Sometimes the lights go out when we’re at His feet. The place most sought, most needed and deeply desired becomes a place of silent nothing. There is no real darkness there because we know He is the source of all light, but it can feel so devoid of emotion, so dark.
When this happens, I wonder if we just have our eyes closed. Sounds silly and over simplistic but there are times we refuse to see. Sin is one thing that makes us want to close our eyes at His feet. We sin and after the shame, repentance and restoration, we feel humble and can’t comprehend that we’ll ever be able to open our eyes again.
That’s not such a bad thing. The presence of the Master of the Universe alone should humble us to silence, but we don’t learn very easily. So many stories in the Bible include dumb sheep. We like to identify with the heroes in Scripture, the good guys, the kings and Israelites, but in fact many days we find ourselves in the sinful shoes of Pharaoh with a hard heart, Nebuchadnezzar losing his mind in the wilderness, and even a serpent who deceives himself and those around him.
Sin isn’t the only reason we find our situation bleak. Many days, all we simply want to do is throw in the towel. Brokenness, failure, unfulfilled desires and sheer boredom make us want to quit. Though not very elegant or courageous, we run to the corner where our trainer waits, we take the towel he gave us and throw it in. Then we sit quiet at His feet with weakened hands over our face, tired eyes closed, and defeated head between our knees.
I can then see Him glance at the Father with His own eyes that understand, and He prays for us. “She’ll get up soon.” “Give him some time alone.” “My presence is enough for them right now, so let’s wait a little longer.” “Open her eyes to comprehend the height, depth, length and width of our love for her.”
His presence is enough. It may not be what we think we want. We want a friend, a relationship, a new job, more money, somewhere else to go. Deeper inside, if we sit at His feet long enough, we realize that what we want is time at His feet and we are right where we need to be. Call us to open our eyes Lord, and hold us when we haven’t the courage to do so.
In all the kafuffle of busy this and that, I forgot to record the Christmas story. Just minutes before leading a holiday workshop, I remembered. The story was to be played later in the day to remind us all of the birth of Christ. I pressed “record” and busied myself with other paper work and details. Ironically, we were supposed to learn how to simplify our holiday madness. Just to make sure the recording worked I pressed play.
Six children under the age of about 6 years old read the Christmas story, and I wanted to laugh and cry all at one time. They emphasized syllables I never heard emphasized before, and the meaning of Christmas peeked into my life. Tears threatened my security.
Some days later, I stood for the musical part of worship at church. As the music played and everyone began to sing, I checked my cell phone and began filing thoughts of so much work yet to do before Christmas came. Then it came. A young girl in our church, who has noticeable developmental delays and cannot speak, had joined the choir. She wiggled and pointed to individuals in the congregation and waved to each one. In between her greetings, I noticed her lips moving and she sang without sound the words of Christmas joy to my heart. Tears threatened my security once again.
Today I took some time to visit two women that live very difficult lives. Both are very poor according to financial criteria but very rich in faith and character. Miss Goldie wasn’t sitting in her chair today. Her husband led me to her room. I held her hand as she wheezed each breath, unable to get out of bed. She had just gotten back from a long night at the hospital. I asked to pray for her and as I did, tears threatened again and held the words in my throat. She noticed, and then whispered, “I love you.”
The cool winter air felt good as I drove away. When I pulled around the corner, the mobile x-ray van sat in front of Miss Betty’s apartment. Blood clot. We talked and mused about whether Santa would visit. Miss Betty can’t move much, but today she kicked her legs and waved her arms. I promised we’d go dancing with a group of friends when she got well enough to get out of bed.
Tears. For months I have rejected their attempts to intrude and refused to grant them access to my schedule. Today I wondered if tears were part of the reason Jesus came. Because of His gift of salvation, I can cry tears of joy, confusion, hurt, doubt, and anger. I can because I have a new heart, one that feels the pain of others and trusts that the tears won’t overwhelm for long. Because He came, I can know tears for Goldie, Betty and a long list of others. And as I think of holding the sweet baby Jesus, Who was and is the Great I Am, I thank Him this year for the gift of tears.
Pots and pans: bang, clatter, clang. Rain: whoosh, rumble, rush. Traffic: beep, roar, rattle. What does it sound like to sit at the feet of Jesus? Every situation is different but here are some sounds that we might experience.
