One of our poets at Word*UP tonight said that writing poetry is more about listening than writing.
And I thought, exactly.
I heard the same thing said, years ago, about preparing sermons. And, although ‘sermons’ aren’t a big part of what we do, I’ve found it true just the same. Each week I find myself approaching our Sunday morning together and I’m listening for what you can’t hear with your ears. Elijah called it the ‘still small voice‘ of God -. It’s an apt description. The Spirit of God isn’t a big-shot, all flashy and loud. You recognize the Spirit in a gentle movement, a nudge, an awareness, somewhere in your own spirit, that something important just happened. A word, a phrase, a billboard floating past the rain-streaked car windows that somehow, mysteriously, pauses in your mind… You listen. You wait, you follow, never quite knowing where you’re going, seeing the path one step at a time, illuminated in the soft orange glow of light and love. You wait. You hold stillness. You love. And God appears.
There are times when God speaks to us in ways that are definite, unmistakeable, certain. But most often he whispers softly, gently, lovingly into our spirits. You begin by lamenting that there’s not enough time, not enough places in your life in which you can find stillness, quietness, peace. You lament the loss of solitude, the absence of time to sit and think and simply be. Then, perhaps without even realizing it, you begin to search for those times and places where you can enter into silence, mystery, wonder, peace and love. And then, finally, you learn that those times and places are all within.

