Stillness, Storm, and the Space in Between

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling. Selah. There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved; God will help her when morning dawns. Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth! 

— Psalm 46:1-5, 10 (ESV)

be still

Can you feel it? There’s a stillness in the air—not a calm and serene stillness, like that of the dawn as a new day begins, but a deep and brooding stillness, like that of the Spirit hovering over the waters before the earth spun into space and the stars began to shine. Who knows what may yet be brought to birth in this troubled world? 

It’s a stillness so strong its tremors can be felt over all the globe. A wild silence, vast and untamed as the measureless prairie, yearning and mysterious as the fathomless ocean, unthreatened and unabated by the schemes of man. Like the electrifying quiet in a concert hall before the master musician begins to play, all creation waits with bated breath for what the Composer of the universe will do. The very air trembles with expectancy and excitement as the darkness shudders in light of its defeat. For it will not be long.

Can you hear it? In the stillness of the clouded sky before the storm, faint rumblings of thunder sound in the distance, coming ever closer. Portents of the prayed-for latter rain, the promise soon to be fulfilled. When the rain falls, who among us will be ready for the storm?

like a storm

We have known the greatness of Your power / And we have seen too much to turn back now / We have sung countless songs about You / But now we want more than just a song // Come like a storm / Come like a crashing wave / Oceans will roar / As we lift high Your name / Come like a storm 

— Jeremy Camp, Jess Cates, and Josh Silverberg, “Storm”

The clouds gather, the thunder rolls—then the storm comes. Man is no longer under the illusion of being in control. Anything can happen in a storm. Storms test the strength of roots and foundations, uncover weak spots, and destroy any obstacles that stand in their way.

God’s presence is a storm with life-transforming force. When the storm of God’s presence crashes into someone’s life, that person is changed. Not only does he enter into the Storm, but the Storm enters into him. Not only is she changed, but she becomes a force for change. No longer are they satisfied with the dull and dry culturally acceptable status quo that they once thought of as “normal Christianity.” They now see that as kindling to be consumed by the fire of the Spirit, lighting the wood of the church’s offering on an altar of stone. Like the prophets of old, these people are willing vessels that carry God’s messages to others. Some may be called to modern-day prophetic ministry. But we are all called to be prophetic in a certain sense. I love the way Charles Lattimore Howard puts it:

Prophetic is a fluid term that can move and be shaped in different ways depending on what or who is containing it. But the prophetic—the truly prophetic—can never truly be contained. The prophetic is wild.  It is different.  It is set apart—by God, God’s love, and God’s will.  Thus, often it stands across the water from what the world is doing.¹

Revival is when the Storm enters the church. Always, always, there are those on the edges who have been stirred by the Storm, who have prayed and longed for the Storm, who are ready for the Storm when it comes. Often God uses these people to help bring the Storm by being echoes of the Storm, proclaiming the need for change and urging others to prepare for what they know must come. They have felt the stillness spoken of in the beginning. That brooding silence resonates deep in their soul, where the same Spirit who hovered over the waters at creation dwells. A certain restlessness is there, like that of troubled waters. A wordless emptiness is felt, like that of boundless plains. The question yearns deep within: how long?

The Storm shatters the clouds with rain that breaks into barren ground. Seeds planted long ago that lie dead and buried are brought to life. The echoes are finally fulfilled.

the space in between

In the quiet spaces, I will seek Your face.
In the silent spaces, I will find the grace 
That nothing in this world can replace.
In the waiting stillness, I will find Your face.

— Hannah Grace Staton 

In every story, there are events that drive the narrative forward, and there are gaps in between. From the reader’s perspective, it seems like nothing is happening during these gaps, or at least not anything interesting or exciting. But the author is laying the necessary groundwork for what will happen next. This is why every good story has gaps.

The same is true in our lives. We all experience the space in between, the waiting time when nothing seems to be happening. This is where it’s easiest to lose heart: when we have felt the brooding stillness and yearn to see change, but the Storm has not yet come. It takes faith to hold on and believe that this time has purpose and that God is working.

The space in between may feel like the hardest place to be. But it’s there that God quietly moves in our hearts, gently nudging us closer to becoming who He wants us to be. It’s there that He pours His strength into us, arming us to fight in His battles. It’s there that He softens our barren ground, preparing us for the Storm.

—

Can you see it? Storm clouds spill across the sky. Jagged bolts of lightning split the dark. Towering trees are swayed by an invisible wind.

Come, Spirit of stillness and storm, come.

---

1.  Charles Lattimore Howard, Pond River Ocean Rain (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2016), 6-7.
   ↩︎