Just over a week ago, though it seems much longer, we were in south-west France amongst the pine forests and the sand dunes, and we’d decided to go for a little ride to a lake-side village to watch a bike race pass through. And in the nature of these things, that took up about 30 seconds of our day as they rocketed through a sprint section, but as we walked away, we spotted a swallows nest among some rafters in a bandstand sort of thing. So we felt we had plenty time to stop and look at the three little heads peering out, and the two parent swallows exerting enormous energy in trying to feed them. And as soon as a parent approached, three great yellow mouths would gape open in unison as the young birds stretched as far forward as they could to get the incoming food. Every time, gape, gape, gape., absolutely riveting, and quite enchanting. But it was a cool day, not good for fly catching, I imagine, and as we watched longer, we observed that it wasn’t quite as idyllic and indeed symmetrical as it looked. The middle bird was able to reach across and muscle out the right hand one, so that over a period of time, I’d guess they were getting fed in the ratio 1:4:0, so with a very bleak prognosis for the one on the right. Indeed, when we were lured away eventually by a completely empty beach, we noticed another little chick on the floor which had clearly already failed to attract enough attention to its gaping mouth. Just one small example of a world full of collisions between the beauty of life and the reality of death.
Which is what our gospel reading was all about, was it not? A funeral procession meets Jesus and his disciples coming the other way. The bringer of life approaching the bearers of the dead. Of course, the story can be read as a sign in a kind of general, almost theoretical way, of how Jesus has lordship over life and death, but there is more to it than that. When Jesus touched the bier, he was breaking any number of rules about purity and correctness and all that kind of thing. There was a right way of doing these things, and Jesus was risking giving offence to the way things should be done. The story is saying that when Jesus entered the lives of this young man and his mother, the sacred, the religious structures and all the protocols fell away in the face of a word from God, and mattered much less.
In the end, I think that is really the idea which links today’s three readings. For sure, there is an obvious parallel between the stories of the raising of the widows’ sons by Elijah in our first reading, after the miracle of the inexhaustible food supply, then by Jesus as we’ve said, indeed the words used by the onlookers are almost identical. But we don’t get the whole story of Elijah here, it would fill the whole service, and was this the defining moment in Elijah’s illustrious career? Not really, nor even that extraordinary business with the prophets of Baal, to see whose God was best at lighting a fire for a sacrifice. You’d think Elijah would be indestructible after all that, a secure and self-assured hero amongst his people. But no, interestingly, he was depressed beyond measure; so much so that he took himself away from it all asking what’s the point? Can this be all there is? And in the end, the answer came to him not through some ritual or sacrifice, not through some dramatic event, but, if you remember, as a still small voice in the quiet. One might almost imagine Elijah to blush in the space that was there for God to speak and him to hear.
Now I know, this is all from 2, 3000 years ago, but perhaps that just goes to show people have been thinking about these things for a long time. And we need to think this through quite carefully. For structures are not without value, liturgy can support our thoughts and often has an eloquence we cannot match in helping us speak to God. What we may think of as sacred places can bring comfort and inspiration. And the disciplines that we develop to a greater or lesser degree can keep us going through difficult times. But we have to remember that none of those things is God.
There’s a preacherly trick, which thankfully I’ve not heard used very often here, which is to ask, what do you think Jesus would make of all this if he were to walk in now? And it’s supposed to make you feel guilty and buck your ideas up. But actually, I don’t think he’d mind too much the structures and what have you, provided they don’t get in the way of his word. Provided, I mean that there is room for neighbourliness, friendliness, welcoming, help when it’s needed and words of affirmation. Provided, in short, that there is space for God to speak where he will and to whom he needs to.
Elijah and, indeed Saul, who made a similar point in our epistle reading, were both clearly energetic, larger than life characters. Both had spectacular successes after a fashion but both were brought up short by a voice. And although they lived millennia ago, their experience is not un-contemporary. How many people throw themselves into careers, families, studies, hobbies, religion and goodness knows what with greater or lesser success? Then at some stage in their lives they, (we?) ask, hang on a minute, have I got this right? I need to reflect, I want to know. I want to hear words of life.
And what we need then, is not subject to prescription, but is the space to hear the voice of God, the promptings of his spirit, whatever you want to call it. And of course, God doesn’t absolutely need us to provide that for someone, but heaven forbid that we should put obstacles in his path, and perhaps sometimes we may be privileged to be his instruments.
Jesus came with words of life. Which doesn’t mean that death has gone away but is a sign of his lordship over life and death in every corner of the world.