The Cloak That Fell from the Whirlwind

Do you know what it feels like to walk close beside someone you love, when you can feel that they are about to go away? That was the day Elisha was living.

Elijah the prophet had been like a father to him. And on this morning, Elijah knew it was his last morning on the ground. So did Elisha. So Elisha did the only thing his heart could do.

He would not leave Elijah's side.

"Stay here," Elijah said gently, three different times. "The LORD is sending me on ahead."

And three times Elisha answered the same brave, aching words: "As surely as the LORD lives, I will not leave you."

When you love someone, every step they take can feel like one step closer to the goodbye. And Elisha was not ready for the goodbye. Are we ever?

They walked together to the river. Elijah rolled up his cloak, that worn old cloak he had carried through every storm and every fire, the same cloak he had pulled over his face long before, on the mountain, when God came to him in a whisper. He struck the water with it. The river opened. A dry path appeared. And the two of them crossed over, side by side, one last time.

Then Elijah turned to him. "Tell me," he said. "What can I do for you before I am taken away?"

Elisha did not ask for gold. He did not ask for an easy life. He asked for the one thing he would need most when he was left alone.

"Please," he said. "Let me have a double share of your spirit."

He was really saying: when you are gone, do not let me be empty. Let me carry the work. Let what was in you be in me.

And then the sky came down. A chariot of fire, with horses of fire, and a great whirlwind sweeping up, and up, and up, and Elijah went with it, up into heaven, where Elisha could not follow.

Elisha cried out. He tore his own clothes the way people did when their hearts were breaking. The wind died away, and he stood there all alone.

But not empty.

Because when Elijah rose, his cloak fell. Down out of the whirlwind. Down to the very ground where Elisha stood with wet eyes. And Elisha bent low and picked it up.

He walked back to the river. He struck the water, just as his father had. And the river opened again.

The same spirit. The same power. The work, going on. It had not floated away into the sky. It had been left behind, on purpose, for the one who stayed.

Hold onto this picture. Because there would come a far greater day, when a far greater One went up into heaven while his friends watched, aching, left behind. And what did he leave them? Something better than any cloak: his very own Spirit, poured out to live inside them, so that everything he began would go on and on.

He had to go. But he did not leave them empty. He never does. He gives the ones who stay himself, already with them, already at work, with more of himself yet to give than they could dream.

And Elisha? He settled that cloak on his own shoulders and walked on toward the towns of Israel, carrying Elijah's God with him. Very soon, a proud general with a terrible sickness would come looking for exactly that.