silent

Waiting in Silence

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By Linda Rex

HOLY SATURDAY—Sometimes when wandering through a garden or while I’m picking berries, I’ll come across a cocoon hidden under some leaves. Looking at the neatly formed shape, I will marvel at God’s creation, and then I will wonder just what might be lying inside.

There within this cocoon a transformation is taking place. I once read that while in its cocoon, all a caterpillar was is reduced down to its elements and reformed into something new. The butterfly or moth which eventually pushes its way out from the cocoon may look completely different from its earlier form, but it is still in essence the same creature.

From the outside, the cocoon is like a tomb. There doesn’t appear to be any activity. It looks like a misshapen blob at times—something which needs to be removed from the plant or limb and thrown away. Even though something significant is going on inside, it is not obviously apparent to anyone who happens upon it.

On Holy Saturday we are reminded of how Jesus’s body was removed from the cross and laid in a tomb. Nicodemus brought myrrh and aloes, and helped Joseph of Arimathea with the burial process, wrapping the body linen and spices. The new tomb in the garden near where Jesus was crucified was blessed to receive the body of our Savior.

After Jesus was laid in the tomb, a stone was rolled in front of the entrance to close it. The Jews asked that the tomb be sealed, and it was—they hoped to prevent a rumor that Jesus had risen from the dead. They had heard that Jesus had promised to rise again, and thought it was only the vain hope of a would-be messiah. They did what they could to ensure the tomb could not be tampered with.

If we had sat opposite the tomb on Saturday, as Mary and Mary Magdalene had done the night before, we would have seen a silent spectacle. We would have had no ability to see what was going on inside the tomb. The grave would have been silent, with the only sounds being the wind rustling the tree leaves, the birds singing, or perhaps the voices and activities of people nearby.

Looking hard at the tomb, we would have seen only stillness. Considering the dead body within, we’d only hear silence. There would only be darkness within the tomb, we’d reason—nothing would be going on. When a person dies and is laid in the grave, all that’s left is decomposition and eventually dried out bones and dust. From the exterior, we would have had to assume that this was what was happening here, and that this was the end of all we had hoped and planned.

Maybe after a while, we would remember that Jesus liked talking about seeds in reference to himself and the kingdom of God. A seed, he said, must die in order for a new plant to grow and for many new seeds to be harvested. For Jesus, death never stood alone on its own—it was always accompanied by resurrection. He wanted his followers to understand that his path needed to go down the road to death, but that was never meant to be the end. Jesus’ death was only a step along the path to new life for all humanity.

This is a good thought. What if we saw the times of death, of silent waiting, not as times to grieve, but rather as times to hope? What if, instead of imagining someone going back to the dust from which they were made, we picture instead the renewal and transformation of what has been laid in the tomb? Maybe we should look at the places in our lives or relationships which appear to be dead and lifeless as being places where seeds have been planted which only need the light and water of God’s presence and power to bring about new life and an abundant harvest.

It is easy to come to places in our lives where we are faced with death and dying. The human story is one in which death occurs constantly—not just death of people, but death of dreams, relationships, businesses, or even churches. We fear death, when actually we should embrace death as the path Jesus trod in order that we might experience new life and new existence grounded within himself. Death can be a good thing, especially when we die to wrong ways of thinking or living or we die to the control of our broken sinful ways of being.

The spiritual discipline of silence in some ways resonates with the silent waiting at the tomb of Jesus. In silence, we set ourselves in God’s presence to listen and to wait, allowing ourselves to become attuned to the heart of the Father. When our attention wanders or our mind takes off on some errant thought, we need only redirect ourselves back to silence. Here we are, in this moment, with God. What does he have to say to us?

When we are busy going about our lives, caught up in the day-to-day issues we face, we may miss the growth and healing opportunities which come through attending upon God in silence. There is an intimacy in our relationship with God which grows when we slow down to pause and just be with God for a time. Perhaps we could spend a few minutes even now, picturing ourselves sitting beside the tomb, pondering what just happened this week and wondering what God is planning to do next.

Is there some place in your life where you are facing death or loss? Do you have a place in your life which feels as though it is dark and empty, with no hope of renewal? Perhaps symbolically you may take this into your hands and hold it out to God, laying it in the tomb with Jesus. And then wait for a time in silence. Allow Jesus to meet you in these moments, to remind you of his promise, which he kept in faithful love.

The seed planted in the ground often lays there for a time. The roots may be growing deep into the soil long before we ever see a sprout. Jesus lay in the tomb and all was silent—but great, amazing things were at work in God’s creation. A renewal, a turning about of all which was broken, lost, and dying was happening as Jesus Christ lay in the grave.

Holy Saturday reminds us that God is always and ever at work in our lives. As we turn to Jesus in faith, the Spirit reminds us that God loves us and has our best interests at heart even when all we see is a silent grave. Abba is a working, renewing, restoring, and healing, even though we may not see him at work. As we rest in Christ and wait in silence, we can find renewal and encouragement to hope in times of despair. God is at work and will not stop until he has finished what he has begun. We can count on him.

Thank you, Abba, that you never cease to bring new life and hope into our lives. Thank you, Jesus, for embracing death so that we could share eternal life with you. Holy Spirit, remind us anew that we are loved and cared for, and that Abba will work all things to the good, through Jesus our Lord. Amen.

