I’m so lonely. So desperately lonely. It’s been so long since l’ve seen a friendly face.
So lonely. So completely alone. I feel … deserted. No one even cares whether I am alive or dead.
After all I’ve done for them, would you not think that somewhere in Israel there would be a good word for Elijah? Would you not think that God’s prophet, who has stood up against the forces of evil, would receive a little gratitude, just a taste of thanks?
Would you not suppose that someone who has stood up to the king himself and has accused him to his very face of disturbing the peace of the nation ... would you not think that I could come to my mature years and feel honored, at least a tiny bit?
But I do not feel thanked. I do not feel honored. For Elijah there are no parades, no medals, no recognition. So lonely, so desperately lonely. But it’s not the first time, you know. I’ve felt this way before. All alone in the world, with nobody to care.
Why? Why? Do you know, sir? Do you, madam? How about you, young fellow? Or you, young lady? Anyone?
No, of course not. You’re like all the rest, aren’t you? You don’t really love the Lord. You don’t really care about His ways, now do you?
Well, I’m going to tell you my story, anyway. I must at least tell you about this nagging shadow of terror that crosses my soul! I must tell somebody. Somebody must hear my story, and soon. Soon, because the end is coming. They are going to get me. They are. So please, you may not like me; but at least let me tell my story to some human soul.
Lonely. When was the first time I felt It? Ah yes, I remember.
I
It was actually just at the moment of my greatest victory. Now I know that seems odd, but it’s true. At the very peak of my success, I felt this dismal loneliness. A magnificent, terrible moment. A glorious, horrible moment. Are you confused?
Perhaps I’d better set the background. Several years ago the Lord, the God of our people, called me while I was still in my little village of Tishbe, and the Lord said, "Elijah, I want you to be my prophet."
Now you must understand that it was not unusual for the Lord to call prophets. There were hundreds of us. Nearly every town and village had a few young men and some women, too, on whom the word of the Lord had come. We were a fascinating study, we prophets. We used to run our mouths on nearly every subject imaginable. No such thing as an inhibited prophet, you know. We worked ourselves up into frenzies, we spoke feverish gibberish, and we had an opinion on everything. Being a prophet was not bad, not bad at all. Chiefs and captains, kings and courtiers called on us to see what we had to say, and, if they didn’t like it, well, too bad for them. We prophets were very proud of speaking for the Lord. Yes, sir. For the Lord Himself.
But when the Lord called me to be a prophet, very early he sent me to the king of my nation. In those days Israel’s king was Ahab, and let me tell you, he was a nasty piece of work. Ahab was the most horrible example of kingship we had ever seen in this kingdom, and, believe me, we had had some bad ones.
How bad were they? Well, they say it goes all the way back to King Jeroboam. Jeroboam brought idolatry and lust and child sacrifice and all sorts of filthiness into the royal palace in Samaria. Terrible things!
But the worst thing Jeroboam did was to leave sons behind, because his sons and their sons were worse even than the old man. Let’s see, the first was Nadab; he only lasted two years, when Baasha conspired against him and took his throne. And Baasha just repeated everything that Jeroboam had done. Well, his son Elah made it another two years, and got so drunk he couldn’t even defend himself against Zimri, who took the throne.
As for Zimri, do you know that in seven days … seven days, not years ... he managed to destroy the entire royal family?! You cannot believe the corruption of these people! Well, after Zimri’s one-week reign of terror came General Omri, and for about twelve years Omri gave us civil war. Omri was the worst, the absolute worst, in his idolatry, his lust, his bloodthirstiness, his greed, we thought it couldn’t get worse.
But it did. It got worse. Worse was Ahab. Ahab. I can hardly pronounce his name. It sickens me. His very name – it makes me feel ... chilled, alone. So very alone.
So it came to be that the Lord God ... who can understand his ways? ... called me as his prophet and told me to speak to Ahab. I was to tell Ahab that because he, the king, had brought the priests of Baal and the devotees of Astarte into our land, no rain would fall until this pollution was cleansed.
