 |
| Artwork Credit: Wooded River Landscape (1913) by Peder Mørk Mønsted (1859–1941). Public domain image accessed via Artvee.com. |
Fear often finds us when foundations begin to shake. We might not be in war zones, but our hearts know the feeling of collapse. A diagnosis. A betrayal. A door that closed without warning. Psalm 46 begins in that kind of world, not the safe one we often imagine, but the real one where even the mountains fall. And in the midst of it, we are given a truth to hold: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble” (Ps 46:1, NKJV).
This is not strength we summon. It is strength given. It is God stepping into the storm as both shelter and support. “Therefore we will not fear, even though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea” (v. 2). The verses do not shrink from disaster. They testify that God remains faithful even when all else collapses.
The psalm speaks of roaring waters and kingdoms in uproar. And yet it also speaks of a river: gentle, steady, unseen by the raging world around it. “There is a river whose streams shall make glad the city of God…” (v. 4). The contrast is intentional. While the nations fall apart, there is joy in the place where God dwells. His presence holds His people firm.
Then we hear the words many have memorized: “Be still, and know that I am God” (v. 10). It is easy to read this as a personal comfort. But this stillness is not the quiet of retreat. It is the silence that follows God's intervention. The Lord speaks to a world in conflict and calls it to cease. “He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; He breaks the bow and cuts the spear in two” (v. 9). Stillness, here, is surrender—to His power, His rule, His voice.
Even so, there is a personal invitation tucked within this command. We are not only told that He is God—we are told to know it. In the stillness of surrender, trust begins to grow. We remember that His purposes never fail. His presence never departs. And the battles we face are never fought alone.
To be still in this way does not mean doing nothing. It means no longer grasping for control that was never ours. It is waiting in faith, while the wind still howls, because we know who holds the storm.
“The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge” (v. 11). He does not stand at a distance. He enters the conflict. He commands the silence. And when everything around us gives way, He alone remains unshaken. We do not anchor ourselves by finding peace within. We endure by knowing the One who speaks peace into the world He governs.
Comments
Post a Comment