Sermon – God’s Playbook of Renewal

(I preached this sermon on Sunday November 2, 2025 – All Saints Sunday – at Christ Lutheran Church in Harrisburg. You can hear the audio at this link. I preached on 1 Kings 19:1-18.)

This morning, as we gather for All Saints Sunday, I want to begin with a thought from a song you may know — The Sound of Silence. Some of you might remember the original version by Simon & Garfunkel: quiet, reflective, a soft meditation on loneliness and isolation. But there is a later, very different version by the rock band Disturbed, led by singer David Draiman. His voice is raw and trembling, full of pain and emotion, as if carrying the weight of the world when he starts singing “Hello darkness, my old friend.”  It captures despair in a way that is almost physical — the feeling that the world is too heavy, that nothing we do changes anything, that resistance is pointless.

In that version, you can almost feel what Elijah felt under the broom tree. He has been on fire for God, confronting kings and prophets, boldly speaking truth to power — and now, in the wilderness, he says:

“It is enough; take away my life.”

Elijah is exhausted. And if we are honest, we know that same exhaustion ourselves. Not just from personal struggles, but from the weight of the world — a world that seems designed to wear us down.

The world is exhausting. And it is designed to be. Tyranny, abuse, oppression — even political narcissism — all use the same playbook: overwhelm, frighten, confuse, and drain people so they give up, so they feel alone.

Elijah knew this. Jezebel and Ahab wielded power violently. Jezebel, a worshipper of Baal, was furious with Elijah because he had confronted and killed the prophets of Baal. That’s why Elijah ran — fear of her wrath, fear of the violence that would come next. Pharaoh enslaved the Israelites. Babylon exiled God’s people. Rome crucified Jesus.

And today, we feel it in new ways: the 24-hour news cycle, political speeches that scapegoat and blame entire groups of people, confusing rules and laws that seem impossible to follow, systemic racial and economic injustices that have become almost invisible in everyday life, and the relentless costs of survival — housing, health care, education, childcare. All of it conspires to make us tired, anxious, and feeling powerless.

Even Elijah, a man of God, got caught up in the cycle of violence and fear. He had acted boldly — confronting Baal’s prophets — and now the threat of retaliation caught up with him. Even the strongest among us can be exhausted by the world. Violence begets violence. Fear begets fear. The playbook of the world is relentless, predictable, and maddening.

But God has a different playbook.

When Elijah collapsed, God didn’t rebuke him. God cared for him. God fed him. God let him rest. Twice. Angels brought bread and water. God gave him permission to pause, to be renewed, to recover.

This is the rhythm of God’s kingdom: rest before work, restoration before mission. Not because Elijah earned it, not because he was productive, not because he had succeeded in confrontation — but because he is beloved, because he bears God’s image.

And this is the same rhythm we see at Christ Lutheran. Every meal, every clinic visit, every word of prayer affirms that people matter — not for what they produce, but for who they are. I want to share a story from the interviews we’ve been recording with a digital media company. One woman said:

“When I think of Christ Lutheran and the clinics, I like to think that this is exactly where I would expect to find Jesus if he were walking the earth today. These are the folks he spent time with.”

God’s playbook is consistent across time and space: rest, restoration, renewal. Creation and people are valued simply for existing. Empire has always demanded otherwise, but God sees and affirms us.

After rest, Elijah travels forty days to Mount Horeb. He expects God to show up in fire, wind, or earthquake — the classic signs of power. But God doesn’t appear in spectacle. Not in noise. Not in domination.

God appears in silence. A whisper.

And here we return to the theme of The Sound of Silence. The intensity, the anguish in Disturbed’s version mirrors Elijah’s experience: despair, exhaustion, and the sense that the world’s noise will never stop. And yet, in that silence, God speaks. Not in thunder or fire, not in violence or spectacle, but quietly, intimately, patiently.

Humanity has always tried to craft God in its own image: loud, controlling, demanding obedience. But God doesn’t need to shout. God’s ways endure because they are faithful, patient, and loving. The whisper is enough.

God does not leave Elijah in silence. God sends him back — not to rest forever, but to act from a place of renewal.

This is the rhythm of grace: we don’t rest from our work; we work from our rest. Rested and renewed, we can see clearly, act faithfully, and resist the exhausting systems of the world without being consumed by them.

On this All Saints Sunday, we see this principle lived out across generations. God has been present in this congregation for more than 135 years:

• In 1890, faithful people founded Christ Lutheran, responding to God’s call in Allison Hill.
• In 1920, they built the sanctuary we now occupy.
• In the late 1950s, the congregation expanded the building to accommodate over 3,000 members.
• Later, the congregation grew diverse, reflecting God’s love across differences.
• By 1990, only seven faithful people remained, yet they began the health ministries that are central today.
• And now, today, the congregation is diverse, faithful, and alive — God is present in baptisms, in meals, in kids’ voices, in the joys and struggles of everyday life.

God has been present in every expansion and contraction, in every construction and repair, in every faithful act. And God will continue to be present, no matter what lies ahead.

Later in the service, during the time we set aside for remembering the saints, we will light candles, place pictures of loved ones on the table, and take a red rose as a symbol of remembrance. We do this to acknowledge that we are part of a larger communion of saints — that we are not alone, that our lives and our loved ones’ lives are held in God’s presence, and that the whisper of God continues through all generations.

The world will keep flooding the zone. It will keep shouting, exhausting, controlling. It will try to convince us that resistance is pointless.  As if the chaos and control are normal and inevitable. 

But listen… the whisper still speaks.

God’s playbook is different: Sabbath rest, renewal, restoration, valuing life, patient love, and abundant grace. God feeds the weary. God restores the broken. God sends us back into the world, confident, joyful, and faithful.  God’s way is life giving.  

Here, in this sanctuary, with the candles burning, the photos of saints before us, and the quiet presence of God — the sound of silence is not emptiness. And it is not absence.  It is God’s presence. God’s voice. God’s promise.

And it saying you are beloved. It is God saying to each one of you – “I love you.”  You are part of a communion that stretches across time. You are not alone. And because of that, you can return to your mission in the world with strength, hope, and love.

So go in peace. Work from your rest. Love from your renewal. Whisper the hope of God into a world full of noise. And remember: the whisper endures forever. Thanks be to God.