In 986 Erik the Red founded a colony on Greenland.  He named it “green land” instead of “Tundra Town” in order to encourage settlement.  He left his son Leif Erickson there.  Leif (no offense to Brendan) was the first European to visit North America.  The colony, despite scant arable land, and the briefest of growing seasons, survived.  It grew to a population of about 5,000 with a cathedral and bishop.  In 1430, because of colder climate conditions, the colony lost touch with mother country, Norway, for more than a century.  When, in 1560, Norwegian ships returned they discovered the colony completely extinct – and the body of 1 unburied man – the last Greenlander.             I have always found the figure of the last Greenlander intriguing.  One lone man, having buried the last of his kind, facing the weather, starvation, and the Inuit, alone.  He was permanently cut off from a homeland he likely had never visited – knowing he would die alone.  He has always reminded me of Elijah standing alone against the prophets of Ba’al in I Kings 18 - for when victory over the prophets of Ba’al was absolute he was still alone, or so he thought.             In 1 Kings 19, Elijah flees to Mt. Sinai.  Believing himself a failure he goes back to the mountain of God – a homeland he likely had never visited before.  There he meets God, who asks him:  “What are you doing here Elijah?” (1 Kings 19.9)              Elijah announces that the Israelites have “rejected your covenant, broken down your altars, killed your prophets.”  Then, he adds the final, poignant, explanation, “I am left alone, and now they are trying to kill me,” (1 Kings 19.10).

            God’s response is not to fix him a cup of cocoa, nor lend him a sympathetic ear.  “Get back to Israel” God responds, “You have a successor to train, a king to anoint, and 7,000 Israelites waiting for your leadership who haven’t yet bowed the knee to Ba’al”.

            We all have moments when we feel like the last Greenlander, or like Elijah – embattled and alone.  Maybe we feel like the lone Christian not enjoying “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”.  Maybe all the people who know the things we know and love the things we love have passed on or moved away.  I know that sometimes I feel like one of a dwindling handful of Church of Christ preachers who haven’t invited people to “welcome Jesus into their heart as their personal Savior” as the praise team performs one last song.

            Such self-pity is self-indulgent, and ultimately self-centered (what other kind of self-pity is there?).  Most of all, it is unrealistic.  It simply isn’t true that we are alone.

            “7,000 who haven’t bowed the knee to Ba’al” was a minority – perhaps less then one percent of the population of Israel – but it was a substantial number nonetheless.  Aren’t we told the number of sons on the straight and narrow are going to be few (Matthew 7.13-16).  In addition to this we are surrounded by the great Witness Cloud of saints from before who fill the stadium and cheer us on – we are always the home team (Hebrews 12.1ff).  And then there is God, who is always there (Isaiah 43.1ff, Matthew 2).

            We are never the solitary figure we sometimes imagine – the surroundings aren’t as barren as the rocks of the Sinai or the tundra of Greenland.

            Here, in Manassas, we have each other.  Any of us who have found ourselves in need as I did after cancer surgery know how quickly we support each other.  Let us thank God that we are an “us” – a family, together with each other, with the saints who have gone home, with God himself who is with us all the way – unto the end of the age.  Amen.