Left Behind...

 

“Left Behind”

 

2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14
2:1 Now when the LORD was about to take Elijah up to heaven by a whirlwind, Elijah and Elisha were on their way from Gilgal.

2:2 Elijah said to Elisha, "Stay here; for the LORD has sent me as far as Bethel." But Elisha said, "As the LORD lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you." So they went down to Bethel.

2:6 Then Elijah said to him, "Stay here; for the LORD has sent me to the Jordan." But he said, "As the LORD lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you." So the two of them went on.

2:7 Fifty men of the company of prophets also went, and stood at some distance from them, as they both were standing by the Jordan.

2:8 Then Elijah took his mantle and rolled it up, and struck the water; the water was parted to the one side and to the other, until the two of them crossed on dry ground.

2:9 When they had crossed, Elijah said to Elisha, "Tell me what I may do for you, before I am taken from you." Elisha said, "Please let me inherit a double share of your spirit."

2:10 He responded, "You have asked a hard thing; yet, if you see me as I am being taken from you, it will be granted you; if not, it will not."

2:11 As they continued walking and talking, a chariot of fire and horses of fire separated the two of them, and Elijah ascended in a whirlwind into heaven.

2:12 Elisha kept watching and crying out, "O Lord, O Lord! The chariots of Israel and its horsemen!" But when he could no longer see him, he grasped his own clothes and tore them in two pieces.

2:13 He picked up the mantle of Elijah that had fallen from him, and went back and stood on the bank of the Jordan.

2:14 He took the mantle of Elijah that had fallen from him, and struck the water, saying, "Where is the LORD, the God of Elijah?" When he had struck the water, the water was parted to the one side and to the other, and Elisha went over.

 

Rev. Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins co-authored a series of books and went on to create a multi-media empire around them. You may know them as the “Left Behind” series that used fear, glamour, and bad writing to conjecture what a world empire run by Revelation’s Anti-Christ might look like. This sermon has NOTHING to do with that.

 

Instead, let’s look at the colorful story from today’s scripture about the Elijah succession and his young apprentice, Elisha. First of all, it must have been extremely confusing for the people of that era to have someone succeed the great prophet, Elijah, with a name that sounded so much like his, especially if you had a lisp. And then we find out that Elisha was now brandishing his master’s mantle, which would have been even more confusing. 

 

For those of you who don’t know, a mantle is a kind of wind-breaking cape designed to ward off the cold. Given that these two were plying their trade in the deserts of the Mid-East, I’m guessing their regular wearing of it may have added to the prevailing view that they were a bit strange. In the United Methodist tradition, it has become a common practice to celebrate the ordaining of new Elders by symbolically “passing the mantle” to the newly minted generation of clergy. A retiring Elder cites this passage from II Kings, removes the mantle he has donned for the ceremony, and places it on the shoulders of an ordinand, who likewise responds with some allusion to this text. It would be much more dramatic if she or he could strike the lake (now that our Annual Conference is meeting right beside Lake Erie) and have it part, but the majesty of the brief ceremony must suffice. 

 

Incidentally, my class of ordinands chose the oldest member of our probationary class to receive the mantle, which raised the ire of the organizers of the mantle-passing, as the recipient was only a few years younger than the retiring pastor. Still, our class was known for kicking against the pricks, as Paul would say, and we prevailed. 

 

That Elijah left earth on a fiery chariot certainly kept up the special effects he initiated on Mount Carmel that consumed more than just the attention of the prophets of Baal. I guess we could say that Elijah was a bit of a firebug. 

 

From my reading about him, I would also say Elijah was a victim of bipolar disorder. In his manic moments, he obliterated 850 of his detractors in a flash of heaven-fire. In his depressive ones, he hid in a cave and feared that he alone was left to speak for God. Without medication, it took God’s best efforts to even things out for him, but honestly, much as we Methodists witnessed in John Wesley, this vacillating between the highs and lows does generate a passion that can drive a movement. It can be real hard on their subordinates, though.

