Be Still, My Soul
Originally published at: https://shereadstruth.com/be-still-my-soul/
OPEN YOUR BIBLE
Psalm 46:10, Psalm 37:3-9, Psalm 62:5-8, Psalm 107:28-35
Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him.
Be still, and know that I am God.I will be exalted among the nations,I will be exalted in the earth!-Psalm 46:10
Be still my soul, be still. Katharina A. von Schlegel, the writer of this hymn, gives us many gifts in these words I carry around with me. Last week, I visited a chapel in New Jersey, a building about as old as these lyrics. I wandered into the dim, resonant space on that bright, autumn afternoon. The pews were empty but for a few folks milling about on the outside aisles. As I found my way to a well-worn bench toward the middle, I began to trace the storylines of the painted glass in the arched ceilings above my head.
I marveled at the commitment of architectural design, artistic gifts, the time and resources it must have taken to create a place like this. Such beauty ushered me into stillness and conversation with God. An organist played hymns intermittently on the organ pipes, and each time he finished one, the room imploded into stunning silence. No applause. No cheers. No audible response necessary.
Life is noisy. A hymn like “Be Still My Soul” gives me assurance that in the noise of life, my soul is held secure in the silence—silence that goes before and behind me. In the noise of my emotions or in daily work rhythms, the silence between the happenings is a constant. The silence helps me find my place in the world, to see who I am, and it makes space for my soul to listen to God. Even in the most joyful tones of life, as in music, the space between the notes is just as important as the notes themselves.
Hebrew scholar Ellen Davis translates the first verse of Psalm 65 in this way:
“To you, O God, silence is praise.”
Silence is praise? You mean I don’t have to say or prove anything? I can just be here, be who I am, where I am, and let the silence envelop me?
Like Job’s declaration of God’s goodness in spite of his personal losses (Job 1:21), Katharina echoes:
“Be still, my soul, your Jesus can repay, from his own fullness, all he takes away.”
These are challenging and comforting words, strung disruptively close together. The challenging part is the reminder that we are not the ones in control. If space is a kind of loss, the comfort of the stanza is this: like music notes on a page, we ought to submit ourselves to receive both the notes themselves (like joy) and the space between the notes (like loss) before God.
He, in His fullness, is the Great Composer of our souls, moving us in and out of seasons, giving and taking away. Using both space and melody, He composes our lives into a symphony far more dynamic and beautiful than we ever could have written for ourselves.
Admittedly, we can’t always hear the music that is being written in us. Sometimes, the people around us can hear the song more easily than we can. It’s then that we need our friends to sing it for us and sing it to us.
In a hymn such as “Be Still My Soul,” in both space and melody, we are instructed in the practice of silence and the symphony of grace. We are encouraged to “be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him” (Psalm 37:7). And we are invited to “begin the song of praise.”