the quiet one
“Then he was told, “Go, stand on the mountain at attention before God. God will pass by.” A hurricane wind ripped through the mountains and shattered the rocks before God, but God wasn’t to be found in the wind; after the wind an earthquake, but God wasn’t in the earthquake; and after the earthquake fire, but God wasn’t in the fire; and after the fire a gentle and quiet whisper. When Elijah heard the quiet voice, he muffled his face with his great cloak, went to the mouth of the cave, and stood there. A quiet voice asked, “So Elijah, now tell me, what are you doing here?” (1 Kings 19:11-13)
The preceding chapters read like a fantasy, an awesome demonstration of God’s presence. Fire from the sky burning up a drenched altar. A measly jar of oil and flour lasting for days. A boy brought back from death. Ravens feeding Elijah. All a spectacular show of God’s move on Earth, and in front of Elijah’s eyes.
So it’s funny, that after all this, when hearing of Jezebel’s threats, Elijah hides. Elijah becomes afraid. Elijah believes the God who worked miracles before would not have his back. He hid, in a cave, out of sight, complaining that while he had served God, God had not served him.
Why would he do that? Why, after witnessing great works of his Master, a Creator showing His power and Spirit before his eyes? Wasn’t that enough to convince Elijah that God was for Him, that God was, and is always, present?
One of the great, oft-unspoken frustrations of today is that God is too often quiet. That He no longer parts seas, arrives in a pillar of fire, no longer dazzles us with signs and wonders. Instead, we are lucky if we’re even conscious of the Divine in a day filled with stress, responsibilities, pressure. He’s not as real today as He was back then. I wish He would show up on a cloud of thunder, tricks up His sleeve, so we’ll remember He’s around. We forget He’s around.
The message for Elijah was this: I am the Quiet One. I live in quiet. I speak in the quiet. It’s in the quiet, when it’s just you. Not your thirst for attention, your quest for fame, your addiction to knowledge, your dependence on signs, wonders, testimonies. All of this are placed on the altar, when all things are quiet.
In the quiet, I come face-to-face with my fears. In the quiet, my thoughts start to come to light, seek to puncture my facade. When it’s quiet, there’s no one looking at me. It’s me, my weaknesses, my frailties, my childishness, just me.
Here, God meets me. He doesn’t want me to live on the vain imaginations of what a ‘god’ is. He wants me. All of me. All of me in my worst state. He wants my honesty. He wants my disappointments. He wants my loss. He wants none of my pretension.
This is the God that scares me. The God who isn’t out to impress me, but to change me. The God whose words cut to the heart, through my sin. The gentle, quiet voice that unravels all my fears.
This God I seek can be so quiet many times. When others want proof, I cannot summon fire from the sky. They will never see the quiet moments when I lay my “I don’t know”s bare. The quiet moments when I don’t know if He’s there. But in my cave, hiding, complaining - He enters. It’s a total mystery. Unexplainable, unknowable.
But this is a God of love. A Father to a child. A Creator to the Creation. A God who seems out of reach, but is here. Somehow. He listens. He prods. He questions. Then he leads me out of caves, into another noisy day. That’s when I see the things that drove me into the cave, aren’t so important anymore. That is the true power of the quiet one.
Father, you work in mysterious ways. I look to the heavens, and wonder if you’re around. But I want to learn to come to the quiet places with you. Not to seek signs and wonders, but to walk, slowly, purposefully, silently.
Father, you frustrate me many times. Help me learn to seek, and hear, your gentle, quiet voice. Amen.
