The Silent God

Lenten Vespers, Week Three

1 Kings: Elijah on Mt. Horeb

Elijah got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God. At that place he came to a cave, and spent the night there. Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.” He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”

Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him.

 Homily:

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  AMEN.

Lent is a time for cultivating silence.

We have so much in the modern world, riches that our ancestors could only dream of. We can speak to people a world away. We can fly through the air like gods. Famine, disease, and random violence have been all but eliminated in the wealthy world. But what we have gained in materiality we seem to have lost in spirituality. By filling every waking moment with either productivity or entertainment, we have neglected the one indulgence that our ancestors possessed in spades: leisure. We take less time with family, with books, with our own thoughts, than did those generations before us who had long hours to fill. Yes, they labored more intensely than we do—but they also had time to think, time to wonder, time to pray.

Scripture warns us about how important it is to set aside time for spiritual leisure. After all, that’s what remembering the Sabbath and keeping it holy really means: taking time for silence, that we—like Elijah—may listen for the still, small voice of God in the wilderness. Oftentimes when God seems silent, it is because we have drowned him out with all our daily noise. Indeed, it may take an earthquake or a wildfire or a whirlwind to get our attention, but as 1 Kings reminds us, God does not speak in such ways. God is revealed to us in the silence.

There are, however, other times in life, times especially of crisis, when the world seems all too quiet: times when we yearn, we strive, we beg to hear the voice of God, no matter how soft a whisper, that we might have comfort, or explanation, or guidance. Why did this happen? What should I do? Must I be alone in all this? Now the question becomes not how to silence ourselves in order to listen to what God is saying, but how to live in faith when God seems all too silent in our lives.

The Bible speaks of visions and miracles and dreams. We read of saints who shocked entire nations with displays of God’s power and might. But these are the exceptions, not the rule. Were dramatic public miracles more common, we wouldn’t have felt the need to write down the few we have. The Bible’s really pretty skinny when you consider that it records more than 4,000 years of the history of God’s people.

God prefers to remain hidden in plain sight, and to speak to simple folk in simple ways. In prayer we speak to God; in studying Scripture He speaks to us; and in the life of this community, in fellowship and Sacrament, we meet the living God on earth. All this is true. Yet it is also true that we, like the great figures of the biblical narrative, must often wait years, decades—entire generations!—for our questions and our prayers to be answered. Sometimes God roars out loud like a lion; sometimes God is as silent as the grave. During these latter times, whence is our help to come?

The Church has always taught, like Israel before her, the impassibility of God. Impassibility refers to God’s eternal nature: how He does not change, how God is ever the same. He is the same God yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Some may fear that talking about God in this way makes Him seem too distant, too aloof. What does an eternal, unchangeable God know about human suffering, human questioning? But impassibility does not mean that God is unmoved by our sufferings and our prayers. Quite the contrary.

Impassibility means that there are things about God that you can always trust, because they will never change. For example, God always hates sin. Always. There is no time when God will wink and look the other way, letting “boys be boys,” as it were. We can be assured that any sin, no matter how great or small, is always abhorrent to God—because a sin is something that separates us from God, that wounds the relationship we have with Him. And God loves us. Always, always loves us. So, yes, of course He’s always going to hate sin, to hate anything that separates us from Him. He’s our Father; we’re His children. What else can we expect?

We also know that God’s unchanging nature means that He will always hear our prayers. Always. No matter how half-hearted or quiet, no matter how doubting or unworthy, God will always hear us, always remember His covenant with us, always remember His love for us. God hears us. Period. And God will always forgive us when we repent. That never changes. That is always true. When we ask forgiveness, it is granted; when we return to God, He welcomes us in joy. Just as God always hates when we turn from Him, so He always rejoices when we turn back to Him. God never gets tired of forgiving. It is we who grow tired of asking!

Every time we truly ask forgiveness, we are forgiven. Period. Not because we deserve it. Not because we have God stuck in a contract. But simply because God always loves us and promises always to hear us, forgive us, and welcome us home. That never changes, because God never changes.

So in conclusion, brothers and sisters, if God seems silent, let us quiet our lives to better hear the still, small voice of God. And if we are yet unable to hear Him, take heart: He still loves us; He still listens to us; He still forgives us. Always. If God seems silent for a time, it may simply be because He has already told us everything that needs to be said.

In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.