It is a terrifying thing to fall into the hands of the living God!

Romans 10:31

On Friday, driving in town, I was struck by all the cars. All these people busy with life and bustle. Going here, going there. No shortage of things to do, to be. The Honda weaving in and out of lanes on the interstate forced me to keep my fingers on the steering wheel for more than one reason. Cars took people to hectic activities that comes with living. Stores full. Restaurants full. Cars raced to the next red light to go to the next pursuit.   

On Saturday, I walk a quiet path for a spiritual retreat. No cars, very few people. The only hectic activity is the wind. And the humming birds who buzzed around the free food. No calendared activities, no work to do, no people to meet, no goal or item to check off the list. Just me and God.

And that is terrifying.

• To be still is difficult enough. To be still before the Creator of all is disturbing.
• To listen to people is challenging enough. To listen, openly listen, whole body listen to the Judge of all is dreadful.
• To be surrounded by the silence God inhabits in the midst of a crazy world undone all around is nothing short of awe.
• To fall into the hands of a living God is terrifying.

So, we fill our days with news, with podcasts, with music, with cacophony of noise to not hear the silence God inhabits. We fill our life with busy, with work, with festivities, with anything to not inhabit the stillness God speaks. We fill our time and our space with crazy to not feel the quiet and accidentally fall into the terrifying hands of God.

When we are alone with God and He holds our attention, He tells us one of two things. He tells us about Himself: His holiness, justice, righteousness, creativeness, omniscience, saving grace, mercy, forgiveness, love. Or He tells us about us: our sin, fallenness, finiteness, hate. Both are terrifying.

I breathe deep and start to walk the stone lined path. Unthinking and refocusing on the silence God inhabits and the still God speaks. A million things crashed in one me and took my meditation elsewhere.

Three lizards darted away. A horned toad crept close. A woodpecker flew to fast for me to get a good picture. Several stink bugs walked a bit with me. A couple of black and red bugs were procreating. They didn’t care I saw. Two ducks stared at me from a bin. The chickens ran away. A couple of goats came close hoping for food. The miniature donkeys were curious of my camera’s clicking sound. The bigger horse was magnificent. Tall, strong. The white horse had a blue eye and wanted carrots. The dog barked even scarier as I bent low for a picture of the path. I rushed away. Birds flew overhead and chirped. There were at least four distinct chirps. A crow yelled some birds away.

I slow my breathing and take off shoes. It is holy ground, is it not? And is that not the best grounding to be had? And I think of the things God tells me. In fearful step, I see me. In the next fearful step, I see Him. And step after step I fall into the hands of a living God. And I am terrified.

I have filled my space with discordant noise. I have filled my time with wasted commotion. God has filled space with love and mercy. God has filled time with justice and peace. I see why I tremble before Him. I bring chaos. He brings peace. I bring sin. He brings grace. I bring my justification. He brings justice. I bring worry. He brings mercy. I bring hate. He brings love. I hold fear. He holds me.

All I have to offer makes a poor sacrifice. Yet, He, in Jesus, offered everything, literally, and died. Now, His heart beats and He is no longer in the grave. It is a terrifying thing to fall into the hands of a living God.

I stop at a bench to open the Word and read a verse or more. I read a Psalm. And a story. I was thinking about how dreadful it is to hear from God. He tells us only about Himself or about us. I was reminded of the story of Samuel, a small boy. So, I read in I Samuel, how Samuel heard a voice call his name and thought it was the priest he studied under. No, it wasn’t him. Sleep, Samuel. The voice happened again. No, not the priest. Sleep, Samuel. And yet again. This time the priest realized that God was speaking to this child and no longer spoke to him. Samuel, tell the voice, here I am. Speak Lord.

Samuel did as he was told. And God told him a terrible thing. A fearful thing about the priest. Samuel stayed in bed and didn’t want to tell the priest. But the priest knew the Lord spoke and knew he needed to hear what was said. Even though the priest was afraid. The boy spoke the dreadful words of the Lord. And both felt the terrifying falling into the hands of God.

And yet they found peace there. Even though the priest was judged and died. Even though Samuel grew to be a prophet that people ignored. They found peace in the midst of fearing God. They found peace in the midst of a world undone.

That makes no sense. But nothing of this faith makes sense.

We are to love people who hate us. We are to have joy in the midst of our suffering. We are to have peace in a world full of war. We are to have patience even when others are irritated with us. We are to be kind to the cruel. We are to do good to those who do ill to us. We are to have faith when walking in the desert. We are to have self-control over every vice and desire. We are to serve people who will give us nothing in return. We are to forgive those who sin against us. Like all of them. We are to fear God and never fear man or governments.

This is a faith of oddities and yet is so compelling. Because as terrifying as it is to fall into the hands of a living God, there is nothing more desirable, nothing more satisfying, nothing more perfect than to fall into the hands of God my Saviour, my Creator. Because He is full of compassion, full of mercy, is HESED.

In that stillness, in that terrifying stillness, I found God speaking. In that silence, in that terrifying silence, I found beside me. In that space and time, I found God. And He fills my soul.