Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

2 Kings 2:1-14; Luke 9:51-62

 This week the stories are all about leaving. And with any story about that subject—about the parting of friends and loved ones—there are those who realize what's happening (Elisha) and those who don't have the slightest clue (the disciples). Reading both of these I have to chuckle when people comment that Scripture does not speak to our lives today. Today, more than most days, it speaks directly to mine.


We get a sense that Elisha knows something is about to happen. He knows something is coming. When the descendents of the prophets of Beth-El come out with the tragic news, Elisha does not seem surprised by it. Perhaps there were hints, things unsaid, a distant look in Elijah's eyes, or, maybe, he had told his student that he would soon be saying goodbye. And suddenly every moment was precious. Elisha was determined to drag that goodbye out to its last second.


But the disciples, no matter how many times—cryptically and outright—they were told what was coming, were oblivious to the news. They didn't notice the signs. They didn't see that something was wrong. And, perhaps, when the hammer fell on the nails, they realized that they had not made the most of the time. I often wonder how many of them, if they were tempted, would have chosen to go back in time and savor every moment and try to change the way things turned out.


There are the goodbyes we know are coming. When a friend gets a job in a new state, we are faced with the reality that this person who has become such an important part of our life may never be in the same room with us again. In those times, we drag out the conversations, lengthen the evenings. We do all we can to put off the little goodbyes that are taking us closer and closer to the last goodbye. Moments become precious.


Some partings, however, come without warning. Maybe we, like the disciples, were given hints that things would not always be as they are now. Or, maybe, we have no warning that the person who was here yesterday will not be here tomorrow. And, unlike Elisha, we do not get to follow them to the Jordan for one last conversation, one last look, one last moment.


There is no balm for these partings. When two of us are separated on this earth, there is certainly hope of seeing one another again. But we all know that lives have a way of filling up and dear faces soon find themselves relegated to memory and Christmas cards as new ones are met. And when the whirlwind comes, we are faced with a world without someone we love.


Even Jesus went away, leaving his friends behind. But he left with a promise that he would see them again. And we must trust that neither chariots or horses or crosses or goodbyes will be the last word in our conversation.


Be with us in our goodbyes, expected and unexpected.


(This week's post is dedicated to my friend Joanna. May light perpetual shine upon her.)