Would you agree that the level of fear, anxiety and uncertainty in much of the Christian world today is almost on par with that of the world at large?
We are simply more practised at camouflaging ours with pious clichés, bluster and dazzling declarations—which I suspect serve to amuse, more than intimidate, the demons they are directed against—while the world continues to enrich therapists, witches and New Age gurus in its desperate quest for peace of mind.
Jesus warned that fear and terror would increase in the last days:
“People will be terrified at what they see coming upon the earth, for the powers in the heavens will be shaken.”
—Luke 21:26
And surely we see this demonstrated daily in some corner of the planet or another, as our world seems increasingly infected by a toxic strain of insanity, spinning in a centrifuge of chaos and spiralling out of control—mentally, morally, environmentally and politically.
Is it any wonder that we can feel discombobulated and dazed on some days, and deeply fearful on others?
Yet in an increasingly hostile culture, God is looking for a people who will stand out—not because they are immune to the realities around them, but because of their quiet confidence in the Creator who knows the end from the beginning and remains Sovereign over His universe.
I love this short psalm written by David because it instantly comforts me whenever I begin to feel overwhelmed by the state of the church, the culture, my circumstances or the chaos swirling around me.
“LORD, my heart is not haughty,
Nor my eyes lofty.
Neither do I concern myself with great matters,
Nor with things too profound for me.
Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul,
Like a weaned child with his mother;
Like a weaned child is my soul within me.
O Israel, hope in the LORD
From this time forth and forever.”
—Psalm 131:1–3
When I read this, I picture a contented child nestled trustingly in its mother’s arms, completely at peace even while storms rage outside the window.
As a mother of four who breastfed her babies for far too long simply because I found it so difficult to wean them, I can still remember my enormous relief when they finally got the message and stopped pestering me with their inconvenient demands!
So I can easily imagine the picture David gives us here. A weaned child no longer needs to nurse in order to feel secure. It can simply rest in the presence of its mother, content to be close to her.
What a beautiful picture of our relationship with God.
How wonderful, if we could approach our Father not only with our demands, needs and endless requests, but also simply sit with Him in quiet adoration.
How wonderful, if we could trust Him enough to rest in Him without constantly striving to control the situations we are unhappy with—the ambitions that remain unfulfilled, the desires that remain unmet, our fears about the future, our unanswered questions and our insatiable desire to know more than we need to know.
But to arrive at that place of surrender, David shows us what we need to lay down.
First, we need to examine our hearts: “My heart is not haughty.”
Sometimes subtle pride causes us to think we know better than God how things should be run.
“God, this isn’t how it should be.”
“Why haven’t You answered yet?”
“If You would just do what I think You should do, everything would be fine.”
Humility recognises that God is God and we are not. We may have legitimate desires, strong opinions and genuine concerns—but we don’t have to occupy God’s seat.
Secondly, we need to examine our eyes: “Nor my eyes lofty.”
Lofty eyes can cause us to look beyond the boundaries God has assigned to us—to reach for knowledge, influence, understanding or control He has not given us.
We don’t need to see everything, and we don’t need to endlessly consume information, opinions, predictions and explanations in the hope that enough knowledge will make us feel safe.
Sometimes the endless search for information isn’t wisdom. Sometimes it is just anxiety dressed up in the respectable garb of research.
There is a humility that says, There are things I cannot see, and I am willing to trust the One who can.
Isn’t that part of what faith is?
Finally, we need to surrender our preoccupation with what is beyond us: “Neither do I concern myself with great matters, nor with things too profound for me.”
David wasn’t indifferent to important matters. He simply refused to carry what was beyond his sphere of responsibility, authority or understanding.
There are things that matter deeply to us that we are nevertheless not called to control. There are questions God has not answered and mysteries that will always remain beyond our finite understanding.
And we need to be content with that.
So:
A proud heart must be humbled.
Lofty eyes must be lowered.
The things beyond us must be surrendered.
The mysteries beyond our understanding must be entrusted to God.
And then something remarkable happens:
“Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul…”
The quietness doesn’t come because the world has become quiet.
The storm outside may still be raging. The culture may still be hostile. Our circumstances may still be uncertain. But something has changed within us.
We have stopped demanding that everything makes sense. We have stopped believing that our peace depends upon controlling the outcome. And like a weaned child nestled safely against its mother, our souls learn to rest in the presence of the One who holds us.
Then, almost imperceptibly, hope begins to rise. Not the fragile optimism that says everything will turn out well, but something deeper: an unshakeable hope rooted in the character of God.
“O Israel, hope in the LORD
From this time forth and forever.”
The world may be reeling. The culture may be shaking. Our circumstances may be uncertain. But God is still God.
And perhaps one of the most countercultural things we can do in these turbulent days is to become a people whose souls have learned to be still.
Not because we have all the answers.
Not because we have everything under control.
But because we have learned to rest in the arms of the One who does.
