There is a movie trending on Prime Video called The Sound of Metal about a heavy metal drummer losing his hearing. In one of the scenes, the main character joins a community of addicts learning to cope with deafness. The community director has the drummer sit in an empty room for eight hours a day. The goal: learn to be still. When he cannot be still, the drummer is instructed to write without thought to grammar or sentence structure, just write.
I walk in the mornings before sitting down to work in my home office. The world is still when I step out the door each morning. The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon. As I walk I note Canadian geese, heads tucked beneath their wings, floating effortlessly atop the waters of the small fishing pond that shimmers like glass, the glint of frost clinging tightly to the needles of the pine trees, I hear the crunch of the snow with each step. An occasional car momentarily breaks the silence, the occupant, likely on their way to work. Then, the world goes silent again.
There is serenity in stillness. It requires nothing and everything from us. Being still requires us to silence the cacophony of the world, put down our electronic devices, set our minds on nothing but stillness. Shutting out the world and setting our minds on stillness requires effort until we learn stillness. Then, and only then, can we be still.
God tells us to be still, to know that He is God. In Hebrew, ‘still’ means to let go, to be weak, to release, to surrender. Combined with ‘be’, the meaning becomes, ‘in order that you may know’. We cannot know God without being still. It is in the stillness we find God waiting for us. Waiting for us to silence the cacophony of the world, waiting for us to put down our electronic devices, waiting for us to focus on the stillness and let go of our anxiety and fear, to find His strength in our weakness.
Life has been challenging this year. Amid the challenges, we have also experienced God. Every breath we take is a gift. Be still…..