2026-10-11 1Ki 19 11-31 After the Hurricane
11 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, 12 and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire, and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. 13 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?”
This was not the sermon I had written for today. Funny how plans change. Things you don’t anticipate seem to arise out of nowhere. Your plans, your hopes – they may not be gone, but they’re delayed. And there’s nothing you can do about that.
We almost made it through hurricane season this year. Seemed amazing. Lucky. Some would say, divine providence. I actually had a couple of church members tell me, “We hate that you’re going to make it out of here without the true Pensacola storm experience.” Your hatred paid off. Thanks so much. You didn’t have to do that. Not only did you get me a storm, you got one I’m still not sure how to pronounce. You even got Jim Cantore. Woo.
It reminds me of the saying, “If you want to make God laugh, make plans.” One of the things I really believe, something I think I said my first Sunday here, is that God’s standard operating procedure always involves surprise. Not because God’s a trickster. Not because God likes jumping out from behind the sofa yelling, “Surprise!” Like it’s a party, planned just for us. God surprises us because God is God. And we’re not. It’s more like it says in Isaiah 55:
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts."
Which means to us that God’s always going to be surprising. God’s always going to do things differently than we’d expect. Because we’re just people. We’re the clay and God’s the potter. The wheel spins, the world turns, and we can’t predict what’s next. Even with Doppler radar. Even with Artificial Intelligence. Even with psychics and Ouija boards and your Aunt Louise’s bunions. We just don’t know what’s coming. And even if we can predict what’s coming in, say, the weather, we can never say for sure what’s coming next. We can prepare. But we can’t pick the outcome.
What I do expect is that along the Gulf Coast today, there are a lot of preachers who have picked the same passage I have: 1 Kings 19. It’s about Elijah. Elijah’s a prophet on the run. Wicked Queen Jezebel is out to kill him, because that’s what dictators do to prophets who speak the truth about them. If you can’t change the prophesy, dispose of the prophet.
So, Elijah headed for the high hills. 40 days and 40 nights, just like Moses did on Mount Sinai. Elijah was ready to quit his job. He was sure that if Jezebel didn’t get him, the people would, because his ratings were in the toilet. But then, something he never expected surprised him.
The Word of the Lord spoke to him. Told him to go out of his hidey-hole, out of the cave where he’d been hiding. Told him to go stand on the mountaintop, exposed to all the elements.
[The Voice] said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”
God predicted what God was going to do.
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.
And then.
After the great wind, so strong it was splitting mountains.
After the earthquake.
After the fire.
After all the natural disasters, there was the sound of sheer silence.
Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”
I don’t know how many of you saw the sunset last Thursday night. I have never, ever seen such a sight. The sky lit up like it was on fire. As far as you could see, the red sky at night was no sailor’s delight. It was a sign. A sign that something wicked was on its way. It was beautiful. Too beautiful for anyone to ignore.
But God was not in the fire.
And then there was wind. There was wind. And there was rain. There was the sound that sounded like the earth was shaking, splitting open. Throwing everything not tied down. The floods came. The surge pushed on homes, cars, businesses. And people.
But God was not in any of that.
Where was God in the hurricane?
Was God in the hurricane?
Something I’ve heard of, but until now hadn’t experienced, was the legendary “calm after the storm.” I don’t know if things were really so calm. But the wind stopped howling, the branches stopped scraping the house, the rain stopped hammering. The earth paused, stilled, and caught its breath. It felt like the sound of sheer silence. The still, small voice that speaks to us in the palpable, visceral absence.
It’s like God sees us, puts a finger under our chin, and lifts us from darkness, whispering: “Surprise.”
Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”
Asking us, “What are you going to do? Now?”
Yesterday morning, I got out early to drive to the church and see how the building fared. I had to weave around the downed trees. I made my way under power lines. I rolled down the window and talked to others surveying the damage. As the city awoke, you could hear the churning generators, the ripping of chainsaws, the line trucks in caravan. But, then, the noise passed. Mainly, it was quiet.
And then you and friends from faraway started texting. We checked on each other. A “Thumbs Up” emoji was worth a thousand words.
Pensacola was lucky. This was no Ivan. Isaias (another “I” hurricane) was mean but not brutal. I suspect in a few days, the cleanup will carry on, and life will get back to normal.
I don’t believe God sends natural disasters to punish us. But I do believe God sends silence to confront us. Like Elijah, God puts the question to us:
“What are you doing here?”
Asking us, “What are you going to do? Now?”
What is the silence whispering to you?
How is it surprising you in the absence of the whirlwind?
I hope that today and in the weeks to come, you’ll remember the gift of silence God sends after all the fury is over.
Text a friend. Call an acquaintance. Surprise someone with your presence, your small but enduring voice. I hope you’ll find your own answer to God’s question, “What are you doing here? Today?”
