More Than We Can See

A continuation of the Elisha series - a sermon our Pride Sunday celebration in San Diego - on 2nd Kings 6

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Transcript

Sermons from 

Mission Hills UCC

San Diego, California

Rev. Dr. David Bahr

david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org

July 13, 2025

“More Than We Can See”

2nd Kings 6: 15-17, 20-23 – The Message

Early in the morning a servant of the Holy Man got up and went out. Surprise! Horses and chariots surrounding the city! The young man exclaimed, “Oh, master! What shall we do?”

16 He said, “Don’t worry about it—there are more on our side than on their side.”

17 Then Elisha prayed, “O God, open his eyes and let him see.”

The eyes of the young man were opened and he saw. A wonder! The whole mountainside full of horses and chariots of fire surrounding Elisha!

20 As they entered the city, Elisha prayed, “O God, open their eyes so they can see where they are.” God opened their eyes. They looked around—they were trapped in Samaria!

21 When the king of Israel saw them, he said to Elisha, “Father, shall I massacre the lot?”

22 “Not on your life!” said Elisha. “You didn’t lift a hand to capture them, and now you’re going to kill them? No sir, make a feast for them and send them back to their master.”

23 So he prepared a huge feast for them. After they ate and drank their fill he dismissed them. Then they returned home to their master. The raiding bands of Aram didn’t bother Israel anymore.

The king of Aram was back at war.  But this time, something strange kept happening.  Every time he laid out a military strategy, every time they prepared an ambush — somehow, their enemy already knew.  As if they could see it coming.  As if the king of Israel had a spy inside the war room.

Furious, the king called in his closest advisors and shouted at them, “Who keeps leaking our plans?  Which one of you is the traitor?”  But one of his servants answered nervously, “It’s not us, my lord.  It’s the prophet Elisha, in Israel.  He tells their king the very words you speak in your bedroom.”  “Well, then find him. Track him down. Now!”

Scouts came back with a report: “He’s in Dothan.”  So, the king sent a massive force — horses, chariots, warriors — to capture a single unarmed prophet.  They arrived under cover of night and took positions outside the city.

In the morning, Elisha’s servant stepped outside and saw them — enemy troops surrounding them on every hill.  Terrified, he ran back, “Sir, what are we going to do?”

This summer series began with Elijah successfully calling down fire from heaven, but late God didn’t show up in a spectacle of fire or fierce wind or frightening earthquake but in a still small voice, the voice of sheer silence, that asked, “what are you doing here.”  His successor was nothing like the bombastic Elijah. 

Elisha brought comfort where other prophets brought wrath, in stories like Elisha healing poisoned water.  In last week’s story, Elisha brought a dead son back to life.  Two weeks ago, Elisha instructed a military commander with a skin disease from an enemy nation to wash in a muddy river — an idea the commander at first found incomprehensible and insulting.  

Do you remember that after that he was healed, he tried to give Elisha piles of silver and gold.  Elisha told him, no.  Healing is a gift, not something you can reward.  But his servant Gehazi watched this exchange and decided to chase after Naaman and pretend that Elisha had changed his mind.  Then he lied to Elisha about taking the riches for himself.  That greed cost him dearly — Gehazi was suddenly covered in the same skin disease that had once plagued Naaman.

In today’s reading, Gehazi is gone and Elisha has a different servant.  A new apprentice who hadn’t yet learned to see the world through prophetic eyes. 

So, back to our story.  The king sent a massive force — horses, chariots, warriors — to capture a single unarmed prophet.  In the morning, Elisha’s servant stepped outside and saw them — enemy troops surrounding them on every hill.  Terrified, he ran back, “Sir, what are we going to do?”  But Elisha didn’t panic.  “Don’t be afraid.  There are more with us than with them.”  The servant looked again — and still saw nothing. 

So, Elisha prayed, “O Lord, open his eyes.”  And suddenly the servant’s eyes were opened — and what he saw was breathtaking.  All around the mountains were chariots of fire.  Not there to destroy, but to protect. 

As the Aramean army closed in, Elisha prayed again, “Strike them with blindness.”  Not permanently but enough to lose their way. You see, not for violence, but to confuse them.  And then Elisha walked right out into the middle of them and said, “You’re in the wrong place.  Follow me, and I’ll lead you to the man you’re looking for,” said the man they were looking for.  And with that, the prophet led the entire army to Samaria — the heart of Israel’s territory — and straight into the hands of the Israelite king.

The king couldn’t believe his good fortune, but first asked, “Shall I massacre them now?”  But Elisha shook his head.  “No.  (Get this)  Give them food and water.  Let them eat and drink — then send them home.”

