Walking With Christ

1 Kings 19:12 And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper.(ESV)

Elijah had already seen the spectacular. He’d watched fire fall from heaven. He’d confronted kings. He’d stood against the prophets of Baal. He’d experienced things most of us can hardly imagine. Then Elijah found himself on a mountain before God.

A great and strong wind tore through the mountains and broke rocks into pieces. But the Lord was not in the wind.

Then came an earthquake. But the Lord wasn’t in the earthquake.

Then came fire. But the Lord wasn’t in the fire.

And after the fire came what the ESV calls “the sound of a low whisper.”

The noise stopped.

Imagine how easy it would’ve been to become obsessed with the noise.

What does the wind mean? Why the earthquake? What’s God showing me through the fire? What am I supposed to learn from this? What happens next?

We do that. We seek. Jesus told us to seek. There’s nothing wrong with seeking God, seeking wisdom, seeking understanding, or seeking direction.

But we’re almost always seeking something.

An answer. A purpose. A solution. A destination. A breakthrough. The next opportunity. The next conversation. The next thing we need to do.

Sometimes we can become so busy seeking answers from God that we forget how to simply be with God.

Psalm 46:10 “Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!”(ESV)

Be still. Not figure everything out. Not understand what comes next. Not solve tomorrow’s problems. Not discover why yesterday happened.

Be still. Know.

There are strange little moments in life when this happens almost accidentally.

A conversation ends. The laughter fades. Nobody has anything else to say. For a few seconds, nobody tries.

There’s a moment between thoughts. We usually become uncomfortable there. Someone reaches for a phone. Someone turns on the television. Someone asks a question. Someone makes a joke. Someone remembers something that needs to be done.

We’ve become so accustomed to noise that silence feels like something that needs to be fixed.

Maybe it doesn’t.

There are people with whom silence feels empty. And then there are people with whom silence feels full.

Those relationships are precious. Two people can sit beside one another without either needing anything from the other.

You don’t need to entertain me. You don’t need to impress me. You don’t need to reassure me. You don’t need to explain yourself. You don’t need to tell another story. You don’t even need to speak.

You can simply exist here. And I can exist here too.

For one fragile moment, nothing is being performed.

There are no masks to maintain. Nothing needs to be accomplished. Nobody needs to become anything. There’s only this moment.

And God is there.

Not because He suddenly arrived. He was there during the noise too.

Maybe God isn’t suddenly closer when everything becomes quiet. Maybe everything else has simply become quiet enough for us to notice.

That moment won’t last. The doorbell will ring. A child will yell from another room. The dog will bark. Someone will sneeze. The phone will vibrate. Someone will remember the laundry. One of you will remember to breathe.

The bubble will break, and the world will rush back in. That’s okay.

Elijah couldn’t stay on the mountain forever either. God spoke, and Elijah eventually had somewhere to go.

Stillness isn’t an escape from life. Stillness is part of life.

There will always be another task. There will always be another question. There will always be something else we could be seeking. But every once in a while, we’re given a tiny space between all of it.

A moment between thoughts. A space between heartbeats. A silence between two people who no longer need to fill it.

Don’t rush through those moments. Don’t assume nothing is happening simply because nobody is doing anything. Don’t demand that the moment become something more than it is.

Someday there will be a last conversation with every person you love. There will be a last laugh. A last meal. A last drive. A last ordinary evening. There will even be a last comfortable silence.

Most likely, neither of you will recognize it while it’s happening. So don’t wait until you’ve run out of ordinary moments to discover how extraordinary they were.

When the conversation ends and the silence arrives, stay there for a moment. Don’t search for something clever to say. Don’t worry that nothing is happening.

Something is happening. You’re there. They’re there. God’s there.

For one tiny space between heartbeats, nothing else is required.

Be still.