Sunday Homily, August 10, 2014, 19th Ordinary Time, A
Readings:
1 Kings 19, 9-13, There was a tiny whispering sound.
Psalm 85, Lord, let us see your kindness, and grant us your salvation.
Romans 9, 1-5, My kindred according to the flesh
Matthew 14, 22-33, Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.
1 Kings observations:
What:
There are really 2 books, 1 Kings & 2 Kings. Or originally, it was all one work.
Even though 1 Kings focuses mostly on King Solomon & his accomplishments, the latter half of the work shows how at Solomon's death the kingdom split into two hostile & petty states, Israel in the north & Judah in the south around Jerusalem. 2 Kings ends with the Babylonian Captivity.
As I have pointed out concerning prophets, Elijah condemns the behavior, especially of the rulers, and promises punishment.
When & Who: The two books were put together by numerous people and the latest putting together took place, you guessed it, around the Babylonian Captivity, around 555 before Christ.
Today’s selection: The prophet Elijah is running scared to get away from Jezebel. She is out to kill him for his killing her fake priests. We catch up with him in the desert.
I love this little story. See if you can figure out why.
A Tiny Whispering Sound
We are having a run on delightful scripture passages these days. The passage I love today is the scene where Elijah stands outside a cave and he sees wind, earthquake, and fire. No God visit. Then he hears a tiny whispering sound. The God visit. I would suggest we have these god visits daily, and we are often deaf or blind to the visit.
To exemplify, our story of the week.
It is Wednesday. Guess where. Yes, Iowa. The 4th day of our ride from the Missouri River to the Mississippi. We have only 40 miles to go from Forest City to Mason City, the city on which Meredith Wilson based his musical, Music Man. We have only two pass through cities, Verona and Clear Lake.
So, I am thinking, ‘How can I extend this day.’ I want to savor the joys of the ride as long as possible. Two or three miles out of Forest City I decide that at least I will stop at a coffee stand for a good cup of coffee. Take my time, enjoy it, and watch the hundreds of people passing by. This is the day after I was so moved by the man playing the National Anthem.
I see a sign for coffee in a hundred yards, pass by the stand, and pull over to the shoulder of the road, careful to get out of the way.
The coffee shop is simply a four poster tent perched on the slope of the shoulder just a bit above the bottom of the irrigation ditch and dangerously close to the road for me. Very low tech. A kid about 17 is serving coffee, muffins, bananas, watermelon, water, and who knows what else.
He has a line of about a dozen people and is a bit frazzled trying to take money, cut watermelon, and prepare coffee, all of which is coming out of the back of his van which was perched sideways on the shoulder. This is not Starbucks.
However, as people order coffee, he asks them to form a line on the other side of the stand. I even regretted later that I did not help him, but at the time I thought I would be there all day long. As it is, we are all trying to keep to the very edge of the road to avoid getting hit by one of the hundreds of bikers swishing by.
Finally, the lady ahead of me gets to the kid, asks for what she wants, and discovers that she is $2 short. I say, “Hey, I got $2,” and I give it to her despite her protests. “Loan it to the next guy,” I say.
Later that morning, say about 11:00, I pull into this gorgeous green, tree shaded, people filled park in a town called Clear Lake, on the northern edge of a lake by the same name. For an hour we had ridden along the shore of this lake until I see the park.
I put my bike against a tree and settle on a park bench in the sun (it was so mild) in front of a band stand. People are all over the place, hundreds, lounging in the sun, eating, chatting. Between the park where I am and the lake the bikers are passing through. I am facing the lake.
I hang out there probably an hour. I watch a group of guys ride up, bring out their electric guitars using batteries, and play for us. I even get interviewed by a young girl from the De Moines Register. These are my wind and earthquake. I can see God's presence in both.
And then it happens, the tiny whispering sound, a God visit.
From behind me a lady comes around, hands me $2, says, “Thanks,” and then vanishes back into the crowd leaving me speechless except for a quick, “Sure.” It was the same lady from the coffee stand.
I admit that the Iowa days were full of God moments for me. This lady, however, was especially touching, a tiny whispering sound. I never saw her again and she probably identified me in the crowd because of the Aviana beany baby on my helmet and the Mardi Gras beads I wear around my neck. Moreover, Hammond says I look like a bum in my choice of attire.
When was your last God moment, your tiny whispering sound?
