The brave man, the fearless one, the man who derided the prophets of Baal and had water poured on his sacrifice before calling for heaven’s fire, fled for his life. Where was that brave Elijah when he read Jezebel’s message? He walked away for 40 days and then some, fleeing from mountain to mountain. It’s hard to say what drove him. Cowardice? Weariness? A desire for solitude? All could be counted as weakness. He should have stayed. He should have fought. He should have faced death. But he didn’t. He fled and then some.

In his retreat he found sustenance and he found God. He made his way to Mt. Horeb, the mountain Moses found the burning bush, the mountain where Moses received the Ten Commandments, the mountain where God had a history of showing up. Elijah goes and history repeats itself. The Spirit tells Elijah, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by” (1 King 19:11, NRSVUE). But Elijah doesn’t go or, at the very least, he goes only to be scared back into the cave by the fire, the wind, and the earthquake. It’s the stillness that draws Elijah out, it’s the quiet moment when Elijah meets God.

A moment of weakness leads Elijah to retreat. A moment of quiet brings Elijah into God’s presence. A moment of presence brings a divine charge, and Elijah heads back into the same land he fled.  Retreat leads to quiet which leads to presence which leads to connection with God which leads to return.

The dominant theories of what it means to be a Christian man tend to focus on the parts of David I least associate with: the fearless warrior, the powerful king, the man of incessant action. We call him a “man after God’s own heart” but we focus on the hands. Where’s the poet? Where’s the adulterer? Where’s the man who wept? Where’s the man who played the harp? Where’s the man who cared for his father’s sheep? Where’s the man who fled from his own son?

Too often, I feel like I should be “a man”, that I should stand up for what I believe in, that people should think of me as a prayer warrior or an iron man or any of those other names men’s ministries are so often given. I’ve tried, yet like David I found the armor too cumbersome, the sword too heavy. 

I find that man in the story of Elijah’s retreat. I find that man in the story of David just wanting Saul’s forgiveness. I find that man in Jesus’ bloody sweat in the garden. I find that man in the retreat. I find that man in the moments of stillness. I find that man, that heart, in the moments of reflection, eyes shut, hands still, but heart open to that still, small voice. 

I find that man when I shun the role of warrior, when I shun the myth of my own steadfastness, my self-reliance. I find that man when I’m vulnerable, facing Goliath without the accouterments of war that others try to put on me. I find that man in a version of myself that recognizes my own weakness, my need to retreat, my need for quiet places, my need to tend to my heart and letting my hands fall idle.

May I be brave enough to retreat, vulnerable enough to be still, present enough to hear God, and brave enough to return that which I fled from.