..the Lord was not in the wind. . . the Lord was not in the earthquake . . . the Lord was not in the fire . . .
Elijah was sent by the Lord to stand on the mountain as the Lord passed by. All of these tremendous and frightful things happened as Elijah stood there – wind so strong it was splitting the mountains, an earthquake and fire. And Elijah stood there, but he did not find the Lord in those things.
After the fire was a ‘sound of sheer silence’. I’ve heard that sound and it is startling. I believe the last time was when we had a horrific ice storm and lost power for almost a week. The house was so still and silent. Of course there was no music or movie sounds. But there was also an audible absence of the buzz of electricity. There’s a room at a lab in Minneapolis, an aneochic chamber that is the quietest place on the planet. Apparently, it’s actually difficult for people to stay in it for too long. There’s no echo, no reverberation of normal sounds. Because you can’t hear the echo of your voice, or clapping or any other noises, it’s disorienting and can case claustrophobia and anxiety. One person described it as if he were locked in a coffin, even though it’s a large room, with plenty of air.
I mention this because the sound of sheer silence is perhaps as frightening as the sound of fire or wind. It’s startling, and generally denotes that something’s not right. There’s also a phenomenon where animals are silent immediately before earthquakes – frogs, crickets, dogs, all stop their normal noise.
Having said all of that, it’s in that silence or at least as close as we can get, that I can best hear God. I can certainly sense God’s presence in loud places – in joyful worship, the din at a homeless meal, the chaos of my house. But actually hearing God, for me, requires more silence. And I must admit, silence is not something I generally seek out. Quite the contrary. I fill silence with music, books on tape, humming. I probably wouldn’t last five minutes in the world’s quietest room.
I have some upcoming unexpected free time. I aim to build in more silence into that time, silence to hear God’s voice. Silence to let my central nervous system quiet down (not that it’s out of whack, but we all could use a quieted nervous system I bet). Silence to rest.
This morning, I’m thinking about ways to find sheer silence in my world, and to hold its borders, before other sounds creep in. Maybe it’s as simple as putting on my noise-cancelling headphones, with nothing playing. Hmm. That’s a thought.
He erected an altar…
Whew! It’s hard to keep up with the kings, their children and the status of a united or divided Israel. Luckily, there are reminders. He did what was evil in the Lord’s sight, or he did what was good in the Lord’s sight. It appears that there were more evil kings than good during this period.
Ahab was king, and was more evil than his ancestors, many of whom were pretty bad. He marries Jezebel, and erected an altar to Baal. I can imagine that he believed he was doing something good, erecting an altar to the god he was worshipping.
The accompanying reflection is from Eugene Peterson and talks about sanctuaries. Sanctuaries can remind us that there’s more to life than our current circumstances and emotions. We cannot help but sense God’s presence in and around us. There have been a few places, in buildings and in nature, where I have had that sense of God’s presence, God’s immensity and my place in the world.
One of two things happen when we are in a sanctuary, reminded of God. At their best, sanctuaries can remind us that we are part of a bigger story, that God has big plans for us, and we can sense our part in that bigger story. We leave the space renewed and open to God’s love in the world.
At their worst, a sanctuary can isolate us from the outside world, and give us a sense of separation and superiority. We encounter God in our special and precious place, and leave with a sense of advantage over others. We use sanctuaries to cultivate all the wrong things, and leave conniving to carry out our wrong thinking. As Peterson writes, “Every time we enter a holy place and become aware of the presence of a holy God, we leave either better or worse.”
The challenge for me is two-fold. First, like Ahab, am I building sanctuaries or spaces worshipping the wrong thing? I must admit in these Zoom times, I sometimes covet the good-looking, holy-looking backgrounds of my colleagues. Do I want to build a prayer corner because it looks good? It has the right icons? Am I worshipping the beauty, or using the beauty to worship God? I don’t think Ahab believed he was doing wrong; he was just misguided in what he thought was right. I need to guard against that.
The other challenge is that I need to be sure that I’m leaving the encounter with God more loving and more open, rather than more superior or more cold-hearted. People of all kinds of faith can develop a religious snobbery, thinking that their kind of religion, worship, practices, that these are the true right way. At my worst, I can easily fall in to this, and think that my way is superior. At my best, I remember that my way is just one way. It is the best way for me to connect with God now, but certainly isn’t right for everyone.
This morning I’m thinking about how to be aware and guard against all the dangers that holy spaces can pose.
