2 Kings: A Closer Walk

As we grow older, our doctors begin visits with new questions. We are asked if we’ve fallen recently, feeling depressed or anxious, remember our medications, or struggle to follow conversations. It often feels like the beginning of a gentle but steady descent into the embrace of the inevitable. While dying is a universal experience, there are two extraordinary examples in the Old Testament where men—Enoch in Genesis and Elijah here—were simply taken up alive. Neither had final words or opportunity to reflect on the world they were leaving behind for their children. Neither had time to fulfill a bucket list. Enoch simply kept walking with God, and though Elijah’s departure was far more dramatic, it was more like Enoch’s than it might seem. Both left while going about their normal lives. There was no dread, no anxiety. No frantic search for a miracle or sudden deliverance. Just a closer walk.

In a time filled with anxiety, not only about the end of our individual lives but also the sometimes looming end of the world, I often return to the writings of authors who have given me a broader perspective. Rather than feeling frantic about completing what has been left undone, these authors focused on the future in a way I hope to as well. C.S. Lewis, writing in the 1950s during the height of the atomic bomb threat, shared wisdom that resonates even more today:

“In one way we think a great deal too much of the atomic bomb. ‘How are we to live in an atomic age?’ I am tempted to reply: ‘Why, as you would have lived in the sixteenth century when the plague visited London almost every year, or as you would have lived in a Viking age when raiders from Scandinavia might land and cut your throat any night; or indeed, as you are already living in an age of cancer, an age of syphilis, an age of paralysis, an age of air raids, an age of railway accidents, an age of motor accidents.’ In other words, do not let us exaggerate the novelty of our situation. Believe me, dear sir or madam, you and all whom you love were already sentenced to death before the atomic bomb was invented; and quite a high percentage of us were going to die in unpleasant ways…If we are all going to be destroyed by an atomic bomb, let that bomb, when it comes, find us doing sensible and human things—praying, working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint and a game of darts—not huddled together like frightened sheep and thinking about bombs. They may break our bodies (a microbe can do that), but they need not dominate our minds.”

Henri Nouwen, reflecting on his long and successful career, wrote:

“More and more, the desire grows in me simply to walk around, greet people, enter their homes, sit on their doorsteps, play ball, throw water, and be known as someone who wants to live with them. It is a privilege to have the time to practice this simple ministry of presence. Still, it is not as simple as it seems… But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them.”

For many of us, we have had the privilege of an Elijah in our lives, and their passing leaves a gap. Like Elisha, we mourn the loss and wonder how we will go on without them. A fortunate few may inherit a calling and even a “double portion,” but for others, the challenge is dealing with the void left behind. This is what Oswald Chambers called “the passing of the hero.” The time comes when that powerful influence—mentor, teacher, coach, or friend—is taken from us, and it is our turn to step into the role of Elijah in the life of another.

But it is also time to reflect on how we hope to depart. Are we focused on what we still long to accomplish and experience, or are we content to simply continue walking, like Henri, with those we have come to truly love?

St. Isaac the Syrian put it this way: “Prepare your heart for your departure. If you are wise, you will expect it every hour. . . . And when the time of departure comes, go joyfully to meet it, saying, ‘Come in peace. I knew you would come, and I have not neglected anything that could help me on the journey.’”

It’s time for the annual break between now and the end of The Gathering conference in September. We will return on September 25.

‍

Art by Shanna Bruschi

‍