In fear for his life, Old Testament prophet, Elijah, fled from the evil machinations of Jezebel and into the wilderness whereupon he found a solitary broom tree. He sat beneath it and prayed for death, saying “Enough, Lord! Take my life, for I am no better than my ancestors” after which he reclined and fell asleep. He had had enough. In his mind, his best days were behind him and what remained of his life would certainly be a hard slog.
But this would not be the case.
No sooner than he slipped off into a slumber did a messenger touch him – an angel – and said, “Get up and eat!” The scripture continues, “He (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 said, ‘Get up and eat or the journey will be too much 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.”
As with so much scripture, a person could angle into this bit in a number of ways. What is of interest to me, dear listeners, is God’s response to what seems to be Elijah’s existential crisis. When the Old Testament prophet wants to throw in the towel, God says no. He has other plans. Elijah’s story is not over.
Likely many of us can relate to Elijah’s feelings of hopelessness. We are living, after all, in what might be described as a post-postmodern world with its massive fallout of meaninglessness. Society remains uprooted, and the scramble to make sense of our world and our lives plays out in a variety of contexts. It is mirrored back to us in our entertainment. It is the reason so many self-medicate or claim rightly or not some psychological disorder. If we are lucky, we find God, but the truth remains that even the churched among us struggle. We may have a foothold and a firm grasp, but the wind still blows hard in our faces, blurring our vision, inciting some fear.
In the Catholic Church, a believer who is in danger of death can receive what is called the viaticum. Essentially, it is a part of the Last Rites; it is the final time the believer receives the Holy Eucharist. For you non-Catholics, that is the little wafer believers consume during Communion. The term comes from the Latin word, “viaticum,” which means “provisions for a journey.” Accordingly, one’s story does not end with the passing from this life to the next; it is merely beginning.
Perhaps Elijah’s story is yet another example of how human perception can never measure up to God’s. We are citizens of the 21st century, and if you are like me, you, too, live in the United States. Craziness abounds. So much nonsense seems to rule the day. It is tempting to be like Elijah: run away into the wilderness, pray a prayer of defeat. But God says no. He has a greater plan. And that includes what happens to us when we leave our mortal coil. Just as Elijah was refreshed with the hearth cake and jug of water, so, too, are we made ready for a great and wonderful journey with the viaticum, ironically on the place, our deathbed, where the world claims it all ends.
Perhaps this is the greatest nonsense of all: to believe that it ends there. Perhaps the whole of our lives is the runup to something inexplicably beautiful. Elijah could not see it then. Maybe we are in the same boat now. I, for one, rest in the knowledge that my life is a stream that is flowing toward a great river. I can only hope to be ready when the waters meet, belly satisfied, eyes wide open, eager to put one foot in front of the other.
