An Audience of One

The raft creaks almost silently beneath me. My bare feet tuck into the bottom seam seeking a hint of warmth and a sense of security no matter how false or slight. The ocean is vast and I am thousands of miles from light, or sound, or humanity. There is only me in the boundlessness of this unexplored ocean. I am alone, but not lost. Drifting, but not adrift. The night sky looms large above me and around me, a praegrandis mystery that overwhelms my senses, humbles my spirit and ignites my soul. I have no words, no fears, no thoughts beyond the grand stage where I am the audience of one. My God sits before, above, and among me. And on this dark night, He is closer than I can comprehend.  For in this moment, the veil has been pulled back. The divide between my Creator and myself is now an unbroken path. My head bowing humbly as I enter into the sanctuary where I touch the face of Christ. 

Louis Zamperini experienced this very thing, just mildly different in effect. He had been adrift on the ocean for 33 days to this point. According to Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand, Louie was near death from starvation and dehydration when he heard a “perfectly harmonious chorus of voices" that sang over him in his raft. This was 33 days after his plane crash landed into the Pacific, and just 14 days before he would be taken as a prisoner of war. 

More than once I have daydreamed about history. I have often allowed my mind to drift back in time to imagine this world set back several hundred years before exploration, before conquest, before electricity and noise and progress and all of the chaos of the modern world. And even now, I imagine that I am looking across the grassland with no surrounding lights from farms or industry or even the dim and yellowed patio lights that lead to home. I dream of a world where native grasses grow wild and free, a world that has not fallen victim to the pollution of our lives. 

On any given night, I sit outside in the darkness, or rather, as much of the darkness as I can experience, and I search the night sky. I watch for satellites, meteors, galaxies, constellations, and even the unexplained. But my view is often tainted with auxiliary stimuli; porch lights of neighbors, city lights reflecting off of low clouds or simply radiating into the distance, lights from passing cars. Additionally, I hear low hums of industrial life, compressor machinery, traffic, and even the indistinct buzz of yard lights in the distance. 

To us in this modern world, they are sights and sounds that we become desensitized toward. In fact, we are so desensitized to the consistent vibrational sound that we wake up from a deep sleep when the power goes out, the ceiling fan stops, and the house switches to dark mode. We sense it, even when we don't know immediately what is it that is different. We have grown to need white noise to sleep, as though our brains need a distraction from whatever lies in slumber inside our minds. We seek the ongoing stimuli because the absence of it feels uncomfortable. Perhaps it amplifies what silence symbolizes. Perhaps we are afraid of what we will hear internally so we drown out the possibility with noise externally. Maybe we simply turn the music up, so we can't hear anything else - like our thoughts. 

And we wonder why we can't hear God... or see God. 

I want to believe that God is going to reveal Himself to me in the form of something grand, or at least obvious. I want Him to wake me from a deep sleep like a blinding and beautiful fire that hits my soul with a searing love, cauterizing every broken crack and crevice. I want Him to visit me so intentionally that I know it was not a mistake, and I know I didn't misunderstand and I know that He came specifically for me. I want to hear the voice of God so clearly that I memorize the words and tone and rhythm more than any ballad that has ever reached my ears. 

But God seldom communicates that way. At least, not these days. For God is not simply a master of grand gestures. He is not just the author of lightning bolts and burning mountains, parted waters and halted suns. He is also the painter of gentle breezes that calm the mind, whispered peace in the early morning dawn, and silent tears of closeness beside streams. He is the Living Word in the stillness of water. And we must listen for Him as we listen for the sound of low rumbling thunder in the distance, or the sound of quail in the evening brush, thoughtfully, watchfully and intently. But we have to stop talking for a moment so we can hear Him speak. 

History has changed, but God has not. He has not been weakened or diluted in any measure. But perhaps we have muted His voice in our changing world. If I struggle to hear my own thoughts how would I possibly hear the voice of God who is not yelling and demanding my attention, but rather waiting and whispering in the quiet places?

