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This Sunday is a guest post by the Rev. Angela Denker, a Lutheran pastor, journalist, busy mother, author of Red State Christians: A Journey into White Christian Nationalism and the Wreckage It Leaves Behind, and who, in the midst of it all, manages to write her own weekly newsletter, I’m Listening.
She chose to write on the Hebrew Bible lectionary text for today — a story that seems painfully fitting between the whirlwind of political news and the terrible tragedy in Hawaii this week.
When all seems lost, where is God? Beyond every “no” and all the confusing noise, are you able to listen for the Voice? What do you hear?
1 Kings 19:9-18
At Horeb, the mount of God, Elijah came to a cave, and spent the night there. Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.”
He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.
When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.”
Then the Lord said to him, “Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus; when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king over Aram. Also you shall anoint Jehu son of Nimshi as king over Israel; and you shall anoint Elisha son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah as prophet in your place. Whoever escapes from the sword of Hazael, Jehu shall kill; and whoever escapes from the sword of Jehu, Elisha shall kill. Yet I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him.”
“Listen: Here I Am,” a guest post by Angela Denker
I remember the smell and the sweat. Later, maybe, the smell of the sweat.
I close my eyes and see the dark green grass, short, and the wily weeds, tall, creeping up the side of our brown and gray weathered fence, rough with splintered wood. When we moved back to the Midwest, all I wanted was a backyard.
The smell was sweet and sickly, an August smell of summer desperately holding on, the tired smell of endings and dead flies and sticky popsicles long ago dripped onto the ground by my boys, who were inside, doubtlessly yelling at each other and alternately laughing at each other, uproariously, the mania of late summer, those last weeks before school mercifully begins again.
Their noises were why I’d taken this phone call outside, almost exactly a year ago, one of those phone calls you await anxiously and also dread, because having anticipated this news for so long, waiting long after the projected date, you know the news can no longer be good.
One of the reasons I’m still a writer after all these years is that I still maintain a stubborn hope in the face of near-certain constant rejection, and so as I took this call from my literary agent, one that both of us had probably jointly put off because the news was not good, I’d still hoped that maybe - maybe - one of the publishers we’d submitted to, after almost three years of painstakingly preparing a book proposal, one of them would finally say yes.
It only took one.
Instead, she kindly explained as I paced near the fence and ran my finger along its rough-hewn edge, tempting a splinter, our number was zero. 100 percent rejections. A resounding, “No!” Though many of the editors had praised the writing, the answer was No. Somehow, I had to find a way to give up, and begin again.
Gentle, patient, encouraging, my agent said we could submit again soon. But she advised taking a few months. We’d talked about Substack before. I kept waiting, for someone else to affirm that I was a writer, indeed, and so I hadn’t started. She said now was the time. I looked down at the late-summer dirt, dry and dusty but somehow also rich with life, hanging on as the hot sun beat down. And so a few weeks later, I began this thing called Substack: sweaty, smelly, knocked down, discouraged, and determined.
***
I wanted to share this story with you, here at the Cottage, because when Diana invited me to write today to you, I remembered intensely that afternoon phone call, and for a time, how hopeless I felt. My own Substack writing would come, but first I would be encouraged right here, by reading the Cottage and by remembering Diana’s own story and personal encouragement. It happened that she would be giving a presentation in my hometown a few weeks later, and so as I began writing I’m Listening, I got to first listen to Diana in person - and hear about how, after spending the day speaking to a large group in Minnesota, she would go back to her hotel room that evening and write to all of you.
Diana’s support of me and of I’m Listening showed me that Substack can be different than the lonely and cutthroat world of journalism and publishing that I’d lived in for many years at that point. She invited me to experience this place as a community: a place for contemplation, prayer, honesty, hope, and mutual support. Today, a year later, Substack for me has become that place: yes, for hard work, and lots of writing, but also for community, joy, and hope. I’m so grateful to Diana for shepherding my work here in this place, and today, it feels like a bit of a full circle moment.
Some things, though, as you know, remain the same. Late summer at my house is still sticky, sweaty, noisy, chaotic, and unfinished. My own writing and ministry journey is still filled with unknowns, and lots of rejections. I’m writing to you a day later than I’d planned, after spending the day at the doctor’s office earlier this week after a playground injury for my 7-year-old.
A few minutes ago, as I finally sat down to write, I overheard noise in the background and immediately jumped into reprimand mode.
“Can’t you get along!”
They looked up at me, dumbfounded.
“Mom, we were laughing.”
Laughing, crying - sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.
I shook my head and pulled up today’s reading, only to realize it’s one of my absolute favorites in the entire Bible. (Don’t ask me how many times I’ve said this about different passages).