First is the sound of flurry. In that quiet place, our modern, over stimulated minds jump into overdrive. Thoughts from everywhere flood our conscious mind and create an information jam of gigantic proportions. Like the wings of a hundred birds, all launching at once: batter, flap, flutter.
Second, we often experience a sound of fury. The worries, pains and expectations of the world rise out of the information jam and ignite the emotions we hide under various methods of stimulation. The stillness of sitting at His feet stokes the fire of these emotions and fans into flame the stories we wish to forget. When our stories burn: crack, sizzle, sputter.
In the quiet place before our Lord, the sound of fury then becomes the gentle sound of tears. Each one drops in slow motion and we wonder, “does He really know, does He really care?” Then, as if amplified through roaring speakers, we listen as His tears fall to our own and together in slow motion they land as one, creating ripples that change the world.
At His feet, He cries with us. Most likely, He cries with us whenever we cry, but to experience His tears at His feet, is intimacy beyond words. Our tears fall downward with those of the woman who wept there and dried them with her hair.
The final sound is that of silence. Yes, silence is loud. Listen. A release unlike any human experience is the result of tears shared with Christ. Quiet, cathartic release after all the sounds and emotions of disruption, helps us to understand why we need time alone with Him.
If only we could stay here, uninterrupted until He comes again. While that’s not possible, we can come back here, every day, often. And He never sends us away unmet. I don’t ever want to move from this spot: so quiet and yet so loud.
“I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.”
Philippians 3:12
Karen used to create quietude. As a small child she was too loud, too quiet, too little, too much, too kind or too mean. So, she found that if she stood very still and silent she could become invisible. Once invisible new things became real. She would breathe only whispers so as not to be heard. Karen would shuffle her socked feet across the floor and move her arms like willow branches in a morning breeze. Shhh! When everything stopped in quietude, she began to hear a very distinct sound. Soft and slow it started, but in seconds it grew to a regulated rhythm. The noise reached through the silence and Karen would stand and listen. With everything around her so quiet, she could hear the comfort of her heart.
When I heard that story, I remembered precious times I sat so still and often so broken at the feet of Jesus. During those times, I try to slip into His presence and not be seen or heard. Quiet and exhausted I collapse there at His feet. Relaxed comfort enters the scene, and I become invisible, except to the One Who loves me most.
There, so aware of Him, so lost in His quiet stillness, we begin to hear the soft pounding that grows until it is all we can hear. But, it is not our heart intruding, it is His heart clarifying, confirming, loving and affirming. Then our heart begins to beat with His. That heart of His, so tender, escorts us back to our world where evil exists. But it does not leave us unattended. His heart is the warm when the world freezes good intentions. When all around us moves into an unchangeable dream-like movie in slow motion, His heart picks up the pace and sparks renewal.
We need His heartbeat to live and when it seems to have disappeared, we find it again at His feet. In the stillness, we begin to hear it until, so strong, it leads us into the battle that is life. Quiet stillness ushers us to the sound of His heart; the sound that beats the marching drum of strength to carry on.
Be still, and know that I am God,” Psalm 46:10
Our eight-year-old son stood in the backyard with a stick in one hand and a rope in the other. When I passed by the window I stopped and looked at him. I always knew his general whereabouts and kept a close eye on his boyish antics but this day was different. This day, I really looked at him. As I stood there, I realized he was no longer a little boy. Somewhere in the crazy passing of time, he became more than just my baby.
That view of our son required me to stop and spend time watching him. At the feet of Jesus, we do the same. We stop and watch Him. While stopped, any sin that still grasps for power in the deeper part of our heart surfaces in light of God’s holiness. At His feet, He comforts us when brokenness threatens to divide our loyalty. When we stop, the loneliness and despair of difficult circumstances are revealed as the enemy’s plan to defeat us. But also at Jesus’ feet, we can rest in His love for us.
Rest; the experience of love and cleansing; and renewed joy are byproducts of being still. In stillness and knowing, we are drawn to contemplate His face. That contemplation helps us to see Him in new ways that we may not have noticed before. Every day I see my son and I can go weeks, even months, without noticing who he is becoming. God may choose to reveal Himself in ways we wouldn’t normally notice, but first we must stop and watch Him, quietly at His feet.