“Be still, and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10 ESV
If I were to ask you to name a musical instrument that is decidedly Hawaiian, you would probably say the ukulele, right? And you would be at least partly wrong.
Although the ukulele has become closely associated with Hawaiian music, its immediate ancestors came to Hawaii with Portuguese immigrants in the late 1800s. Among those instruments was the machete, a small, four-stringed instrument from Portugal.
One of the people associated with the early popularity of the instrument in Hawaii was Edward William Purvis, a small and energetic British army officer who was an accomplished musician. According to the traditional story, Purvis was constantly moving and jumping around as he played. The Hawaiians supposedly gave him the nickname ukulele, from uku, meaning “flea,” and lele, meaning “jumping.” When Hawaiians began making their own version of the small four-stringed instrument, the name stuck. And the rest, as they say, is history.
Sadly, we have become a society of Edward Purvises—“ukuleles,” if you will.
We belong to an always-on-the-go, multitasking culture that has pretty much lost the art of sitting still. One of the things my wife and I sought in a new home a few years ago was a large front porch. Sadly, front porches (large ones, at least) have, disappeared from modern homes.
People no longer seem to take much time to sit in porch swings and rocking chairs and simply “be,” if only for a little while. We have become people who find it difficult to sit still unless we are in front of a television or computer. Even then, we are likely to be doing at least one other thing at the same time. Nowhere is this more evident than in our worship.
Sunday services and times of prayer can sometimes reveal just how uncomfortable we have become with stillness. We fidget. We fuss. We look at our watches. We wonder how much longer it is going to take.
There is certainly nothing wrong with energetic worship. Clapping, singing, movement, celebration, and fellowship can all be wonderful expressions of our faith. But there is another dimension of worship that we can easily neglect: the ability simply to be still before God.
Worship is, after all, a mirror of life, just as life is supposed to be a mirror of worship. And perhaps that is why Psalm 46:10 speaks so powerfully to us:
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
Those words are more than an invitation to sit quietly. They are a call to stop striving, stop struggling, stop trying to control everything, and remember who is actually God. The prophet Elijah learned something about this.
After defeating the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel, Elijah fled from the wrath of Jezebel. The man who had just experienced one of the greatest demonstrations of God's power in the Old Testament was now exhausted, frightened, and discouraged. He was ready to give up. He lay down under a tree and asked God to take his life.
God, however, was not finished with Elijah. An angel told him to go to the mountain, where Elijah waited for God. But he didn't know what to expect. First came a powerful wind, so strong that it tore at the mountain and broke rocks apart. Surely this was God! But the Scripture tells us that the Lord was not in the wind.
Then came an earthquake. The very mountain beneath Elijah trembled. Surely this must be God! But the Lord was not in the earthquake.
After the earthquake came a fire. Again Elijah looked for God. But the Lord was not in the fire.
And then came something entirely different. The King James Version calls it “a still small voice.” Other translations describe it as a gentle whisper or a low murmur. And in that quiet, Elijah heard the voice of God asking a simple question:
“What are you doing here?”
Elijah had gone to the mountain looking for God. God was there all along. But Elijah had to become still enough to hear Him.
Perhaps that is a lesson we need to learn as well.
We live in a world filled with noise. Noise from our televisions and phones. Noise from social media and the news. Noise from traffic, work, schedules, responsibilities, and the countless demands of everyday life.
But sometimes the greatest noise is the noise inside us.
Our worries. Our fears. Our unanswered questions. Our plans. Our regrets. Our constant mental conversation about what happened yesterday and what might happen tomorrow. We can become so accustomed to the noise that we forget how to be still.
If you are feeling like Elijah—defeated, exhausted, frightened, or helpless with nowhere to turn—perhaps you need to go to the mountain.
Not necessarily a literal mountain. Perhaps you need to find a quiet place and simply be still. Don't expect a hurricane. Don't expect an earthquake. Don't expect a fire from heaven.
Listen.
Listen for the still, small voice. Listen for the gentle whisper of God. And perhaps, in the quiet, you will hear the same question Elijah heard:
“What are you doing here?”
Not as a question of condemnation, but as an invitation to remember where you are—and more importantly, who is with you.
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
Sometimes we don't need another answer. Sometimes we need to stop long enough to remember that God is God. And that we are not.
By the way, our home has a huge front porch that runs almost the length of the house. It has a glider swing and rocking chairs, and I have discovered that it is a pretty good place to go looking for God. I have often found the still, small voice of God there. Perhaps you have a place like that, too. If you don't, maybe it is time to find one.
Be still. Listen. And know that He is God.
Prayer
Father, show me the way of quiet, peace, and stillness. Help me to rest from my labors and set aside the noise and distractions that so often fill my life. Quiet my heart and mind so that I can listen for Your voice. When I am anxious, remind me that You are God. When I am weary, remind me that You are with me. And when I cannot see the way ahead, help me to be still and trust You. Amen.
Blessings,
Steve+
