract from…their own corruption! Ahab calling Elijah a “troubler of Israel” is ironic, as the text is very clear that the drought and resulting famine are a divine indictment of Ahab’s sinfulness, not of Elijah. Elijah, however, will have none of it and simply replies to Ahab, “I have not troubled Israel; you have troubled Israel.” This is, of course, the very first Biblical record of that famous comeback, ‘I know you are, but what am I?’

The Contest on Mount Carmel

And so begins one of the most famous showdowns in all of scripture. Elijah challenges Ahab to a contest at a place called Mt. Carmel. The rules are simple. Ahab is to bring his prophets of Baal, and Elijah will represent God, and we’ll see which god wins. And so they do just that. On one side of the duel is Ahab with 450 “prophets” of Baal. And on the other side, all by himself, is Elijah representing “Team Yahweh.” Two altars are built, one for each team. Each altar has a slaughtered bull on top, and each team takes turns asking their god to send fire from the heavens to ignite the altar. Elijah graciously offers Ahab and his Baal friends the first turn. But before the contest formally begins, Elijah invites the Israelites to abandon their worship of Baal before things get nasty. “How long will you go limping with two different opinions?” he says. “If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal, then follow him.” Basically, Elijah tells them to stop trying to have their cake and eat it, too. They are trying to worship whichever god benefits them in any given moment, and he prophetically reminds them that that’s not how this works. God is a jealous God and does not take kindly to the Israelites playing both sides of the fence. Yes, indeed, friends, there is a time for compromise! But Elijah reminds us that there is also a time to take sides, a time to let our “yes” be “yes” and our “no” be “no.”

And it is worth pausing here to note that Joshua said something very similar long before Elijah ever showed up at Mount Carmel. “Now if you are unwilling to serve the Lord,” Joshua told the Israelites, “choose this day whom you will serve… but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.” Friends, the limping of divided allegiance is as old as the people of God themselves. Every generation has had to reckon with the same question: when it comes to whom we actually serve, where does our loyalty finally land?

But Ahab doesn’t heed Elijah’s final warning, and so the contest begins. For hours, the prophets of Baal try to get Baal to show up. They “limp” around the altar in a comical pagan dance, hoping to lure Baal into bringing down the fire they need as proof of Baal’s superiority. But the “limping” doesn’t do the trick. In desperation, the prophets draw their swords and begin cutting themselves, hoping that spilled blood will prompt their idol to act. But, lo and behold, nothing seems to work. And then Elijah decides to rub salt in their wounded pride by taunting them with a little bit of potty humor. Elijah mocks them with the following statement: “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.” Now, one of those phrases is a Hebrew euphemism for what someone would say when they had to step away and “relieve” themselves. So Elijah feels pretty confident that God will win this contest.

In fact, he is so confident that he instructs the Israelites to douse his altar with water first. And if that wasn’t enough, he tells them to do it a second time, and even a third; he wants to make sure that what is about to happen cannot be mistaken for a trick or an illusion. Finally, Elijah lifts his hands to the heavens and asks Yahweh to establish his divine authority and to prove to the Israelites, once again, that the first commandment is the first commandment for a reason. And sure enough, fire immediately rains down from heaven, swallowing the whole altar and even licking up every ounce of water that had been poured upon it!

The conclusion of the contest is, at the same time, predictable, bloody, and swift. The Israelites, unsurprisingly, have a change of heart. Elijah orders the slaughter of the 450 prophets of Baal. King Ahab flees to his wife, Jezebel, and the three-year drought immediately ends. The fire from the heavens has been replaced by water that had been divinely withheld for such a dangerously long time.

Where Does Our Loyalty Land?

But at a deeper level, this dramatic scene reminds me of what remains true to this day: we all tend to “play the field” and — both knowingly and unknowingly — split our allegiance among different gods. We do this all the time:

We say “blessed are the peacemakers,” but fund the largest military apparatus in human history without blinking.

We pray “forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors” while participating in an economy that is designed to keep people in endless cycles of debt.

We confess that the earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, but treat creation as a resource to be extracted rather than a gift to be tended.

We affirm that every person is made in the image of God, but we build systems that sort people by their economic usefulness.

We baptize our children into a community that transcends borders, but let nationalism determine who we think deserves dignity.

We call Jesus “Lord,” but reserve our deepest loyalty for whichever party or politician promises to protect what we already have or bring back what we’ve lost.

You see, the Hebrew word for ‘limping’ is pesach (פָָסַח), and it really means the inability to walk straight and upright. Before I go any further with that image, though, I want to pause and say something clearly: if you are someone who walks with a limp, lives with a disability, or whose body simply moves through the world differently than others, Elijah is not talking about you. Not even a little bit. In fact, look at what the prophets of Baal are actually doing in this scene — they are choosing to limp. They are performing it theatrically as a kind of desperate religious theater, mimicking a posture of vulnerability to curry favor with a god who cannot hear them. Elijah isn’t condemning disability. He’s condemning its cynical performance in the service of a lie. The ‘limping’ he mentions is a limping of the soul, a divided loyalty of the heart — and it is chosen, not given. So when I use the word ‘limping’ this morning, I am using it the way Elijah does: as a metaphor for the condition of people who know exactly who God is yet still can’t quite bring themselves to act like it.

Thus, today’s passage invites us to reflect on the places in our lives where we are metaphorically “limping.” We “limp” whenever we say one thing and do another. We “limp” whenever we pay lip service to one god but then turn around and give our money, our trust, or our vote to another. We “limp” when predominantly white institutions post on social media, celebrating Juneteenth while failing to actively dismantle policies and procedures that perpetuate racist systems. There are many ways we can fall into these postures, some we understand and others we may be blissfully unaware of.

God Is Faithful; Droughts Come to an End

But there is good news in this text. And that good news is this: if the Israelites’ “limping” serves as a metaphor for their unfaithfulness, then we likewise affirm that God is always faithful. In the whole Old Testament, that verb is used only to describe human behavior, never God’s. God is faithful; full stop. God is faithful to neighborliness. God is faithful to the poor and the downtrodden. God is faithful to the immigrant, the stranger, the gay kid, the broke single mother of two trying to make ends meet, and the farmer who works so hard to feed others that they can barely feed their own family. God is faithful amid the droughts and crises of our own making, and amid the violence of our patterns of complicity. Through all of it, God is faithful.

Friends, there is a time to compromise. There is a time to “meet in the middle.” But there is also a time to make a choice, a time to acknowledge that our capacity for allegiance is a finite resource and that “limping” around has deadly consequences.

And so here is the other piece of good news in this text: droughts come to an end. Last Thursday, as I sat on our front porch with my youngest daughter watching the rain come down and the thunder shake the very ground, I was reminded that droughts come to an end. They come to an end when we collectively choose to stop “limping” between allegiances and strive to live out our faith in ways that serve both God and neighbor — when we dare, as the prophet Amos dreamed it, to let justice roll down like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.