Sermon 2025 06 22

Saint Margaret’s

Anglican Church

Budapest, Hungary

1 Kings 19:1-4, (5-7), 8-15a; Psalm 42 and 43;

Galatians 3:23-29; Luke 8:26-39

“What are you doing here, Elijah?”

What are you doing here…? Good question: one

which no doubt we have all asked ourselves at one

point or another in our lives; along with

philosophers and sages since the beginning of time. What are you doing here, Frank; I

might well ask myself. What exactly is the purpose of my life…? Of my time here…? Am I

doing what I should be doing…? Of course, in other circumstances, the question we ask

ourselves, what am I doing here, may be more practical or prosaic. How did I end up

among these people I hardly know and with whom I have nothing in common…? What are

you doing here, Frank? At this party…? In this joint…?

In any case, the question, what are you doing here, figures prominently in our first Reading

this morning from the First Book of Kings, from the cycle of stories and legends

surrounding Eiljah, arguably the greatest of Prophets, and one of the most colourful

figures in all of Hebrew Scripture. Elijah, as the text explains, has slaughtered the

prophets of the pagan god Baal at Mount Carmel in the north of Israel, nice guy, but much

to the annoyance of their champion, Queen Jezebel, who has now threatened Elijah’s life

in revenge.

Filled with fear, Elijah flees for his life and heads south, embarking on what turns out to be

a long journey indeed which will ultimately take him to Mount Horeb, that is, the Mount

Sinai of Moses and the Ten Commandments. A journey of discovery and life changes, if

ever there was one. There at Mount Horeb, and for all intents and purposes camped out in

a cave, Elijah hears the word of the Lord come to him not in a command but in a question.

“What are you doing here, Elijah,

” asks the Lord. It is almost as if the Lord himself is

somehow surprised or shocked to see him at such a place and time; as if Elijah had shown

up like an uninvited and unexpected guest at an event. Which, I suppose, in a sense he

has. Still, Elijah, apparently unfazed, explains his predicament to the Lord, his zeal and

fear and the faithlessness of the people, no doubt hoping for the Lord’s sympathy, solace,

and succour. Which in a sense he gets, but perhaps not as he had anticipated or hoped

for.

Standing at that holiest of mountaintops, the mountain of the law, Elijah gets both more

and less than he could have ever bargained for; not the calm before the storm but the

storm before the calm. Howling wind of hurricane force surrounds him; earthquake

shakes his foundations; fire no doubt kindles further his fear. Followed in their turn by

“sheer silence,” in our translation today; in “the sound of a still small voice,” in the

arguably more felicitous phrasing of the King James bible. Not in any case the majestic

dictates of the Law bequeathed to Moses at the very same place ages before but silence,

the still small voice, which seemingly needs no words.A contemporary sage has suggested that, if you want to know who or what God is, you

should perhaps sit yourself down in a quiet corner, if not a cave, with a pen and a few

sheets of paper, or a laptop or Tablet if you prefer, and make a list of everything you know

God not to be. Start with the easy: God is not bad, not evil, not created, not me, not you.

But then keep going. Think harder. Be thorough. Take your time. And when your list is

long, and you have exhausted yourself and the battery of your Tablet, what is left will be

God. Or at least closer to God. Sheer silence and a still small voice.

Call it the silent commandment within each of us. The God-shaped hole in the soul of each

of us, in the phrase attributed to the philosopher, Pascal. Sometimes, we come to know

who God is by knowing who God is not. An idea which goes back to the so-called

apophatic theology of the early Church and even before. To the Greek philosophers. To

the First Book of Kings. Empty your mind and your soul of all the detritus and debris of

everyday life with its myriads of demands and responsibilities, distractions and

temptations, and you will come closer to an answer to that most vexing of questions:

What are you doing here…?

What are you doing here, Elijah…? Good question. So good, in fact, that the Lord repeats

himself and asks Elijah again the very same question, as if the Prophet had not heard him

the first time. And he may not have. For tellingly, Elijah, after his encounter with sheer

silence, with the still small voice, and with the Almighty, gives the selfsame answer as

before: He once again cites his former zeal and current fear, and the faithlessness of the

people. That is why he is where he is.

But I suppose we should give credit where credit is due. Elijah is more a man of action

than words. He has after all left us no great book of prophecy like Jeremiah or the authors

of the Book of Isaiah. And he now returns, at the Lord’s command, on his way to the

wilderness of Damascus and beyond, anointing kings along his path and Elisha as his

prophetic successor. Not bad for a day’s work. Even for the greatest of prophets.

No telling of course where our life path will take us. From Mount Carmel to Mount Horeb

to the wilderness of Damascus perhaps. From Grand Rapids or Nairobi to Budapest and

beyond. From the English countryside to the Hungarian alföld. Through wind and

earthquake; through fire and fear. But listen carefully, my friends. Listen very carefully.

Do you hear it…? I think I do. Sheer silence. The sound of a still, small voice. Asking each

of us quietly but insistently: What are you doing here…?

Amen.

The Rev. Dr. Frank Hegedűs