How could I take this message to the king, you ask? How could I stand up to a man of power with something he would not want to hear? Ah, that’s the easy part. That’s no problem, for God’s man. God’s prophet is empowered by God himself. God’s prophet fears no man. God’s prophet is not afraid to stand alone. Not when he knows the truth. And I, Elijah, knew the truth. No doubts clouded my mind. No compassion compromised my voice. I would tell Ahab exactly what I wanted him to hear, no quibbling allowed. As long as the Baals were served, no rain. As long as Astarte was cultivated, with all the lustful things done in her shrines, not a single drop of dew upon the earth. Not until Ahab should repent and change. No, I was not afraid to be alone.
And so for three long years there was no rain, and the people suffered. The crops failed, and the cattle died. The sheep licked at their own sores just to get a few pitiful drops of moisture. And the king in Samaria, though he and his chief officers went searching through the whole land, could not find no drop to drink. Nothing. Not one thing.
So Ahab sent for me. Hah! I told him he had to come to me. I knew I had him just where I wanted him. He would have to give up. And I would show him up for the fraud and tyrant that he was. I, Elijah, all by myself would show all the people that the Lord, and only the Lord, is God.
When Ahab and I met, he did say something which, later, bothered me. He called me a name which, as I think about it, may be more true than either he or I knew. Ahab said to me, "ls it you, you troubler of Israel?" Me, the troubler of Israel?
Why no, of course not ... but then, is it possible that I am? That in my heart’s ways I have disturbed God’s people just as much as this terrible king? The troubler of Israel. I wonder. I wonder.
Well, at the moment, I knew what to say. We prophets never are at a loss for words! We know how to turn the tables on our enemies. And so I cried, in my best theatrical voice, "It is not I who have troubled Israel; it is you. It is you, Ahab, who have troubled Israel. It is you who have disturbed the peace of this people. It is you who have wreaked havoc on God’s people, you who have forsaken the Lord, you who have followed another way. I have not been the troubler of Israel, but you have."
And then I challenged him. Oh, what an inspired idea! I challenged Ahab. And I said, if you will gather all your Baal priests at Mount Carmel on an appointed day, I will come alone, and I will prove them worthless. Just one little Elijah against your four hundred and fifty babbling idiots, that’s what. And let’s get all the people to come and see this thing.
It was a great day there on Mount Carmel. And everything went just as J expected. Baal’s priests danced up a frenzy, but could call down no fire on their sacrifices. You cannot imagine the racket they made, screaming and chanting, cutting themselves and raving, weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. As for me, I just waited. Waited. Until the fire of the Lord should come. Which, by the way, it did. Came in abundance and burned up the whole altar.
But do you know that I felt lonely? Lonely even at the moment of triumph? I don’t know. Somehow what should have been my greatest moment was dampened by this nagging feeling of weariness. I felt that I and I only was really in touch with God. That I and I only was a prophet of the Lord, and the rest were less than they ought to be. I felt, well, a separation from the people. I felt I was better than they. I felt that nobody could do what’ can do. But that made me lonely. So very lonely. Even when I was in my great triumph.
Troubler of Israel. I wonder if Ahab was right. He troubled Israel by his idolatry, his Baal idolatry. Can I be troubling Israel by making myself an idol? Can’ be disturbing the people because I will not repent, myself?
II
Only a few days later it happened again, this lonely, desperate feeling. Only a few days later, even though the drought had broken and even though the prophets of Baal had all been destroyed and there was no longer any threat from their wickedness.
Yes, I felt it again. And I shudder to tell you why. I can scarcely believe myself that I would feel it under these new circumstances. But I did. And you have listened so well. I suppose I must tell you this too.
King Ahab went home after Mt. Carmel, and guess what he did? He told his wife, Queen Jezebel, all that had happened. I can never forgive him for that. Couldn’t just keep his mouth shut and rejoice in the rain ... but noooo ... he had to tell that woman everything. I’m glad I’m not married; I wouldn’t want to be subject to a woman’s prying eyes. It was hard enough trying to explain to the widow of Zarephath about her neverending barrel of oil and meal. Women always want to know why. They can’t stay in their place!
Well, Ahab told Jezebel, and that vixen cut loose with a shrill squeal that you could hear from Dan to Beersheba! Wow! Was she ever angry! And she vowed to get me and get me good.
