Hearing the still small voice

Elijah went into a on the mountain cave to spend the night. Suddenly the Lord spoke to him, “Elijah, what are you doing here?”

He answered, “Lord God Almighty, I have always served you – you alone. But the people of Israel have broken their covenant with you, torn down your altars, and killed all your prophets. I am the only one left – and they are trying to kill me!”

“Go out and stand before me on top of the mountain,” the Lord said to him. Then the Lord passed by and sent a furious wind that split the hills and shattered the rocks—but the Lord was not in the wind. The wind stopped blowing, and then there was an earthquake—but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake there was a fire—but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire there was the soft whisper of a voice.

When Elijah heard it, he covered his face with his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. A voice said to him, “Elijah, what are you doing here?”

1 King 19.9-13

On Tuesday I heard a ‘Thought for the Day’ on the radio, given by Rabbi Laura Janner-Klausner. She was taking about the terrible news of the earthquake in Turkey and Syria, and its effects, and about those who had gone there to help with the rescue.

She described how sometimes, in those early days, in the middle of all the noise of people moving rubble and trying to find survivors, someone would call for quiet, and everyone would stop what they were doing, and go silent, listening for some tiny noise, a sign of life, that might lead them to where someone was still alive, and where they could focus their efforts.

It reminded her of this passage about the prophet Elijah, on the run from King Ahaz and his wife Jezebel, and hiding in a cave. He is called by God to stand before him, and he witnesses the destructive force of a great wind, an earthquake, and a raging fire. What he saw must have echoed with the way he was feeling inside, all the emotions of fear and anger and despair surging inside him – and also what he knew was happening in his broken country.

Elijah does not sense God in the wind or the earthquake or the fire. But after them all, he hears the ‘soft whisper of a voice’. And he knows that this is God there with him, and so he comes out and meets with God. And God tells him what he is to do next.

Tragically, the time for finding survivors in Turkey and Syria is running out, but there will still be a need for the rescuers and those living there to stop – in all the devastation, and in all the turmoil in their own hearts and minds – to stop and listen, so that they can know what they must do next.

Seeing the scenes of the terrible damage caused by the earthquake may make us aware that we are very fortunate to live here in safety. But even though outwardly our lives may feel secure, inside there are often times when we are in turmoil. Our circumstances may be very challenging, or our mental health may be very fragile, or our relationships or our concerns for others may be churning us up inside.

The ground underneath us seems to be shifting, our minds are in turmoil, our emotions are raging. We want to run away, or find a cave to hide in.

It may be hard to face all that we are living with, thinking and feeling. But perhaps for us too there is an invitation to stand – or sit -with all this, before God. To observe, to recognise, and then to be still. And to listen out for the soft whisper of a voice, asking us what has brought us here, and gentle prompting us in a new direction.

It may be that sometimes we can help others to do this, by being with them in their turmoil and listening with them. And it may be that others can come to help us to stop, and become aware, and listen for the still small voice. Although the outward circumstances may not change, we may become aware of God’s presence with us in the middle of everything, and hear the soft whisper of his love.

As we come to pray, we hold in our minds and hearts all those caught up in the aftermath of the earthquake in Syria and Turkey – those who have lost loved ones, parents, children, partners… those who have lost their homes and communities – those who feel that they have lost everything – and those trying to help them.

Father of all, we bring you our sadness at all that we have seen, and our longing that those in such desperate need may find help. Strengthen with your presence both survivors and rescuers, and guide us and all the world to respond with love and compassion.

Father of all, we bring to you those we know who are going through inner turmoil or upheaval in their lives… Even in the middle of all of this, may they find the space to hear the soft whisper of your love.

Father of all, we bring you ourselves – our own inner and outer struggles. You know what they are… May we face them with you, and learn to sense your constant presence in moments of quietness, and may we be open to your gentle guidance and grace for the future.