 

For Elisha, who was about to be left behind as Elijah’s successor, it was quite a challenge. How do you follow Elijah’s act? The easy answer would be to say, simply, “Stay faithful to the Lord God and follow God’s lead.” Unless you are one of those people who claim to hear God’s voice clearly or take the Bible very literally, such faith-based prompts may be a little hard to follow. Besides, as God has made us each unique creatures, it stands to reason that an important part of succession is to put our personal stamp—we Methodists might say our “gifts and graces”—on our work. And since we Methodists still attempt to keep an itinerant clergy system alive, we are such mantle-passers that any of my colleagues can certainly identify with Elisha in this story. Way too many of my clergy friends have rode off with the mantle, leaving the church burning, instead. When your first act of ministry in a new appointment is putting out a conflagration ignited or at least fanned by your predecessor, it’s hard to build street cred with the congregation when you’re dousing flames amidst all the singeing and smoke, and when you emerge looking like Eppie just leaving the “tole hole.” 

 

Then there are others who try so hard to offer the mantle to their successor, but it is the “new Elisha” who refuses it, wanting instead to carve their own path. While this is not necessarily bad, sometimes this methodology involves “cleaning house” with church leadership, and even being less than gracious in appraising a predecessor’s achievements. This, too, may serve more to alienate than to foster a smooth transition in leadership. 

 

Prophets prior to Elijah, for example, Moses, were predominantly focused on the people they served. Remember how many times Moses lobbied for the people even against God, who was mad enough at them to “do evil” against them? Elijah’s reign as prophet represented a bit of a sea change in the role, with the emphasis being more on speaking for God, often against the behavior or attitude of the people. Interestingly, while Elisha continues the speaking role of the prophet like his mentor, he does return to using his “power” to do miracles and perform healings for the people of God. In essence, his successorship melds together the Moses and Elijah modes of prophetic ministry.

 

Elisha’s inspired moment was asking for a “double share” of Elijah’s spirit. This acknowledged both Elisha’s respect for the ministry of his mentor, and made clear to God that he was more than happy to continue speaking for God in the manner of Elijah. He was not going to go all postal about being his “own man” or demanding that Israel now look to HIM, rather than the recently departed prophet. On one hand, he was putting both the transition and the continuity of the work in God’s hand, and yet on the other, he was about to personally and gladly receive a symbol of authority that he would wear and use proudly. Elisha was a smart person.

 

Several times in my 36 years of ministry I was appointed to follow long-term, well-liked clergy leaders. One of these was Dr. Don Scandrol, who was also one of my chosen “soft mentors,” early on. (“Soft mentor” means that I chose to observe them and learn from their ministry at a distance, based on my assessment that they were highly effective in their craft.) While some of the staff knew me at Coraopolis UMC, I was an unknown quantity to most, so on my first Sunday, the place was full, and the collective eye of the congregation glared upon me. I began my sermon with this story:

 

A funny thing happened to me as I arrived at the church this morning. I went to my new office, unlocked the door, and tried to open it. It opened a few inches, but then acted like it was blocked. As the music director was passing by, he asked if there was a problem. I said, “Yes, I can’t get the door to my office open. It feels like there is a sofa up against it, or something.” “OH,” he exclaimed, “That’s just a pair of Don’s SHOES he left for you to fill!”

 

The congregation burst into laughter, but it was a measured laugh, signaling relief, more than a hearty endorsement. Still, it let them know that I would not be competing with Dr. Don.

 

A number of years later, I would be appointed as the lead pastor of a large congregation in the North Hills of Pittsburgh. What was significant—and challenging—about this appointment was that I would be the successor to a lead pastor who was ALSO a mentor to me, as I had served as one of his associate pastors in that same church, when he was appointed there 22 years before. The good news was that my five years on staff in that church had been well-received and productive, both as viewed by the congregation and my mentor, the lead pastor. The bad news was that, while some of the staff and half the congregation already knew and accepted me, the other half were uninitiated. On top of that, Dr. Ron’s 22 years were extraordinary, and part of my charge was to find a way to regularly acknowledge the priceless contribution his ministry had made to this congregation without seeming patronizing. 

