Turbulence

There is a tangible unrest these days – in the country, in the church, even in the climate. The turbulence can be felt by everyone, unless one actually makes an effort not to be involved. But it is there whether we choose to engage with it or not.

I can’t quite describe it – this feeling of being unsettled. Despite the normalcy of the days and the consistency of the routines, it feels like something big is about to happen. Or maybe I’m just kidding myself. Maybe it’s not actually the feeling that something is going to happen; maybe it is that I hope it will. Maybe I’m the one who can’t wait for some external force to come in and save the day – to fix the inflation rate, to clean up the scandal in the church, to move the president’s conscience and to wipe out the devastating effects of climate change.

Succumbing to the despair and the hopelessness is tempting. So is dwelling on the negativity and anger. Or simply vacillating between the two options – to be angry one moment and to be hopeless the next. And yet, from somewhere deep within a phrase repeats itself: “Be still and know that I am God.” In the midst of the unease, the turbulence and the anxiety, we are called to stillness.

And perhaps in the stillness we can consider our next course of action. We can discern whether it is better to speak up or be silent. We can attempt to look at situations with God’s eyes rather than our own. In the stillness, we can hear the cries that seek our help. In the stillness, we can gather what is left of our hope and pray for courage.

In the stillness, perhaps we can remind ourselves that all things are passing. And that the Kingdom of God that we all long to see is both here now and not yet. That the turbulence in the moment is like a drop in the ocean of eternity. In the stillness, we will remember that there is a God and He has promised never to abandon us.