Be Still! by Rev. Tom Rand (with an assist by Patti Lusher)

              

                                                                                                          Exodus 14:10-16

         I was sitting in a barber's chair in Cincinnati 13 years ago when I first saw those fateful images flash across the screen.  The twin towers had been struck by planes. I watched with disbelief as the confusion unfolded; and great fear began rising in the pit of my soul. Suddenly, what once felt safe seemed vulnerable.  My first reaction was to get back to my wife and my then 10 month old son and hold them tight.  My second reaction was anger, rage at those who would so brazenly disregard life.  I wanted to do something.  My third reaction, almost an afterthought I confess, was to pray.  I organized an impromptu prayer vigil at the church that night and struggled for the rest of the day to find anything to say that was of God.

          In the days and weeks to come, through many hours of prayer I sifted through my responses, my fear, my anger, my disbelief, my sense of vulnerability, my defiant rage until I stumbled upon something to say that seemed to come from God.  Our enemy, I realized, was not Osama bin Laden or the terrorist network that perpetrated these vile crimes against humanity.  Our enemy was hate animated by fear.  Surely those responsible should be held to account, but in the process the only way to rise from the ashes would be to find a deeper courage to resist the fear that leads to hate.  Otherwise, our compulsion to violence as a means of exerting control over the world around us would come not from a desire for justice, but from a thirst for vengeance.  Our enemy was hate animated by fear, and as surely as it motivated our terrorist enemies, it found a home in us too.  The drumbeat for war was already beginning; and it was finding a great resonance chamber in the emptiness we all felt in our hearts.

         I was serving a church in Clermont County on the East side of Cincinnati at the time.  As one of my friends once quipped, it is an area where people had to look left to find George Bush.  As the drumbeat for war intensified, our country struck first Afghanistan, then Iraq with "shock and awe" bombardment designed to demonstrate to the world the power of the United States' military.  I rose in the pulpit on the Sunday following the Iraq invasion and preached against it.  I remember the next Sunday being amused by the congregation's passive-aggressive response.  Every single church member, including the choir in their robes, sat in the pews smiling at me wearing great big red, white and blue stickers stating defiantly, "Support Our Troops."  I don't know how many of you have read Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, but to me it was like that moment in which every student at Hogwarts seemed to don a magical pin that alternated between the message: "Support Cedric Diggory: the REAL Hogwarts champion" and "Potter Stinks."  That is what I saw in those stickers: Support our Troops: Rand Stinks.

         In polite society, we don't often respond to challenges with overt violence.  We know that is across the line.  Instead we respond with barbs, one-liners, put-downs and passive-aggressive responses that are signals meant to put another in their place.  My church in Cincinnati was masterful at it, but I confess to you that I am well accomplished in this form of manipulation myself.

         In my family I am the primary chef.  I love cooking and, on most days, it is a healthy diversion from work, a creative outlet, and a means of contributing to the domestic well-being of my family.  My wife, Elizabeth, who is also a pastor, does not like to cook.  Most days this arrangement works out fine.  One day last year, however, I came home tired after a long, intensive day in the office.  I was late and I knew we had evening meetings and activities for our kids so I would have no time to cook.  I wondered as I drove home, whether Elizabeth would intuit the stress I was under (even though I had not communicated with her).  I wondered whether she would realize the pinch that I was feeling.  I expected her to have dinner cooking or ready when I walked in the door, even though I had not asked.  She did not.  The expectations of my upbringing in which my mom always cooked and had dinner ready for my dad when he got home came out as I stomped around the kitchen proclaiming, "I can't do it all."

         It was a revealing comment that was meant to manipulate by inserting the knife of guilt and twisting it with shame.  It was meant to put her in her place, even though it was not a place we had agreed to.  It came out of the familial roles I had experienced growing up and was exacerbated by the stress and strain of that particular day. If I'm honest, it also came out of my own shame at not being able that day to pull my weight in the family because I was weighed down with other burdens.  Rather than stopping in the midst of my internal turmoil and asking whether there was an alternative response, rather than communicating openly with her and asking for help, I used my sharp tongue to injure her through the violence of my words.

         When my kids are in trouble, my instinct is to double down on control rather than building up an internal resistance within them that will help them navigate the stresses and temptations of the world around them with grace.    When things are not going well at work, my instinct is always to work harder rather than asking whether there is another way.  When I feel under siege by people and circumstances around me, my instinct is always to exert myself over the people and to manipulate the circumstances to my advantage rather than asking whether there is something valid about criticism that can help me see another pathway forward that is to everyone's advantage.  When I feel vulnerable, I compensate by exerting my will to establish a sense of safety and security around me. 

         As humans, when we feel powerless and out of control, our instinct is to reestablish control over the world around us sometimes by passive-aggressive messages, and sometimes by imposing our will, even by violence.  It is this instinct that lurks behind anger. My will is thwarted; I get angry.

