One of my favorite passages of Scripture is found in 1 Kings 19. Elijah, having just defeated the prophets of Baal, suddenly finds himself fleeing Jezebel in order to save his life. He comes to Mt. Horeb feeling very alone and very sorry for himself. Despite the fact that he had just been on a spiritual "mountaintop" and seen God defeat the prophets of Baal, Elijah has crashed into a valley of despair. And it is in this valley that God gives him a different type of mountaintop experience.

Having already witnessed God's mighty acts, Elijah now encounters a different side of God. While Elijah was waiting for God to appear, a mighty wind swept through the mountain. But the Lord was not in the wind. An earthquake then shook the mountain, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. The earthquake was followed by a great fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. Instead, God revealed himself in a gentle breeze, the exact antithesis of the power displayed at the defeat of the prophets of Baal.

Elijah learned that God is not only present in the great spiritually moving experiences, but also in the quiet moments in God's sanctuary. God is not only a God of trumpets and shouts, but also of whispers.

I have always found this passage comforting because my life is filled with more quiet moments of despair than great victories and moving spiritual experiences. I often have to relearn the lesson that God can be found just as easily in silence as he can be in earthquakes, storms, and fires.

Recently I have wondered if this principle should also apply to my worship. If God works through the gentle, quiet breeze, why do I feel the need to have loud music playing while I worship? If God comforts me with stillness and silence, why do I feel the need to always be speaking or shouting out?

In Psalm 65, David speaks of God as a refuge and encourages us to "Pour out your heart before Him," but he also commands his soul to "wait in silence for God only, For my hope is from Him." Every so often in my classroom, a student will ask a question and then continue to talk, either to me or to a classmate. Before I can respond to such a student, I need to remind him that he will not hear my answer if he continues to speak. And if he does not hear my answer, there is no point to asking the question. The same principle applies to the way I approach God. If I come before him but do not stay silent long enough to hear his voice, what is the point of asking the question?

Lord, in a world and culture that thrives on busyness and noice, help me to be still and silent long enough to hear your voice and experience your rest. May I not be a person who is to caught up in hearing his own voice and making his own noise, that I fail to pay attention to your voice. Amen.