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Passing on the Mantle

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Passing on the Mantle

29 June 2025

Series: Trinity

Topic: Prophecy, Succession

Book: 1 Kings, Luke

Passing on the Mantle

Ian Banks

I was raised in a small village near Bridport in Dorset and, when we were small, 3 times a year, every year, we would go on holiday to the same place: Herne Bay in Kent, where both my parents had grown up. Inevitably, the cry of: “are we nearly there yet” and “I need the toilet” would start about 5 minutes after we’d left home and before the car had even got out of the country lanes, with those steep-sided hedges, and onto the main road for the 5- or 6-hour journey. Not from us children, you understand, but from my dad who was driving…

Today’s gospel reading is a pivotal moment in Luke. We’re at the start of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem. And I hate to break it to you, but, if you follow the Lectionary, it will take ten chapters and most of the Sundays between now and the end of October to get there. I give you a few weeks and you’ll all be asking: “are we nearly there yet?” and “I need the toilet”.

On a journey

But we do like a good journey, don’t we? You only have to think about shows like ‘Strictly’ where it feels like from week one the celebs start talking about the metaphorical journey that they’re going on as they find out more about themselves. Or a literal journey like ‘Pilgrimage’, the BBC’s flagship programme for Easter, where seven celebrity seekers trek hundreds of kilometres through picturesque landscapes between chapels, churches and cathedrals discovering more about each other and their faith. I suspect we are more like nomads than pilgrims. Pilgrims know their route exactly in advance. We rarely do. Like Abram, nomads are called to go – and to go by uncertain paths and at indefinite times by something that God says or does. I think that’s probably more our experience. We do have the pilgrim is us too, though, because we do know our final destination – an eternity with God. Luke gives no real sense of how long the Jerusalem journey really took. All we have is his opening line in the first verse of our reading: ‘when the days drew near for him to be taken up’. So, there’s some implied urgency here and the knowledge that Jesus won’t be around in person forever.

Counter-culture

The journey or ‘travel narrative’, as it’s called, gives a framework for Luke to give us many of the familiar short stories, or parables, told by Jesus. And, at times, Luke reminds us that these sit within a larger literary context of being on the way to Jerusalem and he invites us to connect the dots. Much of what we’ve had before in Luke is action – Jesus performing one miracle after another (mostly around Galilee)– but now we go into story-telling mode and teaching. The teaching helping us to interpret those earlier actions. As the weeks go by, we could do worse than have Mary’s song, the Magnificat, at the back of our minds throughout his telling of tales. The counterculture of the lowly being lifted, the powerful brought down, the hungry being fed and the rich going away empty form a backdrop to many of his parables. The idea of a new society, a new way of being with your neighbour had been prophesied by his mother from before Jesus was born.

Out of sweets

This journey doesn’t start well. Like running out of sweets in the first few miles. My dad always used to get those ones in a tin with the white powdery coating that went everywhere. As we heard in the reading, they go through a Samaritan village and the villagers ignore the usual rules of hospitality. James and John, who get a bit full of themselves every now and then, ask if they can call down fire from heaven on the village to consume them. Total annihilation seems just a tad extreme, for not getting the welcome that they expected, but perhaps full marks for having the confidence to think they could do it! At least they asked Jesus first, which might well have spared them some embarrassment. They were apparently thinking of the time when Elijah called down fire on Samaritan troops in 2 Kings 1. There’s not the time for a history lesson here but suffice to say that Jews and Samaritans had been at odds with each other from the times of the Persians in the late 6th century before Christ all the way to and through the time of Jesus. Each claimed to uniquely have a true understanding of the Torah and the right form of worship in the right location.

Restoration

And it would be easy to think of the Samaritans as being the baddies here but there’s every chance that a group of Samaritans walking through a village in Galilee, would probably have got a similarly cold reception. Still, it’s not long after that Jesus feels the need to tell the story which we usually call The Good Samaritan. Perhaps he told it as much for the benefit of the disciples as for the lawyer who asked who his neighbour was. To get a sense of a modern-day equivalent, it would be like telling an Israeli Jew the story of a benevolent Palestinian Muslim who has sympathies for Hamas – because Samaria today is better known as the West Bank. Then later, in Acts, Luke tells us of the acceptance by the Samaritans of the good news of the Messiah and it’s used a sign of the restoration of all Israel after the many years of division.

Hard sayings

So, Jesus is determinately setting out for Jerusalem – and the disciples are miffed at the reception that they got at the first village, but he just pragmatically moves onto the next village, which presumably is also Samaritan. And then we get these three hard sayings of Jesus, which on the face of it seem pretty harsh and unreasonable. Maybe even tough and cruel. Because, of course, there’s nothing inherently wrong in arranging a funeral or saying goodbye to family and friends. Indeed, these are responsible things to do if you want to exist in any kind of community. And don’t you wish that Jesus would just answer the questions plainly for once rather than going all mystical on us and talking about foxes and birds and the dead and ploughs. But we get the gist.

