Be Still and Know That

When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. (John 11:32-33)

I recently led a retreat shaped by the verse from Psalm 46, “Be still and know that I am God.” I’m sure you know the clever “trick” of shortening this verse as a meditation practice.

Be still and know that I am God.

Be still and know that I am.

Be still and know.

Be still.

Be.

But I became interested in “Be still and know that …” Suddenly it becomes a question to explore rather than a statement you must accept. Be still and know that … what?

During part of the retreat, I offered participants practices to explore how that "question" might be answered. There were various ways to listen for how the sentence "Be still and know that I am…" might be completed. What might the Divine be saying to us today?

I chose to look at the story of Jesus receiving the message to come to Bethany because his friend Lazarus was seriously sick. He decided not to leave right away and ended up bringing Lazarus back to life. What a confusing story! Why did Jesus wait two days? What was going on with his friends, Mary and Martha, as they accused Jesus of not being there for them and still expressed their trust in him? What was it like as he called Lazarus out of the cave?

[Spoiler alert: I still don’t have those answers.]

I read the story several times with prompts and questions that helped me enter it more fully. Using imagination with scripture like this is an ancient practice formalized in the 16th century by a priest named Ignatius.

When you explore a story with your imagination, you can ask all sorts of questions because you’re just wondering. I allowed myself to wonder if Jesus really understood what he was saying and the effects of what he did.

When Jesus delayed his trip to Bethany, saying, “This illness does not lead to death; rather, it is for God’s glory,” did he know what that meant any better than we do? Is it possible he said words given by the Holy Spirit without understanding what was going to happen?

He told Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” Did he already have this knowledge, or was this news to him even as he said it? Rather than a challenge to Martha, maybe that last question was more like, “Can you believe this shit?”

And then there’s the moment when Jesus saw Mary and the others weeping. “He was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.” Did he not anticipate their grief? Had he not realized how much his delay would hurt them? Did he even start to wonder why his Father had him delay and cause this pain?

I don’t know how much Jesus knew and didn’t know, but it doesn't make sense to me that he was born knowing everything. And whether he was or not, he gave up a lot to become human. What was that like?

The word that came to me was vulnerable.

Be still and know that I am vulnerable.

Jesus became as vulnerable and limited as we all are. I felt a great sense of connection with him and gratitude that he took this on and stuck it out to the end.

Jesus knows what it's like, and somehow he is still with us in it.

Somehow, we are vulnerable together.