Commentary on 1 Kings 19:15-16, 19-21

Anna Marsh

I would wager that most of you who choose to preach on an Old Testament text this week are more likely to choose 2 Kings 2—the passing of Elijah’s mantle—than these final verses of 1 Kings 19. That’s all right, 2 Kings 2 is a fascinating text. But these do share themes, and we benefit from reading them together. On the whole, the lectionary texts for the week deal with leadership and discipleship. What do these look like? What do they demand? The preponderance of commentaries suggests that both leadership and discipleship demand nothing less than everything we have. But what I see in 1 Kings 19 that is particularly valuable are small acts of kindness that make the challenges of leadership just a little bit more bearable.

The reading comes in two parts, two short scenes. The first is right on the heels of one of the more famous episodes in Elijah’s life. It is in 1 Kings 19:11–14 that Elijah—bracing for an experience of God that would split mountains, crack the earth open, and consume with fire—hears the qol d’mamah daqah: a “still, small voice” or (probably better) “the sound of sheer silence.” Elijah reaffirms his commitment to his mission (“I have been intensely zealous for the LORD”), and God responds by sending him on his way with a command to anoint two kings and his own replacement, and with a reminder that his zeal is no guarantee of success.

Note that Mr. Zealous-for-the-LORD seems to drag his heels now. Elijah is commanded to anoint Jehu, which he does not do until 2 Kings 9, and Hazael, which he apparently never does. He does search out his successor, Elisha ben Shaphat. At any rate, what this signifies is a complete turnover in leadership, the results of which will not become visible until the second book of Kings. The seeds are planted here for the overthrow of the Omride dynasty (2 Kings 9–10), of which Ahab is a member.

A transition in leadership

Any human leader, good or bad, is only for a time. From Moses to Samson, Elijah, David, Solomon, Jeroboam, and down to Ahab and Jezebel—great and wicked leaders alike come and go. (Two verses are omitted from the reading in the lectionary here, 1 Kings 19:17–18, and they reinforce the ephemeral nature of human leadership.) When Elijah shows up at Elisha’s house, Elisha seems to be living out his regular, private agrarian life—we meet him plowing with a herd of oxen. This could be a sign of his family’s wealth, or it could mean he is working alongside others from his community—the text does not say—but it seems intended to show that his life was comfortable, peaceful. Without a word, Elijah throws his mantle over Elisha’s shoulders, and Elisha springs into action.

Looking back

Interpreters have been looking back to these stories about Elijah and Elisha with questions about the demands of discipleship since … well, always. Elisha’s resolve needs to be tested, and Elijah’s harshness is how it will be done. I see where this reading comes from. I see that Elisha’s first act as a prophet is to slaughter and cook the oxen with which he was plowing and to feed them to the people (although it might have been helpful for him to leave the yoke for his neighbors…). That’s a pretty definitive sign that he knows his path has shifted permanently. And I see how Jesus refers to this story directly in Luke 9: putting a hand to the plow and looking back.

At the same time, I find the notion that Elisha hesitates to be a bizarre one. After all, Elijah shows up, says nothing, performs a symbolic act—you can get the impression he barely even slows down (he passed by Elisha and threw his cloak over him). The very next word is the verb of which Elisha is the subject: “he left, he forsook.” Elisha runs after Elijah and says, “Just let me say goodbye to my parents, and I’ll follow you.” That’s hardly hesitating; it’s just being a human being. And Elijah’s response is “Lekh shuv”—“Go back” or “Turn and go.” While many read this as dismissive or disgusted, it is equally possible that he is giving Elisha permission.

Elijah’s next word is possibly a bit more dismissive: “Ki meh asiti lakh”—literally, “For what have I done to you?”—is widely interpreted as a rebuke of Elisha, as if he should not even say goodbye to his parents before taking off. Think of your own children, your own parents—can you really commend this reading? And remember that Elijah is not easy to follow. Either he knows this and his response means “What I have done to you is pretty big,” or he is bitterly swiping at his new protege, “What do I care?”

Either way, how much more faithful could Elisha possibly have been? Note that God does not seem to mind, and that the people do not try to get Elisha to stay—yet so many commentaries suggest that these would both be the case. In fact, it is Elijah whose words and actions are cryptic, suggesting that he is not yet ready to be succeeded. In this resistance, he is delaying the fulfillment of a direct command from God.¹ By contrast, Elisha gets a puzzle and responds with readiness to serve, making one simple, reasonable request.

We could make a terrible object lesson for public leaders out of this text: Your calling supersedes your humanity. When God calls, you don’t even say goodbye to your family; you just go. What a monstrous recommendation that is, especially when we understand our roles within the family to be an aspect of vocation. What is widely overlooked in commentaries is that Elijah recently received this exact same word from God just a few verses above (verse 15). Elijah proclaims that he has been “extremely zealous” for God’s sake and it hasn’t made an impact—the people are still engaged in illicit worship, slaughtering prophets, and coming after him. To this lament, God responds, “Lekh shuv le-darkhekha”—“Go, return to your path…” (19:15). And so perhaps Elijah is, in fact, showing kindness to Elisha here in repeating that word.

Perhaps Elijah remembers the sting of God’s response to his own anxious heart, and he echoes God’s words but changes the intention. “Lekh shuv.” Rather than “Get back to your work,” he says, “Go.” He knows the stakes are high—remember that, fearing for his own life, he left his former servant behind in verse 3. He thought he understood the gravity of his own calling, and then he encountered God in the most surprising, mysterious way. Shaken to the core and still trying to make sense of this “sound of sheer silence,” he is sent to commission Elisha.

He is commanded to pass on this bewildering mantle, but perhaps he has come to realize he doesn’t ultimately understand a lot about this work. There’s no way to explain this calling he has or how he will survive it. And so Elijah turns his suffering into mercy for the young man whose life he is now claiming. That’s what a good teacher does—rather than “I did it; so must you,” I think it’s possible to read Elijah as allowing his heart to be softened with sympathy, making it just a little bit easier for the one who will follow him.