Imagine the night sky as it was 2000 years ago. When the sun set and dipped quietly behind the edge of the earth night after night, what did the night sky look like? Was it simply a more astrally illuminated sight? Did it reveal a few more stars and planets? Were the planets more visible and vibrant? What if it was more? What if we could see the night sky breathe, sing, dance and come alive because the darkness revealed even the smallest star? If all man made light was snuffed out, would we see the stunning mysteries of the deep? So much of what exists is lost in the artificial light. We look at the sky and think to ourselves, "There are not many stars out tonight" - and assume that it is truth. And we don't think about it again. But we can't see the stars because of our own lights, and we fail to see the irony. We wonder why we don’t see signs and wonders, but we can barely see the night sky.

I believe there is a pull to find God in the unseen again. We spend so much effort, time, and money to reach the remote places on earth, and for what? To be alone? Or is that just what we think? We hike to far away places. We search out hidden coves of solitude. We find reason after reason to venture into the places so far removed from the traffic, the lights, the sound, the ever-present technology that never seems to leave our sight, or our hands.  Perhaps we long for the quiet, but our spirit longs for more of the presence and evidence of God. Our spirit seeks Him, even if we don't recognize it.  He is the yearning that we can't even identify. Even those who don't yet know Him often find an unspeakable peace in the quietness they find away from "here".  I believe that God draws us to Him. He doesn't demand our attention or impose His presence on us without our permission. But He does draw us out of our own world and into the place where we can experience and receive Him. 

Heather Farrell, in her post God Comes to Women, wrote that "God meets women where they are; men have to climb the mountain to meet God". However, I believe He does both. More than once I needed God to move me away from the noise, to whisk me away to the quiet places on earth so the only sound I could hear was His voice and the only presence I felt was His. And while I know that God does in fact, meet me where I am, I also know He has asked me to meet HIM in the quiet safety of a dark night with a starry sky.  I believe that is in part because I felt sheltered there more than anywhere else. I am separated from my normal world so my presence with Him is intentional and purposeful. I venture out into the darkness and watch the sky, and I talk with Him. I have often even prayed and asked God to show me more; more stars, more depth, more of the mystery. I sit in the night because it is the closest experience I have. And God knows how I long for it. 

If I could hear more, and see more, could I forge a deeper connection with Him? No doubt my mind would be quieter. But I don't believe we have pushed God away entirely because of technology. Nor do I think the mystery of God eludes us like a shadow. God asks us to seek Him in the private moments and be intentional in our effort to have private conversations with Him. Just as we must do with our cherished ones -  we must take time to have intentional talks with one another and give our full and complete, undivided attention. That in itself is so rare. 

Many times - God has allowed us to feel lost. He has allowed us to be in the wilderness, or the desert, or the ocean - seeking, walking, or drifting. Because even when we don't necessarily want the experience, God knows He needs to pull us away to the sacred place where it is only Him, with us. The artificial light is gone, the sound is turned off, and only God's pure presence remains. 

We are alone with our Creator and ourselves, our thoughts, and the spiritual and emotional issues we have not yet addressed or conquered. I imagine that in these moments drifting on the sea, God would say to me, "Love, it's just us. You and me. It's private. It's quiet. It's a sanctuary that no one can disrupt. It's safe. And I am here. Let's take some time and heal what is broken, sooth what is hurting, calm what is frightening." And He is here. His voice, His presence, His love - is right here. While the idea of being alone on my raft under the deep, dark sky seems daunting - I know that this is where God meets me as I need Him. He had to take me away from the crowd and the noise to find this inner sanctuary. This is where I am humbled in His true presence, where the veil is pulled back and every star is revealed in celebration of His glory. 

Louie Zamperini would hear the angels sing over him on one more occasion before his captivity ended. He was being held in a most brutal Japanese labor camp with one most brutal Japanese guard who made Louie's beatings his one and only goal. But one night while the other prisoners slept, the angels again descended to sing above Louie. Once again, he was only person to hear the choir. He, was the audience of One. 

 It is difficult to not question God's intentions with us when we feel alone or adrift. But it is there in those moments that the distance between us has closed and God in fact, meets us right there, wherever we are. It is difficult to thank God for the opportunity to experience Him in this way or thank Him for the hardships that are happening to us, or around us. I have never believed that everything "happens for a reason", the notion that God's design was to orchestrate whatever it is that led us to whatever raft we are drifting on. It negates salvation and free will. And it does not accurately define God, or His nature, at all. However, I believe that God will use any and every event as a way to find us and close the distance between us. And if we can sit in the moment with Him, He might just allow the angels to sing, just for us.