Oh, wait a minute. I don’t think I’ve told you about Jezebel, have I? Well, Jezebel was the daughter of Ethbaal, the king of Sidon. And up in Sidon they have taken Baal worship and the cult of Astarte to its extremes. Up there they practice cult prostitution, so that men and women consort in the temples, for they believe it wiil placate the gods and increase the crops. Up there in Sidon they wail and flail and pray for their gods to give them babies, food, and animals. But then they drink the blood of the animals, they sacrifice the infants, they practice so many things that are completely destructive. We in Israel will not even speak to them. And yet our king, Ahab, the one whom God has allowed to lead our nation ... Ahab cannot find for himself a queen among the maidens of Israel. No, he has to go and bring down here this Jezebel, this slimy, slinky, sleazy creature. I hate this queen! I hate her and all that she stands for! I hate her, I hate her, I ... am afraid of her.
Oh, my God, I am ashamed! How can I possibly be afraid of Jezebel, after all I have been through? But I am. I am afraid of one little Sidonian woman. She is out to take my life. She is out to get me. What do I feel? I feel fear, yes. And I feel alone. Abandoned.
Now do you catch the irony of it all? I have faced down 450 priests of Baal, without a fear in my heart. I have held off the king himself, with little more than a twinge of worry when he called me the troubler of Israel. I have even stood in the presence of massive evil ... who knows what the Baals might have done to me? I have faced down all of this, and in front of hundreds of the people of Israel. But the threat of one, tiny, shrewish, pagan woman … one weak as water woman … throws me.
So here I am. Here I am way down south in Judah, hoping that crossing the border will put me out of Jezebel’s reach. Here I am, out here in this desert, where you live. I am a long way from the queen’s wrath. But I am still afraid. And I am still lonely, so desperately lonely. Is there no one who will stand with me?
Lord, Lord God, are you there? Do you hear me? It’s Elijah. You know, Elijah, the very last one of your prophets. I have had enough. Do you hear, Lord? Enough. Just take my life, Lord. Just let me die. Just let me let go. Lord, I’ve done everything right. I’ve done what you asked, I have stood up for you. But look at these people. They don’t do right.
They won’t listen to your prophets; they prefer to satisfy their hungers rather than to follow you; they neglect your altars. Lord, I tell you, I am the only one left. I am absolutely the only one who gets it right. Lord, nobody preaches like I preach. Nobody teaches like I teach. Nobody leads like I lead. Nobody works as hard as I do. All these pagans out here are having all that fun, and they do not care for you and they do not care for me. I have had it, Lord."
The wind! What a wind! It will blow me away! Hang on!! Hang on! Lord, is this your word? Are you there in the wind? Are you there where the winds of popularity blow, first here, then there?
No, you are not in the winds of popularity. Lonely. Troubled in Israel.
The earth! It shakes! My feet stumble; I cannot keep my balance. I cannot stand; I will fall, the nation will fall! Lord, are you there? Is the earthquake where you are? Lord, are you speaking when all around is shifting sand? When jobs are lost and loved ones die and health declines? Are you speaking and judging us, Lord, when our lives are off balance?
No, you are not in the earthquake of instability. Neither in the winds of popularity nor in the earthquake of instability. It’s still lonely. Still waiting for a word. Troubled in Israel.
The fire! The heat! The raging, burning fire. Look out! Stand back! Are you speaking in the fire, Lord? Is this your final word, in the fires of crime and racism and abuse that threaten us ... is this all you have to say, Lord?
No, you are not even in the fires of our own hatreds. Not in the winds of popularity, nor in the earthquake of instability, nor in the fires of self-destruction. But we feel alone in an insane, hostile world. Are you there, Lord? Are you there? Or are we all alone. I, only I am left? Who will stand with us?
Behold, a voice crying in the wilderness, prepare the way of the Lord. Behold, a still, small voice crying, Make His paths straight. For there comes after me one whose very shoes I am not worthy to unloose. God, who in various ways has spoken to us by the prophets, in these last days is speaking to us by a Son. A Son who stands beside us and never forsakes us. A Son who loves us to the end. One who will calm our troubled and stormy souls. One who will assure us that we are not alone, never alone, never, never alone.
Troublers of Israel, take heart. Even we can repent and be saved. Lonely ones, know that God is with us, Immanuel.
Breathe through the heats of our desire Thy coolness and Thy balm; Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire; Speak thro’ the earthquake, wind, and fire, O still small voice of calm!