And so, in one of the most unexpected military victories ever, Israel threw a feast for their enemies.  The Aramean soldiers ate and drank — and were sent back to their king.  And the story quietly ends:  “The Aramean raiders stopped coming into the land of Israel.”  Talk about a miracle!  Once again, unlike the bombastic Elijah, Elisha teaches about restoring, not destroying.  This isn’t just a tale from the past — it’s a lesson in prophetic moral imagination today.  

It makes me think of ICE, circling Los Angeles in their intimidation raids.  What if we prayed the same thing?  Open the eyes of the ones at risk to see more people standing there to defend than to attack.  Not their imagination, but really there.  And then pray, O Lord, blind the attackers — not permanently, but enough to disorient.  Then open their eyes to see the cruelty they’ve become part of, the machinery of a wannabe dictatorship built on the delusions of white supremacy.  

As we struggle with how to respond, I find inspiration in Elisha:  we are not called to return hate with hate, but to imagine something better:  like inviting ICE to a banquet.  Unrealistic?  Maybe.  But that’s the kind of healing Elisha modeled.  That’s the power of moral imagination.  The kind I think we are called to embody.

Today, as we celebrate the resilience of the LGBTQ community, I want to highlight our transgender siblings who are under attack every day.

Laws are no longer written to protect — they are drafted to punish and erase.
 Lies are not just spoken — they are weaponized.
 Safe spaces shrinking.
 Medical care denied.
 Harassment escalating led by political leaders — some calling themselves Christian – to scapegoat and distract. 

Elisha’s servant saw an army and panicked.  “What are we going to do?”  And maybe you’re wrestling with the same question.  In the face of all this hate, all this fear and assault on, in particular today, queer life and trans dignity, what are we going to do?  

What if we also imagined divine presence not as force, but as fierce defense — encircling the vulnerable with light?  And even more — what if we became that presence?  More than using our imagination, surrounding and uplifting communities at risk.  Elisha told his servant:  Don’t be afraid.  There are more with us than against us.  

Well, that would have been hard for the now Rev. Malcolm Himschoot to imagine 20 years ago, yet he believed in such an invisible witness and became one of the first openly transgender clergy ordained in the United Church of Christ—or any mainline denomination—in 2004 in Denver.  His life testifies to a God who moves through those the world tries to erase and the theological integrity that the priesthood of all believers includes ALL believers.  And miraculously, people with the power to decide saw him.  They didn’t just tolerate his presence—they recognized his call. Ordination committees – that’s hard.  Search committees – that’s much harder.  Entire congregations – that’s the hardest! They saw light within him which in turn lit the way for others to follow.

And Rev. Darrell Goodwin, the Conference Minister for over 600 churches in Southern New England, our largest conference, leads with joy, pastoral depth, and prophetic clarity. A gay Black man who names his queerness not as obstacle—but as blessing. He lifts it up as sacred and Spirit-filled. His leadership is chariot-like in its own way—surrounding, protecting, and blazing a path of holy fire for others.

These are the chariots encircling the hills today.  Not to rush forward to destroy but inviting us to join them in standing firm in fierce, radiant presence.  How?

You may not be called to pulpits or public leadership.
 But you are called to see.

To see who is under threat.
 To see who is being erased.
 To see who is standing alone—and to stand with them.

You can become that presence when you show up—not only in crisis, but in everyday ways that whisper: You are surrounded by light. You are not alone.

You can become that presence when you tell the truth, even when it costs something.  When you risk your comfort to defend someone else’s dignity.
 You can also just listen without trying to fix.
 
 

Because love compels you, sometimes you’ll be called to confront hate.
 Sometimes to hold space.
 Sometimes just to stay close when others walk away.

This will not always be easy.
 But neither was the vision Elisha gave his servant.

 It takes opening our eyes to see the chariots.
 It takes courage to become them.

But the promise still holds:
 There are more with us than against us.
 
 

Pride is joy born from survival.  It is love that keeps rising, even when the world tries to legislate it out of existence.  It is trans kids in their first pair of affirming clothes, drag queens reading stories with laughter and light, and elders holding space. It is chosen family at a communion table with glitter and grace.  Pride is moral imagination in the face of violence.  There are more with you than you can see.

We began this series with Elijah’s fire and continued with stories of Elisha’s healing.
 I’ve asked: What are you doing here?
In a rage-filled world, how can the Church be a healing witness to revolutionary love?
I’ve asked: Where will you start?  Who shall we be?

And today I ask:

Who needs to know they are not alone but surrounded by your love and courage?
And even more, as we practice the moral imagination of Elisha,
What opponent can you imagine inviting to your banquet table?

Because that’s where the story must end:
 With fear disarmed.
 With a feast instead of a fight.
 With enemies fed.

So I ask again—
 To begin the healing, to become the chariots of fire—
 Use your moral imagination:

What opponent can you invite to your table?