I can’t sleep. I’ve left the warmth of my bed in the wee hours of the morning, leaving the cat curled up in her usual spot on the bed. Neither dog moves as I head for the kitchen. Hot chocolate. That will do.
Sitting on the front porch with my feet curled up under me, I warm my hands with the mug of hot chocolate. I’m struck by the darkness. The sliver of moon is casting eerie shadows. The single streetlight shines in the empty church lot, revealing a lonely soccer ball taking up its own parking space. There’s something strangely comforting about the darkness. As my eyes adjust I am able to make out the steeple on the church with the lopsided cross on top, and I smile. “Even the darkness is not dark to you, Lord; for night is as bright as day.” The hot chocolate calms me, but I’m not ready to return to bed. And so I sit.
As the cool of the night seeps into my bones I become aware of the sheer sound of silence. It is too late for crickets and too early for birds. Not a single car has gone by. The goats and chickens are all quiet. Even the river is noiseless tonight. And for a moment – just a moment! – the clamor in my head is stilled.
And then the beautiful soprano line from Mendelssohn’s Elijah fills my head: “And in that still voice onward came the Lord...” Music has a way of speaking to me when nothing else will. The Lord was not in the mighty wind that split mountains; the Lord was not in the earthquake that broke rocks into pieces; the Lord was not in the fire. No, the Lord spoke to Elijah in the sound of sheer silence, asking, “What are you doing here?”
What am I doing here?
I wonder: God, what do you mean by here? Here as in Saxapahaw? Here as in ministry? Here as in the front porch in the wee hours of the morning?
And God laughs: Yes. All of the above. Here.
I think of Elijah’s response: “I have been very zealous for the Lord.” The Israelites have broken your covenant; the people have turned away from you again and again. I’m worried. I’m worn out. My heart is broken.
And then I laugh, because God’s response to Elijah was simply, “Go.”
Trust Me, and go back to bed, for the dawn will come, bringing bright sunshine and chirping birds and barking dogs and busy people traveling to and fro. The dawn will come, bringing new opportunities and renewed hope and moments of sheer joy. The dawn will come, and people need to know that even during their darkest hour I AM here.
