Washington Allston, “Elijah in the Desert”
Spiritual Sunday
Today in Washington, Iowa we are holding a memorial service for my mother-in-law Jeanette Miksch, who died at 94 on the eve of Mother’s Day. I link the occasion with today’s Old Testament reading about Elijah feeling lost and depressed in the desert. God visits Elijah in his desolation but not in the form that Elijah expects (1 Kings 19:9-15).
No version of the passage rises to the level of the “still small voice” found in the King James translation. (The New International Version’s “gentle whisper” doesn’t have the same punch.) Charles Wesley’s simple but powerful poem captures the quiet meditative state we must aspire to in order to hear God’s voice.
Here’s the passage from 1 Kings:
And he came thither unto a cave, and lodged there; and, behold, the word of the Lord came to him, and he said unto him, What doest thou here, Elijah?
And he said, I have been very jealous for the Lord God of hosts: for the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword; and I, even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away.
And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.
And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave. And, behold, there came a voice unto him, and said, What doest thou here, Elijah?
And he said, I have been very jealous for the Lord God of hosts: because the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword; and I, even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away.
And the Lord said unto him, Go, return on thy way to the wilderness of Damascus: and when thou comest, anoint Hazael to be king over Syria…
Wesley’s poem is marked by a childlike simplicity that does justice to the image:
The Still Small Voice
By Charles Wesley
Open, Lord, my inward ear,
And bid my heart rejoice;
Bid my quiet spirit hear
The comfort of thy voice:
Never in the whirlwind found,
Or where earthquakes rock the place, —
Still and silent is the sound,
The whisper, of thy grace.
From the world of sin and noise
And hurry I withdraw;
For the small and inward voice
I wait with humble awe:
Silent am I now and still,
Would not in thy presence move:
To my waiting soul reveal
The secret of thy love!
We miss you, Jeanette.
