Behold, the days are coming, declares the Lord GOD, when I will send a famine on the land— not a famine of bread, nor a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the LORD. -- Amos 8:11
It is not that the Lord ever ceases to speak but that people
can no longer hear. The world never
listens, never hears God. With
directionless lives, they skitter about as if they were on a mission only to
skitter back to where they started. They
hear nothing and assume that God is no longer speaking, or that He cannot
speak, does not exist.
Even when we want to hear, our ears may be dulled by the
circus calliope, the cacophony of clowns clambering at the foot of the mountain. Be
still and know that I am God, we are told.
Those of us who seek this knowledge may withdraw to the mountaintop, to
the deserts, to remote and lonely places seeking that stillness and
silence. This can be good – at least on
occasion and for a time. Some are called
to it as a lifestyle, and any of us may be called aside now and then. God, though, does not require physical stillness
or silence, but a stillness of heart, a space of spirit. Your body is the temple and in that most holy
place there is quiet. In here, His voice
may be heard over the rage and thunder of battle and storm, so long as the
storms and battles remain outside. Go
in, as Jesus advised, to that “closet”, that secret, hidden place and close the
door.
For thus said the Lord
GOD, the Holy One of Israel, In returning and rest you shall be saved; in
quietness and in trust shall be your strength.
It sounds so simple. Go in
and sit at the feet of Jesus. Yet the
verse ends with heart-breaking words: But you were unwilling. Let that not be true of us.
Why would anyone refuse the rest and peace, strength and
guidance the Lord offers? We are willing
enough to sprawl in front of a television, to rest physically. What many of us seem reluctant to do is turn
our minds and hearts to the reality of the indwelling Christ, to rest upon Him,
His Person and the finished work of the Cross.
The typical evangelical “worship” service is hardly a place
for meditation, reflection, or rest.
There is noise and commotion and high tech displays designed to appeal
to the audience’s increasing short attention span. Many larger churches these days have separate
services oriented to divergent demographics.
Older people like me go to one service while the younger crowd goes to a
(typically) later service with more flashing lights and newer music played
faster and louder, followed by sound-bite sermons from speakers in distressed
denim.
It’s appropriate. I’m
pretty distressed if I happen to walk into one of those by mistake. My other personal gripe has to do with
auditorium lights turned down so low that I can’t see my Bible, let alone read
the words. I’m always tempted to pull
out one of my tactical flashlights to follow along – though, of course, the
verse is up on the wall anyway. Real
worship is possible in such a place but only because of the inner stillness,
the trappings are mostly distractions.
We seem inclined, like the Romans to whom Paul wrote, to try
to ascend up to heaven to bring Christ down or descend into the abyss to bring
Him up from the dead with all of our rituals and noisy celebrations. But
what does it say? The word is near you, in your mouth and in your heart. There is no need to suffer famine or
drought. The word is in our hearts. Out of our innermost being will flow rivers
of living water.
God still speaks to the still.
