Be Still, and Know that I am God!

Benedicamus Domino!

"Be still, and know that I am God" is taken from the Psalms, Psalm 45/46 to be exact, depending on what numbering you typically use. In the Septuagint numbering, it's 45, and in the later numbering, such as that used in the King James Bible and the Coverdale Psalter, it's 46. I think in both, it's verse 10. At any rate, I digress. It is a passage which I have always loved, but it is one I have read differently at different times in my life. Now, however, I think I've come to as close to a good understanding of it as I can.

When I was younger, I read "be still" as a command to do nothing, to refrain from acting, to let God do His thing and then all would be well. I could just walk through life and be somehow open to God, (my method of doing this was very vague,) and He would pour grace and good things into me as though I were an empty jug. He would, moreover, do this basically because it was His function, as though He were a tap just looking for something to fill with His divine essence or something. In short, I think it was a very mechanical God I believed in. He was always pouring, and I was just supposed to be receptive. Oh, and you know? This actually worked for a time. I remember thinking that I was very blessed of God because when I felt I just couldn't take a certain test on a certain day, the teacher was suddenly unable to be at school or the test itself wasn't ready for us yet or something. I did have a notion of prayer in those days, but it was largely prayer for specific things to happen. It wasn't prayer as a function of my soul or of myself. I tried my best to refrain from turning events to my favour while fervently calling on God to fix whatever jam I was in, and strangely enough, the jams often were fixed.

However, was this grace? Was this God's gift? There was always a part of me which felt guilty if anything would go the way I wanted it to after I had actually asked God for His help. This part of me knew that something was missing, and that likely God had not directly intervened to allow me a day's reprieve on the test. However, the one good thing that ccame out of those vague and undefined days of faith for me was a sense of gratitude. When I came to take the test the next day, for instance, I tried my absolute best as a way to honour what I saw as a little miracle in my life.

Still, I think this was the only good thing to come out of this odd relationship with God, because the main thing that was lacking from my perception that God's grace was helping me out of jams was the notion of personal responsibility. I found it difficult to believe in God as a personal God, as a God who is, in fact, a person, a being, an intelligence and a consciousness. I was alright with His having created the world, but somehow it was the human interaction thing I could never quite grasp. So for me, being still and knowing that He was God amounted to knowing that He was out of my reach generally, but that if I prayed hard enough, He tended to help me out of my troubles with, as it were, a mere flick of his little finger.

Later, when I was introduced to meditation and such, I began to look at that passage in a different light. At this time, being still meant taking time from my busy day and actually sitting still while trying to quiet my chattering mind, and then into that stillness would come the knowledge of God. Again, I wouldn't call this a personal meeting between two consciousnesses or two presences, but simply a filling of my emptiness with God's fullness. There is a certain wisdom in this I think, but it isn't all. It can still be somewhat mechanical if done without sufficient grounding in some tradition or other. I should also say that this approach really did not work for me in any true sense.

Then, I was introduced to a tradition which is called Hessychasm, which is taken from a Greek word "Hessychia" meaning "inner stillness." This is a tradition in Orthodox Christian monasticism (primarily) which stresses what is called "the prayer of the heart." This begins with a simple prayer, most often: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner," which is repeated with the mouth and with the mind, and which is used to focus the mind and the soul and to bring both down into the heart, which is not the physical heart but which is sort of the centre of the being, and eventually one can reach divine illumination: one can see what is termed the Uncreated Light of God. This is seen with a spiritual eye but I think has been perceived with the physical senses somehow too. This struck a chord with me immediately, because I thought I had experienced something like this Uncreated Light. I don't think this is the case now, but then I certainly did. There is a light which I sometimes see and which I have perceived since I was about eight at various times. It has always seemed very peaceful and very definite, but also very diffuse and sourceless. My left eye, which was the eye that once had light perception, is the one which still seems to see this light. There are times when it is night that it is almost like the sun is filling the place where I am. If this is some perception of God, that is all very well, but I think if I were actually to perceive the Uncreated Light, well, it would be a very different and much more soul-shaking experience!

However, I'm digressing again. The main point here is that there was a time when I longed to practice Hessychasm, to find some monastery which would teach it to me responsibly and slowly. This, I thought, was a way at last to truly be still and know that God is God, and to learn to know Him intimately, not merely with my brain. It is this intimate knowledge or communion which I still seek, but I don't think that pure Hessychasm would work for me, and I'll tell you why.

Hessychasm is very very suspicious of any kind of immaginative thinking where God is concerned. It eschews the brain's activity almost wholly in favour of the heart. The brain is engaged in focusing on a given prayer perhaps, but that's really it's function. The brain or the mind is to be centred in the heart, to become one with the heart through long hours of discipline, but is this the only true path by which we can perceive God intimately? I have come to believe that no, it is not. Now, I wouldn't say that wanton flights of fantasy should be employed. The road to God must lie in truth, but using some imagination as stepping-stones may be beneficial. For me, if I were to lead a truly Hessychastic existence, I would quickly become frustrated. A part of me would starve! I mean, it isn't meant to be joyless. Indeed, there are stories of deep joy being attained by this route, but does it mean that it's the route for me? No.

While I believe that focused and centring prayer is needful and it is a part of the being still process, I also believe that allowing oneself to be open to the joys of this world is necessary. Then you sort of take those joys and let God guild them. He will even guild sorrows as well I've learned. As Hopkins wrote: "The world is charged with the grandeur of God!" We can come to know Him by knowing the world He has made, for even in its broken state, it is still redolent of its maker! Seasons still come and go. Day succeeds night. Moons wax and wane. The cosmos is beautiful in its intricacies! Music and art, poetry and architecture! All this is not mere human ambition! God is there too!

I no longer pray to God to fulfil my every request, but I do try to remember to thank Him for the little miracles He shows me. I seek to be still and to know Him in many different ways, but my idea of non-action has evolved somewhat into a conscious thing, something like the Taoist idea of positive non-action: to stop willing, to stop desiring, to simply be for a moment or two and to know that I am not alone, that my being comes from God's is-ness, to walk upon the earth and yet to see Paradise around every corner! This is the way I wish to be, and I think this is the way He wishes us to be when all's said and done. Of course, it all starts with humility, with the realization that we are not our own to command, or should not be our own to command. God gave us free will, it is true, but this was out of love for us. He could have made us like robots or unthinking beings but He didn't. He wants us to be active in our own salvation, to recognize our broken selves and then, with His help, to set about making ourselves whole. This typically means confronting nasty bits in ourselves and rooting them out, but I believe that there must always be joy amid all that work. Struggle is all very well, but even in struggle there should be a sense of joy, a sense of struggling for the One you love and who loves you better than any earthly person. This is where contemplative and/or hessychastic stillness can help, and though I am far from being disciplined in such things, I have found that silencing the world around me for a time can be truly refreshing!

Till next time!

Deo Gratias!