"Be still and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10
Remember that you are dust, And to dust you shall return.
Lent is a reminder that we are human beings, creatures, that we come from earth, soil, dust, and we will return to it. No matter what we do on this life to try to outlive our humanity, to avoid our weakness, to transcend our station, we still ultimately die, we are creatures, trapped in our creatureliness.
But to be made from dust, to have the breath of life breathed into us…
"The Hebrew name for the divine is composite of the words Hayah, Heveh Yehiyeh (was, is, will be). It conveys the mystery of timelessness, of infinite beingness." This is our source. This is who holds our life. The name of God is made entirely of vowels and can’t really be pronounced. It is said that if you say the name of God as it is written it would sound like an exhaled breath.
Let’s do that together.
Let’s do that together.
We just said God’s name.
The first thing a child does when it comes into the world from the waters of its mother’s womb is say the name of God.
The last thing a human being does before leaving this planet is to say the name of God.
Grace is God’s being, shared with us. That God’s love is poured out in love and care for us is the foundation of our own being. We are made to be cared for by our creator. We are made to care for each other.
But so much of the time, we reject the care of others and we pretend we don’t need god’s care. We act as though we are in it alone. This, by the way, is sin, which we will talk more about this weekend.
Lent is a whole season to return to the truth of our belonging to God and each other –which isn’t found in strength or invincibility, but in weakness, nothingness, and impossibility.
Not in anything we do or accomplish or say or become or fail at. Just in our breath. Just by being. We are creatures, made in the image of God.
We cannot, on our own, transcend our nothingness. But we can trust the one who transcends all, the ineffable name, we can trust that our lives are held in something greater, that our being is secure in the love of the one who ministers to us. God comes into this world in Jesus, taking on all death, all nothingness and impossibility, taking it into Godself so there is nothing anymore that can separate us from God.
Lent is an invitation into the courage to be honest, your real, vulnerable old self, the part that simply is. The part that comes with breath and body and sadness and longing. It's a chance to take off some armor, to lay down some weapons, to rest in the love of God that holds you, that you mostly act like you don't need when really you absolutely do.
What would you like to let go of to make space in your life for God to encounter you?
What do you use to avoid your nothingness, to build your somethingness, to forget your creatureliness?
When boredom, despair, sadness or emptiness rise up, what do you use to distract yourself?
What's your "go to" pacifier or diversion?
Social media? TV? Snacking? Alcohol? Solitaire? Addictive patterns and habits?
How do you check out of uncomfortable feelings?
What do you use to numb?
This Lent we are going toward our nothingness.
We are welcoming the absence, and seeking God there.
You are invited to fast from (let go of temporarily) whatever it is you use to avoid the abyss.
Turns out we have a God who goes right into our places of suffering and absence, and shares them with us. We generally avoid meeting God there.
This lent we are going there.
Return to me with all your heart. God says.
Be still. our scripture says.
This appears two places in scriptures as a command from God. The first place the command is given, the people of God have been delivered out of Egypt, but Pharoah has changed his mind, and has sent his entire army after them to destroy them. They are at the edge of the Red Sea, the chaos of waters in front of them and Pharoah's whole army behind them, in the face of certain death, and God says,
Be still. The Lord will fight for you.
The second place this command is given is in our Psalm, where it says, Nations are in an uproar, kingdoms totter, God raises his voice and the earth melts.
Be still and know that I am God.
Be still is not an invitation for when you already feel content, when things are going well and you're longing for some spiritual boost. It's for the chaos. For the impossibility. For the crisis, and the injustice and the division and the shame.
When things feel overwhelming around us. Be still.
When you find yourself fleeing your nothingness. Be still.
When you feel weak or lost. Be still.
When you sense the urge to make yourself big, to prove yourself, to insulate yourself. Be still.
Be till and know.
Be still and know I am God.
You are not God.
Stop moving.
Breathe in.
Feel your breath filling your body.
Feel your feet on the ground.
Feel your creatureliness.
Be here. Be now. Be still.
Let God be God.
You be still.
Let God meet you here.
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