James 5:15-18
15 Prayer that comes from faith will heal the sick, for the Lord will restore them to health. And if they have sinned, they will be forgiven. 16 For this reason, confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of the righteous person is powerful in what it can achieve. 17 Elijah was a person just like us. When he earnestly prayed that it wouldn’t rain, no rain fell for three and a half years. 18 He prayed again, God sent rain, and the earth produced its fruit. (CEB)
“Tales of the Five People You Meet in (the) Heaven(s): Stories of Fellow Travelers,” Week Two
(Author’s note: To protect the confidential nature of many of these conversations, I’ve refrained from using personal names, and names of some airlines and destinations were changed. –E.A.)
Another Southwest flight, this time from my boyhood home of Kansas City to Portland, Oregon, on September 12, 2011. Seated next to me was a schoolteacher from Kent, Washington, one of the many suburbs of the Seattle-Tacoma area—he told me he was planning to catch the shuttle from Portland to Sea-Tac after this flight. As introductory conversations are apt to do, after revealing he was a teacher, he in turn asked me what my profession was.
And to myself, I thought, “Can I use one of my lifelines?”
But, that annoying commandment “Thou shalt not lie” reared its ugly head, and I uttered what I think have to be the four most loaded words in the English language: “I am a pastor.”
“Oh, where at?”
“I’m about to start in Longview, this town in Washington, just north of Portland.”
“I grew up around that area!” We proceed to shoot the breeze about how pretty it is here.
“But I never really go to church all that often now,” he admits. I brace myself.
“I realized that I am more spiritual than religious.” Bingo. He proceeds to explain why church is not for him in a way so apologetic, it is like he is worried that I’d faint from the shock, the shock, I tell you, of hearing that a person living in the Seattle area did not go to church!
I quickly realize that it is in the best interests of my sanity to talk more about his line of work than mine, and I begin asking him questions about his teaching—he’s a business and technology high school teacher, loves the creativity and innovation that comes with his field, but then he says something that floors me—he shifts gears entirely and talks about how the Kent schools are becoming increasingly racially and ethnically diverse—one of the most diverse school districts in the state of Washington, in fact—and about how much it matters to him to foster this diversity between Caucasians and students of color. And he was talking about the needs and ethnic values of his wide array of students with such care and precision, it was obvious that he knew them incredibly well, and cared about them tremendously. And I smiled.
This Sunday marks the second week in a new sermon series that we are exploring together during this church season of Lent, which is traditionally meant to be a time of repentance, prayer, and confession for Christians the world over. It is, then, a journey of inner discovery, and of understanding anew the amazing power of God’s grace. But unlike Christ in the wilderness, it is not a journey of discovery that we are required to make alone. Indeed, many of us thrive on journeys only when we have a companion to travel with—and so I’ve created this sermon series, “Tales of the Five People You Meet in (the) Heaven(s),” a play on the title of Mitch Albom’s 2003 book “The Five People You Meet in Heaven.” Based on my own experiences of travel when the person sitting next to me suddenly learns that I am a Christian cleric, last week’s story, of the mothers who prevented their college-bound daughters from sitting in the same row as the shady, sketchy fellow (that’s me!), was a story where my vocation was not revealed. In this story, and in all others, it was. And that contrast is important to note—because while in the first story, I was treated with wariness and suspicion, in this story, a stranger practically fell over himself trying to be apologetic and kind to the young man of the cloth sitting next to him.
But the act truly wasn’t necessary—not that I don’t appreciate kindness of strangers—but that I didn’t need his sudden turn in behavior and demeanor upon learning what I did for a living, and that was due in no small part to what he did for a living, and how dedicated he was to it. After all, the entire scope and grandeur of the Judeo-Christian tradition is wrapped up in the vocation of teaching. The Hebrew term “rabbi” literally means, “teacher.” These teachers interpreted Old Testament law. Our Christian teachers, beginning with Peter and Paul, interpreted the teachings of the rabbi we know to be our Messiah, Jesus Christ. And the letter of James, most likely written anonymously but named in honor of James, the brother of Jesus, has, at its core, the spirit not of a preacher in the mold of Peter or Paul, but a teacher—as the Bible scholar Frances Taylor Gench puts it, a teacher “who is anxious to help believers see the implications of Christian faith…for how they live out their lives…James urges believers to apply Christian faith to every aspect of life.” Like other New Testament teachers, and Paul especially, James’s words often take the world-weary tone of a sighing and scolding schoolteacher, irritated once more by whatever shenanigans their students pulled this time (and to the schoolteachers who are in our congregation—I was NEVER that student. Okay, I was ALWAYS that student).
I say this because James essentially ends his letter—his letter goes on for only two more verses after the conclusion of today’s passage—by pointing out what would have been a painfully obvious example to his 2nd-century audience: the prayer life of Elijah the prophet! In that era of Judaism, and the Christianity that was just beginning to emerge, pointing out Elijah would be like playing the George-Washington-Never-Told-A-Lie card today. Everybody has heard of it. Elijah was one of the most prominent figures of the Old Testament, right up there with Moses and David, and it is he, along with Moses, who appears with Christ at the Transfiguration. It is he who is invoked at the Crucifixion when people wonder if Christ is calling upon someone—Elijah—for deliverance. By pointing to Elijah, James is making his argument for the power of prayer as accessible and understandable as possible. It is not just that prayer can work wonders, or might work wonders—it is that it absolutely, without a doubt, already has. And that’s what it means to be a good teacher, doesn’t it? To make your lessons accessible, to teach something that may be old as something that can be made new again. Those are, to my mind, the two of the greatest challenges the church faces at this moment in time, and at both, we are trying hard but needing to do so much better.
And prayer, prayer that does work wonders, James says that it came from this great figure of Biblical lore, but Jame does not go through the whole spiel that I just gave you about Elijah’s stature—he says that Elijah was a person just like us! Which is not meant to diminish Elijah at all—it is instead the mark of teaching at its greatest: teaching that is not simply informative, but inspirational. Here is this great Biblical figure, who brought King Ahab to his knees, who bested the priests of Ba’al, and James is not saying, “Who are we, compared to the likes of him?” He is saying, “YOU can be to God as he was.” Isn’t that what a teacher at their greatest can do for a child, or for a person? My job is not simply to tell you that God loves you and to do good things in His name. My job is also to tell you that through God’s grace, anything is possible for you, for this family of faith that we call our church, and that if you were to ask me how I knew this, I would tell you about this letter, written in the name of the brother of Jesus Christ, that told me that I could indeed answer the call to which God was leading me. And in turn, I would ask you to do the same for others, because if nothing else, one of the things I hope you can take away from this sermon series is that those moments of teaching, learning, and sharing faith come in the most unexpected and wonderful of ways. Whether on an airplane, or in a food court, or at a coffee shop, it is upon you to carry your faith outside these walls. As Saint Francis of Assisi said, “Teach the Gospel at all times. When necessary, use words.”
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Rev. Eric Atcheson
Longview, Washington
March 4, 2012
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