You’ve probably heard the phrase, “going down a rabbit trail.” Wild rabbits don’t like to saunter down Main Street; they prefer bolting down trails leading deep into the woods. (By the way, jackrabbits are capable of speeds up to 40 mph to evade predators). To go down a “rabbit trail,” then, means to get off the main road, to be detoured, distracted, or diverted from your goals and plans.
Did you ever see the classic movie, It’s A Wonderful Life? George Bailey, as played by Jimmy Stewart, was a young man with big dreams. He was going to travel the world, go to college and become an engineer. But his father’s sudden death and the threat of an evil tycoon to shut down the family’s building and loan company forced him to stay in his hometown. There he settled down, married, and had children. The climax of the movie comes when George’s half-witted uncle loses a wad of deposit money and the bank examiner sends the sheriff to arrest George. George Bailey had tramped down a rabbit trail that led him to despair and darkness – until that fateful night when he prayed and God sent an angel named Clarence.
God is with us on the rabbit trails of life, and he stands at the end of the trail when we’ve exhausted our human options and we need more than fleshly wisdom. In our trials He sends angels to us—and sometimes even crows.
Elijah discovered this joyful truth.
Elijah was a prophet who lived almost 3000 years ago in the Northern Kingdom. He was an odd duck, wearing rough coats of camel hair, munching on grasshoppers topped with wild honey, making his home in caves. But he was a true prophet. He adored Yahweh, the God of Israel, and could not tolerate the idolatry of King Ahab and his queen, Jezebel. One day he confronted the king and declared that God would not send dew or rain for several years as punishment.
“Then the word of the LORD came to Elijah: "Leave here, turn eastward and hide in the Kerith (KEE-rith) Ravine, east of the Jordan. You will drink from the brook, and I have ordered the ravens to feed you there."
Elijah would have preferred to stay. He knew his work wasn’t finished. He needed to keep the pressure on Ahab and see his program of justice through. But God told him to go. The road leading to the Kerith Ravine must have looked like a rabbit trail. It was a wadi, a dry riverbed, located on the far side of the Jordan River, in the territory of Gilead, also called the Transjordan – a rugged, hilly region with canyons of alien beauty. There God ordered ravens to act as waiters for Elijah, bringing a daily meal of meat and bread. When the brook dried up, God took Elijah down another rabbit trail, to a Gentile town called Zarephath, where he met a widow with one son. She was using up her oil and flour to make a final loaf of bread, a last supper in the midst of the famine. Elijah asks her to make some bread for him. Now if you were down to your last slice of Wonder Bread – with no food at the grocery store and all the restaurants closed – would you feed a total stranger?
The widow did. She used up the oil and flour. She gave the freshly-baked bread to Elijah. She went back to see if anything remained in the jars—and they were full! She kept using up the flour and pouring out the oil to bake more bread. The jars could not be emptied. It was like bailing out the ocean with a teaspoon – God’s provisions just couldn’t be exhausted!
Some rabbit trail, huh?
God has lessons to teach us when we’ve been detoured. When we’ve lost our way. When we find ourselves camped in a dried-up country called “Despair” and we can’t figure out how we got there – or how to get out.
By the ravine, Elijah learned trust. With the arrival of the strange prophet, the widow learned dependence. God provided. God sustained. God came into a parched land like Living Water and the Bread of Life. In desolate circumstances, at the end of the road, he gave food, water. . .and hope.
Elijah’s longest rabbit trail came after his victory on Mt. Carmel. He had called down fire from heaven and dispatched 850 false prophets with the sword. But Jezebel had him in her sights. She was signing his execution order, readying the hit men. Elijah got wind of it and dashed into the desert, plodding on and on and on for 40 days and 40 nights. Finally he came to a sacred mountain, where he encountered God not in wind, fire or earthquake – but in a small, still voice; an awesome whisper; a murmuring so low that Elijah had to strain to hear it.
But heard it he did.
“What are you doing here, Elijah?”
In other words, I didn’t call you here. You went down this rabbit trail on your own. Why are you in a cave when you should be at the castle? It’s time to meet Ahab head-on, for I have reserved 7000 people in Israel who have not kissed an idol or bowed to a foreign god.
How about you? Have you pulled “an Elijah?” Gone down a rabbit trail? Ended up in a dark cave with no hope? Tried to outrun God and wondered if you actually did?
Ps 139:7-10:
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
Six years ago, I went down my own torturous rabbit trail. My father died of a heart attack, right after we had patched up some difficulties. I was stressed out pastoring two churches. Old demons rose up, telling me I was a fraud and hack. I was facing back surgery. One day I collapsed under the stress. I took a leave of absence and checked myself into a Christian clinic. There I stayed for a month in a day program, trying to get my heart mended. During my counseling, I met a lot of people like me, battered from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, and we talked, and prayed, and got real. Eventually we all regained our spirit and strength, and finally got out. I realized that God had sat down with me at the end of that rabbit trail, squatted beside me in the dust and dryness of my life. He had touched me and fed me, and he had used me to reach out to other hurting souls. You know, ministry doesn’t always take place within church walls.
“To be commanded to love God at all, let alone in the wilderness, is like being commanded to be well when we are sick, to sing for joy when we are dying of thirst, to run when our legs are broken. But this is the first and great commandment nonetheless. Even in the wilderness – especially in the wilderness – you shall love him.” –Frederick Buechner
What about you?
Has your rabbit trail ended in the wilderness, your detour taken you into a wasteland?
Perhaps, long ago, you had a dream. You wanted to become a doctor, a pilot, the Great American Novelist—but you took a rabbit trail and ended up in a 9-5 job.
Maybe your rabbit trail is behavioral. You decided to become more patient, kinder, more loving, less angry. But the kids still spill their milk, your boss still chews you out, and you’re right back on that fruitless trail leading to nowhere.
Or you decided to travel down a spiritual road. You resolved to pray every day for an hour, read your Bible, get involved in church – but the bills piled up, the plumbing started to leak, and you lost your way. The road to Zion turned into a desert road, full of bones and despair.
But look. Squint your eyes. There it is, looming from the horizon like a giant standing tall. It’s a mountain—but not just any mountain. It’s the mountain of God.
Draw near. Come closer. This is your burning bush moment, the mountain of transfiguration, a place of divine encounter. Here you can sit, rest, yes, even complain and pour out your heart.
“It’s not fair!”
“I can’t do this anymore!”
“Why did you let this happen?”
“I’m so frustrated!”
Then, as your protesting subsides and you wipe away the tears, God will speak to you, a divine whisper, reaffirming his love and care, refreshing you with his spirit, setting your feet on the right path.
That’s the way God is, isn’t He? He parts the sea, moves the mountain, makes the desert road blossom with fruit. Rabbit trails are nothing to him. You see, when you’ve reached a dead end, God will make a living way.
Jesus said, "I am the way. . .the door to heaven. . .the gate for the sheep to go through into abundant pasture.”
You know. . .that’s good news for us who need a change of scenery.
