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