Glenn knowingly teases, as I revisit each dialogue hours later, trying to bridge the gap between my heart and my mouth. After six years together, he often recognizes when my lexical gymnastics routine simply will not yield its intended outcome.
Words possess a power which warrants our reverence. They resurrect wizened bones. They ignite revolutions, part waters, calm tempests, and speak light into darkness. Words reveal the nature of our God (John 1).
Yet, I fear we are quick to forget the power of words, in favor of more vainglorious impulses. In our human nature, it is so tempting to add to the noise. Silence is mistaken for ambivalence, and fixtures at the table are frequently adorned with others' ideas, like coatracks overwhelmed with ill-matched attire.
So, we speak up. We cast our words carelessly into the cacophony. We seek others with familiar voices and shout louder.
The resulting clamor is so distracting, so consuming that no one witnesses the destruction, the casualties of our heedless speech.
We all wear the shrapnel of words wielded with such indiscretion. I believe that is why it is so easy to recite offenses as opposed to accolades.
In 1 Kings 19, Elijah encounters God in a whisper. This particular Biblical vignette has resonated in my heart during this season of overwhelming worldly and personal discord. God reveals himself to Elijah in the stillness after the storm. He whispers a question, a gentle invitation into the stillness of Elijah's refuge.
I think the world is in desperate need of such reprieve.
God provides the a quiet space in the cacophony. He resides in the pause between words spoken; He breathes the blank partitions onto the page.
God is not a fixture at our table. We are the guests at His. There is infinite space in His presence, but who can hear His gentle proposal amidst the dissonance?
As I re-read this post, I know that these words are for me. This post has existed as a draft for the past three months. Yet, in that time, my perspective has shifted. I have learned that God's silence is not a punishment-- it is, in fact, a gift.
In our grief, in our waiting, and in our dissonance, God neither shouts, nor reprimands. He meets us in the quiet, whispers to us by name, and extends an invitation to sit with Him at His table.