         When the children of Israel got to the Red Sea, they were hemmed in.  There was a vast sea in front of them, a dust cloud of chariots in pursuit.  They saw no way out.  So they cried out to Moses: "was it because the graves in Egypt were not good enough that you took us out in the wilderness to die?  It would have been better to be slaves in Egypt than to die in the wilderness!"  Do you hear the passive-aggressive digging in their outcry, the anger at Moses for leading them into a dead end?  What choice did they have?  They could turn and fight the Egyptians hoping that some remnant would escape, yet knowing that they were unarmed, like sheep led to slaughter.  Or they could roll over, hoping most would not be killed by the bloodthirsty Pharaoh but would be captured and enslaved again under what would surely be even more harsh circumstances than before.  "Was it because the graves in Egypt were not good enough that you brought us into the wilderness to die?"

         So how did Moses respond?  He recognized the fear and vulnerability behind their anger, and he said to them:  "Do not be afraid.  Stay where you are and see what God will do. The Egyptians you fear today you will never see again.  All you have to do is keep still."  Really?!  What was Moses talking about?  If they kept still, they would surely die!  What did he know that they did not?  Why was he not afraid in the face of impossible circumstances?  How could keeping still change their situation?  Surely someone needed to do something. 

         When Moses said, "keep still," he did not mean "don't move your bodies."  He was talking to their souls.  He was speaking to the spirit within that was wracked with fear and looking for a way out, a way to change their circumstance, a way to exert control over the situation in which they found themselves.  Keep still, he insisted, because your instinct is always to exert yourself and your way.  Stop it.  Be still.  Release your desire for control and see what God can do.  Trust your life to the One who sees possibilities that you do not, to the One who can make those possibilities real.

         Moses' call to be still was not a call to passivity, but an invitation to trust God beyond our human capacity to problem solve and work things out for ourselves with the resources we see before us.  Immediately after telling the Israelites to keep still, notice what God says to Moses, "why are you all just standing there?  Tell my people to move forward."  Move forward?  How can we?  There is a sea there.  We cannot swim.  We don't have resources to build boats.  What do you mean move forward?  Then God tells Moses, "lift up your staff and stretch it out over the sea, that my children may walk through the sea on dry ground." God saw possibilities that they could not.  And Moses trusted God.

         The invitation to keep still in the face of fear and uncertainty is not a commandment to passivity and inaction; it is a call to radical trust in a God who knows what we need better than we do, a God who has resources we do not, a God who sees alternative pathways forward that we cannot even imagine.

         This morning I invite you to join me on a journey.  My first response to fear, to stress, to vulnerability and uncertainty has always been to revert to anger, manipulation and control to exert my own will over the circumstances around me.  I am learning, however, that my best response is usually not my first response.  My best response is to stop, to be silent, to ask God to reveal what is really going on in and around me, and to show me a better way forward.

         Right now, I invite you to think about a circumstance in your life that is bothering you, something that is causing fear, stress or anxiety in you, something that feels like it is beyond your control and outside your ability to fix.  What is Pharaoh's army, relentlessly closing in on you?  Now, be still.  Quiet your fear by placing your trust in God, who wills your well-being and knows what that means better than even you do.  Ask God to show you another way.  After a time of silence, I will close with a paraphrase of Psalm 46 that God has rewritten in my life.  I invite you to make this your prayer.

--Silence--

God you are my refuge and strength, a very present help in times of trouble.

Therefore, I will not be afraid, though everything around me changes,

         through earthquake and tsunami,

         through fire and flood,

         even the mountains tremble before you.

Your river of life feeds the streams that sustain me. 

You are constantly flowing through my life, my home, my city.

You are always there with me.  Your home is all about me.

You are there through the long night watch.

You draw me to wakefulness to see you in the fresh light of dawn.

I read in the news and see in my life:

the nations are in an uproar, self-made kingdoms totter.

Yet when you speak, hearts melt.

You really are with us.  Even Jacob eventually gave in and trusted you.  Why do we not?  Why do I not?

I look for evidence of your work all around me.  What are you doing with this mess?

What are you laying to waste and where are you bringing life?

Then I see it: You break our will to dominate by violence.

Your self-giving and sacrifice disarm us.

Speak Lord.  Melt my hard heart.  What would you say to me?  Then I hear the Voice whisper:

Be still.  Stop your tireless striving.  Let go of your desire to control.  Release the world around you into my hands.  Don't you see what I do with it when you let me?

You are not God.  I AM.  Let me be.

Lift me up, let me be Lord of your life so that I may be lifted up and made Lord among all the nations throughout the earth.

I AM with you.  I will be the God of the heavens and of the earth,

         if you will let me be. 

Even Jacob finally gave in and trusted me, when will you?