In the Whirlwind

Homily for Sunday, June 27th, 2010

Lessons:

2 Kings 2: 1-2, 6-14
Psalm 77: 1-2, 11-20
Galatians 5:1, 13-25
Luke 9: 51-62

Our expression "passing the mantle" is derived from today's Old Testament lesson, and the story is full of drama. Elijah, the old prophet, is ready to retire, and he knows God has prepared a place for him in that great retirement home in the sky. When he attempts to leave his understudy Elisha behind, Elisha insists on going with him, saying, "As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you." As the two travel along, other "men of the company of prophets" join them, so that ultimately there are fifty spectators there to witness the change of command.

When Elijah arrives at the banks of the Jordan River, he takes the mantle from his shoulders and strikes the river with it, causing the waters to part for the two men and dry land to appear under their feet. If the fifty men from the company of prophets had harbored any doubts that Elijah was the greatest seer of their generation, this display of the waters parting must have convinced them that Elijah came directly from the line of Moses. What happens next sounds like pure Hollywood, like something from The Raiders of the Lost Ark. On the far side of the river Jordan, a chariot of fire drawn by flaming horses descends from the sky and sweeps Elijah to heaven in a whirlwind. Overcome by the power and the splendor, Elisha exclaims, "Father, Father! The chariot of Israel and its horsemen!" Then he takes up the mantle that had fallen from Elijah and, striking the waters, parts the Jordan and crosses to where the fifty prophets await him. Dazzled, they greet him with the cry, "The spirit of Elijah rests on Elisha!" Thus passes the mantle of power from one generation to the next.

Whirlwinds and waters parting and chariots of fire may seem fanciful and distant from our own experiences, but creation has a way of reminding us of its innate power from time to time. On Thursday afternoon at 4:30, I left my office in the School of Engineering at UVA and began walking to my car, parked about a mile away. It was 100 degrees outside when I set out, and the air felt like a heated oven. I was heading north, and to the north and west of the city, there was the blackest cloud I've ever seen. A huge streak of lightning touched straight down to the ground, and small drops of moisture, not quite rain, began to pelt my face. Just as I got into my car and slammed the door, the clouds opened and rain poured down in waves. I pulled from the parking lot, noticing the way the wind was whipping the trees, and took my usual back roads shortcut past the Darden School and down to Millmont Street, behind Barracks Road Shopping center. As I turned onto Millmont, the wind was so powerful that branches of trees were blowing across my path, and I realized it was very foolish for me to keep driving, so I pulled over, behind a building and away from the flying debris. The wind was so strong, I could feel my car rocking. Just behind me on Millmont a giant tree had been toppled and lay across the street, completely blocking it.

When the rain let up enough so I could see to drive, I made my way to Barracks Road, where I turned left to head for Georgetown Road and my home in Earlysville. The power was out and no streetlights were working. Small branches, leaves, and other debris lay in the streets. A tree in the median was split in half with its broken wing dangling. The cars around me moved along with caution but no lack of determination. Just west of the intersection of Barracks Road with Georgetown, a tree lay across Barracks Road. I turned onto Georgetown, where I saw a young Hispanic man tugging at a huge branch not quite severed from a tree, trying to tear it down and get it out of the way of oncoming traffic. As I passed him, I called to him to be careful. Ahead of me the traffic was stopped and as I sat and waited, the cars ahead of me turned around and came back, one by one, so I joined that procession. Later I found out that there were multiple trees and power lines down across Georgetown Road. In fact, the road was still closed to traffic the next morning. I made my way home on Rte. 29 to Earlysville, grateful the micro-burst (a kind of mini-tornado) had not extended to Earlysville.

Physicists tell us that everything in the universe is made of matter and energy. We ourselves can be broken down into atoms, our essential matter, and energy. Jesuit priest, philosopher and scientist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin said that energy is the spirit of God. The microburst I experienced demonstrates the power of energy when meteorological forces collide. Such forces are neither good or bad; they simply exist as part of God's creation beyond the comprehension of most of us. They inspire the kind of awe Elisha experienced at the sight of the fiery chariot in the whirlwind. As the psalmist says,
You are the God who works wonders *
and have declared your power among the peoples.
By your strength you have redeemed your people, *
the children of Jacob and Joseph.
The waters saw you, O God;
the waters saw you and trembled; *
the very depths were shaken.
The clouds poured out water;
the skies thundered; *
your arrows flashed to and fro;
The sound of your thunder was in the whirlwind; *
your lightnings lit up the world; *
the earth trembled and shook.

Fifteen years ago today, meteorological forces collided in such a way that 23 inches of rain fell in 24 hours over this beautiful valley and Graves Mill nearly washed completely away. Of the many buildings that constituted what we called downtown Graves Mill, only the old mill, the schoolhouse, and this chapel survived the flood. Houses, barns and other out-buildings in the larger community were washed away, and the devastation made the valley look like a bomb had been dropped on it. Many bridges in Madison County were washed away, and the road to Graves Mill was impassable. In the first days after the flood, when folks here were trying to clean up and put their lives back together, it was difficult to believe that this place and its people could ever recover from the thousand-year catastrophe.

If we allowed ourselves to sink into despair, it was because we were forgetting the other kind of power God exerts: the power of "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, and gentleness." People came from near and distant places to help with the clean-up and the earth began to heal itself. By the following spring, the pastures were green again. Today, someone who has never been in this valley would not be able to guess how much destruction was wrought here only fifteen years ago. The forces of nature can indeed be awesome in their destructive power, but they are also awesome in their gentle, persistent healing grace.

Teilhard de Chardin composed this prayer, which he called a "Hymn to Matter," and I think it is well-suited to this anniversary:
"I bless you, matter, and you I acclaim; not as the pontiffs of science or the moralizing preachers depict you, debased, disfigured--a mass of brute forces and base appetites--but as you reveal yourself to me today, in your totality and your true nature...
You who batter us and then dress our wounds, you who resist us and yield to us, you who wreck and build, you who shackle and liberate, the sap of our souls, the hand of God, the flesh of Christ; it is you, matter, that I bless.
I acclaim you as the divine milieu, charged with creative power, as the ocean stirred by the Spirit, as the clay molded and infused with the life by the incarnate Word...
Raise me up then, matter, to those heights, through struggle and separation, and death; raise me up until, at long last, it becomes possible for me in perfect chastity to embrace the universe."
AMEN.