“Therefore because of the Jewish day of preparation, since the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.” John 19:42 NASB

Breathing and Being

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By Linda Rex

A cedar tree stands in the yard behind my neighbor’s house. Its dark green pungent branches droop a little and sway gently in the breeze. Every day that tree stands in the same place, allowing the wind to blow its boughs back and forth. The tree never seems to tire of its simple task of just being present, breathing in the carbon dioxide and breathing out the oxygen we need to survive.

In fact, as I sit here in my flimsy patio chair, the tree doesn’t seem to express any anxiety or concern about whether or not it’s doing a good job, or if it’s producing enough oxygen each day. Granted, its ability to grow to its full height and expand to its full breadth has been limited by the neighboring deciduous trees. But this doesn’t hinder the cedar from just being what it is—a cedar tree—and from doing the one simple thing it was created for—being a living, breathing contributor to the well-being of the planet, a genuine participant in God’s gracious daily provision for his living creatures.

The cedar tree seems oblivious to my neighbor talking to her plants and her spouse. It seems indifferent to my gaze as I stare and it and wonder which side of the fence it is located on. It just continues to be who it is, day in and day out, rain or shine.

I am a little jealous of the cedar tree. It doesn’t have to worry about whether it can pay the bills this month, or whether the car tires will hold out for another month or two. The tree doesn’t really have any concerns, for it doesn’t have a memory of the past, nor does it have any concept of its future. It doesn’t even know it could be cut down tomorrow—that’s not even on its radar. It’s just living right now, being who it is, doing what it’s doing in this particular moment.

The tree has this incredible capacity to just rest in Jesus. Its existence is totally dependent upon the God who made it and who supplies its daily soil, water, air, and light. And that’s okay. That’s all it needs. It doesn’t need or even know to ask for anything more.

It does me good to slow down to the pace of the cedar tree, and to silence my mind of all the myriad thoughts and concerns which consume my inner world. How hard can it be to take an hour and just be? What’s it like to just rest in the One who made me and redeems me, and to let that resting be enough in and of itself?

Five seconds into my time of silence I find this concern and that issue popping up in my thoughts. “Okay, Lord,” I think, “I’ll give these things to you for a bit. I can deal with them later.” And I can be silent again. But it’s a wrestling match with my inner self.

Silence as a spiritual discipline, as coming into God’s presence and opening ourselves up to his Spirit’s inner work, can be a real challenge for us. We often find reasons to stay too busy to stop and be silent. We know that to do so would be to open ourselves up to the possibility of having to deal with our problems, losses, or our faults. Quieting ourselves in the presence of the Living Lord may mean we have to stop running away from ourselves and the harm we have done or are doing to ourselves or others.

Yet, silence as a spiritual discipline is a real opportunity to be filled with presence and power of God in a new way. It creates an inner space for the Spirit to enable us to listen to our Abba’s heart, and the Word of Life speaking in our hearts. When we are quiet before God, that inner voice of the Spirit grows louder and our assurance of our Abba’s love grows stronger.

It seems foolish to pause in the midst of our busy schedule to just sit and be in the presence of God. And yet, I have found this is the best possible use we could make of our time. In having done so, we find a greater inner strength, a clearer vision and insight we would not have otherwise. We pause to take a deep breath of the Spirit, and in breathing out, we find ourselves participating more fully in God’s life and love.

Perhaps we are more like the cedar tree than we realize. Yes, God has gifted us and given us many opportunities and abilities the cedar tree does not have. After all, we do reflect the being of God himself. But we are still here as participants in God’s story—sharing in his care of this world and everything in it. We each have a place in his life where all he asks of us is just to be who we are—his beloved and redeemed children.

Acknowledging the simplicity of our existence as God’s beloved and redeemed children, participants in his life and love, means we can rest. We can trust God to hold all things together by the Word of his power, to care for each and every living creature. Our failures as humans do not prevent God from accomplishing anything he has intended from the beginning.

Yes, we cause harm to each other and to this world. We fail to care for what we’ve been given. But none of that prevents God from loving us and drawing us to himself through Christ and in the Spirit. Nothing we can say or do is sufficient to stand in God’s way. Jesus’ prayer stands forever hung in the air: “Your kingdom come. Your will be done.” And he did what was necessary in his life, death, resurrection, and ascension so we can be assured of the outcome—a new heavens and earth and perfected humanity in which righteousness dwells.

We can for a moment have a deeper grasp of this spiritual reality when we pause in the midst of our existence and just be in the presence of the One who made us and sustains us, and breath in deeply the living Spirit—our Breath of Life. As we are silent and present in the moment, drinking in the living Presence of God himself, we can taste just for moment the blessing of the cedar tree—our eternal rest in Christ who is our Life and our real existence in this broken world. In him we have our being—our peace, hope, and joy—our past, present, and future, for he holds all things in his hands.

So, pause for few moments, and take in a deep breath of Divine Air. Lean back, resting in the Everlasting Arms. For Abba is holding you, and singing over you his songs of joy and love. Listen carefully, and you just might hear him singing…

Abba, thank you for your love, for your gift of your Son and your Spirit. Thank you for holding us and caring for us, whether we realize it or not. Grant us the grace to rest in you and in your perfect love, Enable us to just be, as we are always and forever yours, your beloved and redeemed children, through Jesus our Lord. Amen.

“The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.” Zephaniah 3:17 ESV