Finding Rhythm in the Quiet Places

On Easter weekend, 1999, I was a part of the choir at Phoenix First Assembly in Phoenix, Arizona. The church was enormous. The auditorium, at capacity, allowed 5,000 people, and that weekend, for the final service, every seat in that church was filled. The choir, where I was, stood on tiers behind the enormous stage, and easily made room for a couple hundred singers. When 5,000-plus people gather to worship and praise the great and mighty Name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, the roof of the church can hardly contain the excitement, fervor, and move of the Holy Spirit. 

It was loud. It was beautiful. There was dancing. If you're a Mennonite, I can hear your gasp from here. ;) The big screens on both sides of the stage did a constant pan of the congregation and the worship leaders on a regular basis. The camera guys in their black jeans and t-shirts were all over the place as they worked their equipment to show the stage players on the big screens. The whole service reminded me of the worship scene in Revelation 4. We weren't dancing in the throne room of heaven, but the holiness and vibrant presence of God was palpable.

Here's a contrast to this picture: Every morning, during my months in Phoenix, I would wake early and take a jog outside of my small house in the northern part of the city, up the hill, down the other side, and past the city limits where a desert outcropping began. There was a small-ish mountain there, one of the many that dots Phoenix's cityscape, and I'd climb the mountain to the peak, sit on a rock, drink in the view, and worship.

The contrast between the big and loud and rhythmic worship of that Easter weekend and the quiet and peaceful and still of my mountaintop was a night and day difference. Those quiet moments were essential for my spiritual longevity. The big, the loud, the rhythmic was exciting... but the quiet moments were the steady feast for my soul. 

Let's look at the worship service that takes place in John 6:1-15. To give us the setting, Jesus has crossed over the Sea of Galilee with his disciples. Because Jesus is becoming well-known for the signs and miracles He is performing, there's a massive crowd of people who are running around the shoreline, trying to spot where Jesus is going to land. They want more: more signs, more miracles, more bang for their buck (no, Jesus did not charge admission).

The disciples pull the boat(s) onto the shore, and Jesus sees the crowd converging. There are no camera guys, no boom mics, no big screens. The only "stage" present is a mountain nearby, so He climbs it a little way so people will be able to see Him and possibly hear Him better. 

I've always wondered about the communication system present here. How many times have I read Exodus, and wondered how Moses "spoke to all the people," which -- depending on which scholar you pay attention to -- likely numbered in the millions. No matter which way you slice the cake, one person's voice does not carry across such an audience, and the people's ability to see details of the speaker is certainly minimal. I've wondered if there had to have been a sort of rudimentary game of telephone that gets played when Jesus begins to speak to the large crowds here. "What did he say?" "He said [important Gospel message]." "Thanks. Hey friend, this is what He said..." "What's He doing?" "He's got something in his hands." "It's bread; the guy at the front said so..." Etc.

So Jesus begins teaching the crowd, and they listen intently, as best as they can do without mics or screens. This man is a radical! He's brought amazing signs and wonders to Israel! Everyone wants to see what He'll do next. This crowd is the most intense fandom of the day. I'm not old enough to have been present for Beatle-mania, but I've read about the girls who would actually faint on the sidewalk when the Beatles would exit their limo to enter their venues, and the hyperventilation and excitement of seeing their idols in real life quite literally would steal the breath from their audience's lungs.

I wonder if Jesus-mania was similar. Perhaps. 

Eventually, Jesus realizes that it's lunch time. The number of people is too large; they would overwhelm any of the surrounding towns and the one or two bakers who provide the bread for the inhabitants. Jesus knows what He's going to do about the situation, but to test His disciples (who, Jesus? Test anyone?), He pulls aside Philip and says: "Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?"

I spent a good bit of time this morning wondering what grade I would have assigned Philip on his test. His response is middling at best; maybe he gets a C in "Faith." He exclaims, "Eight months' wages would not buy enough bread for each one to have a bite!" 

Andrew pulls out a slightly better grade. He's standing nearby, where he's spied a young boy with his day's lunch. "Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish," he says.

A+, Andrew! You've aced the --

"But how far will they go among so many?" 

Soooo close. We'll go with a solid B.

Jesus instructs the disciples to have the people sit down. To note, there are around 5,000 men, not to mention women and children, so a conservative guess as to the number of people present would be maybe 6,000, possibly a great many more.

Jesus takes the boy's lunch. In my mind, it plays out like this: 

Jesus bends to the level of the boy, His hands on His knees. "Mind if I borrow this? I'll give it back." A small wink, a friendly grin.

The boy is hungry, but there's something about the Man that immediately puts him at ease. And He is famous. The boy can't wait to tell his parents about the man named Jesus Who had asked him for his lunch. A few stomach growls extra is no big deal in exchange.