He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” (I Kings 19:11-13)
As I read these words again, it was like my chest opened up and I could finally take a deep breath, fully, down into the bottom of my lungs. All the noise and storms had passed by, and in the stillness, in the quiet, God was here.
I call my Substack I’m Listening, but sometimes God hits me right on the head with it myself. Listen. Here, in the quiet, in the shadows, in the darkness, in the moment of uncertainty and hopelessness: Here I AM.
I often read Diana’s Sunday Musings when I first wake up on Sundays, many weeks in those stolen moments before I rush off to the bathroom to get ready for church. I love how Diana always includes a few poems, because I tend to read a lot, and to read fast, and poetry makes you slow down. Again. Listen. God is not in the whirlwind.
The prophet’s story brought to mind this poem, by Rainer Maria Rilke and translated by Joanna Macy, that I first heard on HBO’s Euphoria, and the words opened up in me a clear place, a still, small voice that demanded to be heard:
Listen
Quiet friend who has come so far,
feel how your breathing makes more space
around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,
what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.
In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.
And if the world has ceased to hear you,
Say to the silent earth: I flow.
to the rushing water, speak: I am.
The voices that are easiest to hear are often those voices to whom I should listen least. And the listening I need to hear most is often the hardest to hear, because it is quiet, and like God to the Prophet Elijah, it speaks only in the stillness after the whirlwind has passed.
I know The Cottage has been that place for many of us, the place where we find the stillness to listen to God. For me, with Diana’s help, I’m Listening has been that place, too. Because God speaks to all of us, and also God speaks through all of us. After the whirlwind. In the stillness when we can hear.
The last two words of that poem are I AM, the same name that God claims for Godself as God appears to Moses in the burning bush, and the same name Jesus declares for himself in John 8:58, as the whirlwind comes in the crowd to stone him and kill him, but he walks on instead and goes on to give sight to a man who had been born blind.
Scholars have written entire books on the meaning of the I AM statements in the Hebrew Bible and the Christian Bible, and there is much to be learned in the unpacking of the Greek and Hebrew phrases.
For us today, I’ll leave it at this: as the whirlwind blows by in the late summer heat, scorching and burning and yelling and screaming and demanding that we hate and kill one another, demanding that Jesus came so that white American Christians can rule and conquer and destroy….
May you and I find our quiet places where God speaks of peace and truth and love and grace. Our Cottage if you will. In the stillness, God speaks. In a whisper, in a song:
Here I Am.
Make sure to leave a comment for Angela. She’d love to hear from you!
A NOTE FROM DIANA
Thank you for your prayers as I continue to recover from COVID. I appreciate the support you’ve all offered. Mostly, I’m still very tired and enervated.
Please take care of yourself. There’s definitely a summer spike of the virus. Mask up as needed and ask your doctor about an autumn booster.
ACTION ITEM
If you want to donate to fire recovery in Hawaii, our friends at Third Act suggest The Maui Community Power Recovery Fund. Your support will be split among trusted and reputable organizations like Kākoʻo Maui, Hawai'i Funder Hui, 'Āina Momona, Hawai'i People's Fund, and Onipa'a Maui, all working tirelessly to uplift Maui from the ashes. They will support immediate relief, mutual aid, and long-term recovery, community organizing, and power-building after the fires.
Since Angela, our generous guest muser, is a Lutheran pastor, I’d also like to suggest her denomination’s recovery fund as well - Lutheran Disaster Response. The ELCA has an excellent aid program. You may donate in her honor if you’d like.
INSPIRATION
Do I speak soft and little —
Do I offer you a drop of honey in a bent brown leaf?
Yet I, too, have been rent by the whirlwind;
I have lain trembling under its bellowings,
I have endured its fangs,
I have heard it hiss and groan, "Bitterness, bitterness!"
But all I have left,
After its searchings and its rendings,
May be told in a soft voice
And is sweet —
Sweet,
Like a drop of thick honey in a bent brown leaf.
— Karle Wilson Baker, “Not in the Whirlwind” (1921)
Angela included a Rilke poem in her meditation. And she suggested this song from Dolly Parton for musical inspiration on this summer Sunday. Because who doesn’t love Dolly Parton??! Enjoy!
Seems like the whirlwind is interminably long. I pray for prolonged stillness. The Cottage is a refuge to find the stillness where God speaks. I continue to pray for Diana’s recovery. I thank you for your guest writing this morning and the reminder to listen to I Am.
Rev. Angela, your post is so inspirational, and enhances my favorite Scripture Psalm 46:10 "Be still and know that I am God. Thank you