Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lordwas not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. (1 Kings 19:11b-12)
One of my pastoral mentors had a chair where he met with God each morning. I know others who have a window seat in their house or a corner in a booth in a coffee shop. Sometimes it is not a place, but a time. Many meet with God in the morning through prayer or in the evening before they fall asleep. “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart,” says Jeremiah 29:13.
“It’s human nature to park in the same space every time,” a co-worker informed me one morning when I parked in “his spot.” I joked, “Then, I guess I’m not human.” I like to pick a new seat at every staff meeting. if I were sitting in the congregation in church, I would probably choose a different pew every time. My apartment is too small now, but when I had a larger space, I looked forward to changing the arrangement of my furniture each quarter in my house. I change up my job every 3-5 years, I’ve started to notice. I like change. Apparently that is not human, but I am human (last time I checked), and I really do like change.
And so I have often struggled with this scheduled quiet time with God. I have tried mornings, evenings and even noon. And I have tried to find that special place too: I tried sitting on a rock outside, but my butt started to hurt (and it seemed like a bad seasonal commitment since I live in the northeast). I tried lying down in bed, but sometimes I fall asleep. And I don’t really have one of those preacher-looking chairs.
In seminary we participated in a media fast. Most students picked television, but at the time I didn’t watch much TV. So, I abstained from listening to the radio (or any audio) in the car. I got so caught up in my thoughts that I drove through a stop sign and got a ticket, but I was still thankful for the exercise. It gave me permission to stop everything and pray. I have never forgotten that I can do that anywhere and at anytime. And so, even now, when I think of something I need to talk to God about, I turn everything off and meet with God.
I love the idea of a place for God, but I’m not sure I will ever have one. I think the closest I can get is an activity for God. I often meet with God when I am on the run … literally. Moving helps clear my mind and make space to listen (hopefully first), and then to speak (hopefully second, and usually figuratively since talking out loud while running by yourself can be cause for concern). When I run, my thoughts sort themselves out, and I am at peace. My stress is relieved and my passion is renewed. But, I would be lying if I told you that running is always my place for God. There are days when I run with a friend and we chat the whole way, or even when I run on my own and I just need the quiet.
Perhaps it is most about the quiet and less about the time or place. We light candles so we can see God’s presence, but God wasn’t in the fire. We look to nature and see God’s handiwork, but God herself isn’t always so easy to pin down. And we want to feel God like the warmth of the sunshine and the touch of a hand, but sometimes feelings elude us. But in the silence, we may hear a gentle whisper. And it seems it may be less about a place for God, but more about making space for God – making space in the quiet to hear God’s still small voice. Jesus seemed to prefer going off into the wilderness to meet with God, but he also seemed to be able to do so with people all around him. I have stopped being hard on myself for not finding that place for God; instead, I welcome those moments to pause and pray and listen, trusting that God is always present, even if I don’t show up in the same place, at the same time, or in exactly the same way.
JULIE RAFFETY serves as the pastor at First Presbyterian Church in Franklin, New Jersey. Julie is a violinist, aspiring writer, snowboarder, runner, identical twin and crazy about popcorn.