Jesus takes the lunch basket from the boy. "Thanks," He says. "Hang on just a minute." He steps onto a rocky outcropping where the whole audience can see him, many of whom are whispering, wondering what Jesus is doing. The white noise of conversation hushes as Jesus takes a loaf of bread from the basket and lifts it high in the air. He breaks it, and thanks the Father for the food that everyone is about to eat.

Then he calls for baskets. Lots of baskets. And he starts breaking off chunks of bread like there's no tomorrow. Breaking, breaking, breaking. Five loaves come and go, and He's still breaking bread. Two fish come and go, and somehow, there's still more fish.

I can just imagine the boy's eyes growing wider and wider and wider. His mouth drops open. There are men and women standing nearby, watching as the disciples, startled and wondering what is going on, are assigned to carry baskets among the crowd. The whispers at the front become an excited hum. "Look what He's doing! It's a miracle! He's doing a miracle!"

The fervor rises, the excitement becomes palpable. The people eat, they feast, they are allowed to eat until they are full!

Jesus eventually stops breaking the bread pieces and tossing fish into containers. He glances out over the crowd. People are refusing third or fourth helpings. Their hunger is satisfied. "Gather the pieces that are left over," Jesus tells the disciples. "Let nothing be wasted." 

He picks up the boy's lunch basket, heaps it full of leftovers, and brings it back. "Thanks," He says. "Here's good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over."

Now that the people's stomachs are full, now that they are fully aware that they've witnessed a miracle, there is a vibrant feeling that runs through the entire audience, the beginnings of a powerful worship service. "Surely this is the Prophet who is to come into the world!"

The Prophet the people are referring to is the one spoken about in Deuteronomy 18:15, who would be like Moses. God had provided through Moses food for the starving Israelites in the desert, so the parallel doesn't miss this crowd of people. Now, in the middle of the people's oppressive subjection to Rome, they are looking for the king who will deliver them. They cling to the prophecies in Scripture, but in their view, their deliverer will bring an earthly rule that will up-end Roman oppression and will allow them their freedom as an Israelite nation once more, complete with their own king.

This Man -- Who does miracles, Who looks out for their physical needs, Who is a star worth following -- should surely be their King. Somewhere along the line, this worship service takes a hard left. Somewhere along the line, the objective becomes less about the sacrifice of praise and more about the agenda of politics.

Jesus, being God, knows exactly when these thoughts first enter their minds, and in His perfect timing, He glances at His disciples, nods. See you in a while. He slips away, disappearing into the hills, all by Himself.

See, God has a plan, existing before the beginning of time, and set into motion as soon as Eve reaches out her hand for that tempting fruit in Eden so many centuries earlier. Jesus comes to fulfill every iota of that plan, to the last dot of the i and cross of the t. Satan tries to distract Him from that plan when Jesus enters the wilderness and fasts for forty days, but no go. Jesus will not deviate from His Father's commission. His heart, Jesus' heart, the Father's heart is bent toward His creation, and His great love keeps him exactly on track.

So when these people cry out for a king, when they intend to make Jesus their ruler, it has to have been a temptation: He could have made their lives better, He could have ended Roman oppression. He could have made their nation great again; He could have done it with the snap of His fingers.

But God's plan is so much greater than that little slice of time for that tiny fragment of history. God's plan involves the salvation of all believers from the beginning of time to the end of it. And Jesus refuses to stay and entertain a single bit of that temptation.

He withdraws to a quiet place, by Himself, to pray. 

This story is powerful, and the signs and wonders are flashy and glittery, and very nearly make us forget that last line. "Jesus, knowing that they intended to come and make Him king by force, withdrew again (this has apparently happened before) to a mountain by Himself."

When we are tempted, what is our response? One of my great temptations, one of my biggest weaknesses, is impulsivity. I respond too quickly to too many stimuli. When my children try my patience, too often I jump all over them in my frustration. When someone presses too hard into sensitive or injured feelings, too often I lash out with stinging words. When I "window shop" on Amazon, too often, I click Buy Now instead of pondering the necessity of the "pretty." 

How necessary I find it to withdraw to the mountain by myself. That's where I can seek the Lord without distraction. That's where I can enter the rhythm of worship. That's where I can hear His voice over the white noise of the crowd. There's a time to mingle with the people, to minister to the crowd... and there's a time to withdraw to the mountain, to hear the Lord's voice, to regain strength in His presence. To find the rhythm of His heartbeat, and to match it with our own.

"In the secret, in the quiet place...
In the stillness, You are there.
In the secret, in the quiet hour I wait
Only for You,
Because I want to know You more."

~In the Secret, In the Quiet Place by Andy Park