 

Summer at a large, suburban church is kind of hit and miss, so my first real opportunity to speak to the “elephant in the room” mantle-passing happened at our huge “kickoff” picnic and outdoor worship service the week after Labor Day. Again, it was a packed house (field behind the church, actually), and that congregational cyclops eye was upon me. Remember that I had already been serving the church for almost two months by this time, and here is how I began that important sermon:

 

Since arriving back at St. Paul’s as your lead pastor in July, I’ve had this strange feeling or sensation that I just couldn’t put my finger on. While so many of you have already made Dara and me feel welcome, and while the Leadership Team has been wonderful in accepting me to the table, there was just something “off” about it. This week, as I was working on this sermon, it hit me: Like so many of you, I have never known St. Paul’s without Ron Hoellein. It’s a new and unsettling experience for me.

 

There was literally a collective, startled “sigh” from the hundreds gathered. There was again an awkward, yet motivating moment of bonding that occurred. In the following weeks, I received a number of notes of affirmation to this acknowledgement, but more than that, it spurred many conversations of how Dr. Hoellein’s ministry had touched persons’ lives. They felt “safe” to share these stories with me, and it became part of our transition “healing” together. I’m guessing the Cabinet and the Bishop felt “safe” in their assessment of my attitudes and “style,” that I would not be stunted by serving in the shadow of the legacy of my predecessor. I was not.

 

I included these stories not to bulk up the sermon, but to illustrate ways we can learn from these wonderful biblical stories. I learned from Elisha. Rather than stew over having to follow a “legend,” I asked for a “double share” of the Spirit that made them successful! And when your predecessor’s mantle falls—note that we have no indication in the story regarding whether this was intentional or not, and if intentional, on whose part—Elisha proudly picks it up and “bookends” the experience by performing the same miracle Elijah did with it earlier in the story.

 

Pastors can learn from Elisha, but so can others. How many times have you been asked—or forced—to follow someone whose legacy was evident? It could have been in your career, or an older sibling, or when you were elected an officer in your church. Look to Elisha to get a few clues as to how to handle the transition. 

 

And if YOU are the one who is handing off the mantle, take a few lessons from Jesus who spent three years preparing his little band of disciples to continue the work of the gospel. He kept lifting them up, even when they were clueless; encouraging them when they came back from a failed mission experience; and correcting them with love when they blew the easy answer to one of his questions. And at the end of the Gospel of John, he challenges them to “Feed my lambs,” while predicting that they would do GREATER THINGS than he did when he “goes back to God.” Plan for your OWN succession with the motivation that the success of the one who follows you will be both a boon to the organization and a feather in your cap, not a negative reflection on what you accomplished in the role.

 

Finally, there is the issue of the attitude you project. Elisha did not act like he was going to be LEFT BEHIND by Elijah’s exit, but instead, that he would take the baton of Elijah’s ministry and RUN with it. How we approach the inevitable transitions we face in life makes all the difference. 

 

Even God manages to keep a positive attitude about the future of the church. Our own denomination is facing a transition that has the potential to either ruin the legacy of United Methodism or multiply it. Our attitude will make all the difference, but on God’s part, Jesus said “…the gates of hell will not prevail” against the church. That’s forward looking, isn’t it? If the schism most are predicting in the United Methodist Church occurs, two or more mantles may fall. The successors to United Methodism may either choose to use the mantle to part the waters and journey forward, or wrap themselves in it to steel them against the cold, hide in a cave, and gripe that they alone are left. Will we ask for a double share of the Spirit of those who preceded us? Or will we just feel left behind? The choice, like it was for Elisha, is ours to make. Amen.