At 4:31 a.m. on Monday, January 17, 1994, the relative calm of a holiday morning in downtown Los Angeles was shattered by a sudden twitch in the earth's crust. The people of L.A. were literally shaken out of their beds by an earthquake that measured 6.6 on the Richter scale. One person who experienced the quake said, "It's a very unreal feeling to have the earth moving under your feet. Everything's solid in life until the earth moves. It's a terrifying feeling." Another survivor stated, "It just makes you feel like your life could end at any minute." And for some it did. Even structures that had been deemed "earthquake proof" came crashing down in a matter of seconds. In response to the damage to the L.A. freeways, a spokesman for the California Department of Transportation concluded, "Nothing human beings have ever built is earthquake proof."
Seen in this light, it is easy to realize why the Bible considers God's cosmic attention-getters as acts of mercy. For many of us, they are a strong reason to take a careful inventory of our lives, to evaluate where we stand before God and others. The mercy comes from the fact that those of us who survive or escape personal loss have been given a window of opportunity to reconsider our lives and make radical changes where necessary.
For some, the attention-getter need not be as big as an earthquake. Sometimes it takes only a conversation with a friend, an image from the news or a line from the Bible for God to break through. At other times, it would seem that even an earthquake is not big enough. In Pasadena, California, about 30 kilometres from the centre of the earthquake, hotel patrons were ordering room service an hour after the earthquake--and getting angry at delays!
So we need to ask ourselves: What does it take for God to get my attention, to bring me to the point of change and transformation?
Like these first followers, we have a tendency to rush to God only when we are in trouble. The immediate crisis and the subsequent aftershocks keep us on our knees, but when the last of the tremors have subsided, we often wander back into the old prayerless patterns.
I believe that if we are willing, we can all carve out times in our schedules for silence and prayer. But many of us find silence threatening, especially if we aren't used to it. We don't know what to do with it. We have become alienated from silence. If we get into one of our vehicles to go for a drive, or if we go to the beach or for a morning walk, our most important companion is usually the radio, portable stereo or walkman. It would seem that we can't stand the sound of silence. There was a time when silence was normal and a lot of racket disturbed us. Today, noise is normal, and silence, strange as it may seem, has become a real disturbance.
It may take a real effort for some of us to enter into silence, what one writer has called a "palace in time". And when we do, we may be disturbed to find that even more difficult than getting rid of the surrounding noise is the achievement of inner silence, a silence of the heart. As soon as I enter a place of silence where there is no one to talk to, and no one to listen to, an interior discussion starts up that almost seems to get out of hand. The void of silence is suddenly filled by the many unsolved problems demanding my attention: One care forces itself upon another, and one complaint rivals the next, all pleading for a hearing.
It makes you wonder if the diversion we look for in the many things outside us might not be an attempt to avoid a confrontation with what is taking place on the inside. I find that the inner urges and gentle promptings of God's Spirit (highlighting areas I need to deal with, such as anger, anxiety, bitterness, etc.) often go unheeded because I constantly let myself be distracted by a world demanding all of my attention. When that happens and a crisis situation comes my way, I am shaken to the core.
But to change our deep-seated assumptions and the lenses through which we have always looked at life is hard, tedious work. To face our inner selves (pride, fears, anger, emotional pain) can be frightening, and so we would rather surround ourselves with busyness and noise to keep our minds from having to deal with the questions raised by our hearts. That is why a 4th-century group of Christians retreated to the desert, calling solitude the "furnace of transformation". Noise and busyness act to repress our inner fears and personal anxieties, as we scramble to achieve an enviable image to display to others. We become "outward" people, obsessed with how we appear, what others will think of us if we do this or that, rather than "inward" people, reflecting on the purpose and meaning of our lives.
It is not my intention to make people feel guilty. Most already have a high amount of that. My hope is that I will inspire you to pray and to find a deeper intimacy with God. I conclude with the wise words of Mother Teresa of Calcutta: "We need to find God, and He cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence."
David Esau lives in Delta, B.C., where he is a pastor.