Excuses

There are always excuses for putting off or delaying the claims that discipleship have on us. Other important matters competing for our attention. Ways to wriggle out of responsibility. But there’s an urgency to Jesus’ call here. It should prompt us to ask what will our response be? What qualifications do we make? Do we also say: “yes-but…” when Jesus calls? It begs the question: Is God enough? Is God good enough – for us not to do these other important things? Or would we rather just call down fire on those people that annoy us? Jesus then says: ‘no one who puts a hand to the plough and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.’ It’s probably why today’s OT passage about Elisha and his twelve yoke of oxen was paired with this Gospel.

How are our lives different?

But what does it mean? If you’re ploughing with an animal (rather than with a modern tractor automatically updated with GPS!) then you need to focus intently on a point in front of you. Look to the left or the right or behind you and the furrow won’t be straight. It will waiver one way or another. You have to be single-minded, totally focused. And, of course, the disciples did look back. In their despair and confusion after the crucifixion and resurrection, John’s Gospel tells us that they went straight back to their previous occupation of fishing. It wasn’t till Pentecost that they started their real work of spreading the Gospel. These three hard sayings should shock us into asking ourselves: “How are our lives different as followers of Jesus than what they might have been otherwise?” Discipleship should mean that we are living in ways that we might not otherwise live. Being a disciple of Jesus should give us a whole new identity.

Throwing the mantle

Our OT passage might seem to sit a little awkwardly with what we’ve just seen in the Gospel since Elisha does go back to kiss his mother and father goodbye… After Elijah had complained about being overworked, he is told by God in the still small voice to go and anoint Elisha as prophet in his place. Sure enough, he finds Elisha, who is busy ploughing a field. Elijah was never one to do exactly what he was told and he doesn’t anoint Elisha. Instead, he throws his mantle, his cloak at him and walks off without saying anything. Elisha has to run to catch-up with Elijah and ask the question about mum and dad. So, unlike other prophets, there’s no burning bush for Elisha. No cherubim or seraphim. No dramatic visions. No reassuring word from God. Indeed, no direct word from God at all, just an old cloak slung at his head. But just like the other prophets, Elisha was not looking for a new calling. The vocation found him, rather than the other way round. Sometimes our calling can be quite mundane, perhaps even a little offhand. I wonder if sometimes we miss the call altogether, because we’re expecting something a little grander or looking in a different direction?

All-in

In the first instance, Elisha’s new role is to be a servant not a seer before he becomes an apprentice prophet. He would gradually learn on the job and from someone very different to him. Elijah was an outsider who lived on the fringes, subsisting on food brought by scavenging ravens and a destitute widow. Elisha was well-off and much of his ministry was in the centre of power, sought out by kings and generals. But then we get to understand why these verses were chosen to sit alongside the Gospel. Because it’s not just about the ploughing but about what Elisha does next. There’s not the hesitancy implied by those would-be disciples in the Gospel. Elisha does go back – but to go all-in. He goes back but he goes back to burn his bridges – or at least the oxen and equipment that had provided his livelihood. There’s no going back after that. There’s an abundance in his reaction. He’s fully committed. He’s in 100%.

Moving-on

I imagine that if you are a minister of a congregation, then it must be extremely difficult to move on. To leave one call for another, one congregation for another. There’s probably a hint of grief and betrayal at leaving one and both excitement and fear for the future with the other. This passage seems to suggest that when you stop one thing and start another then you need to go all in. Celebrate the end of one thing and the start of another with a communal act and don’t yield to the temptation to return. However, I wouldn’t push the analogy too far. I don’t think that the passage is telling a minister to burn down their old church when they leave it, or for any of us to burn down a factory or an office if we change jobs or retire, as tempting as that might be…

Who inspired you?

I couldn’t leave our passage in 1 Kings without thinking about the mantle, which is still in our parlance today. To pass on the mantle to someone.

Has anyone passed on a mantle to you? Who has inspired you in the past or perhaps is inspiring you now? Whose spirit is with you? Whose legacy are you embodying? Like Elijah for Elisha, those people might be very different from us, but God raises individuals, people like you and me, for particular times and particular places.

But not just who, there’s a what in this too. What is the mantle that you’ve been asked to pick up, either individually or as a congregation? What work is so vital in this community, that if you don’t do it, then it won’t get done? Perhaps reflect on that in the days to come. Have a safe journey as you travel with Jesus these next few months to Jerusalem. As the old hymn goes: ‘The world behind me, the cross before me, no turning back, no turning back.’ But make sure you bring enough sweets. And go to the toilet before you leave. Amen ‘Passing on the Mantle’ was delivered by Ian Banks on 29th June 2025 at Dearnley Methodist. It was based on 1 Kings 19:15-16,19-end and Luke 9:51-end.

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