The Unshakeable Ground

This is the Psalm I have returned to most in the last few weeks. With war in the Middle East, with prices rising, with the news relentless and heavy -- Psalm 46 has been in my mouth the way a prayer gets worn smooth from handling.

It was written for exactly this kind of moment. Not for a world where things are stable and the question is whether to trust God anyway. For a world where the mountains are literally falling into the sea and the question is whether there is any ground left to stand on at all.

A Refuge in a World That Is Moving

The imagery in the opening verses is deliberately extreme. This is not: God is our refuge, though the commute is difficult. The earth is giving way. The mountains are falling into the ocean. The waters are roaring. This is the apocalyptic end of the stability that the ancient world depended on -- mountains were symbols of permanence, seas were symbols of chaos -- and the Psalmist is saying: even then. Even when everything solid is dissolving into the sea, God is our refuge.

Therefore we will not fear. The therefore is everything. It is not: therefore things will go well. It is not: therefore the mountains will not actually fall. It is: therefore fear does not get the last word. Because the ground we are standing on is not the mountains. It is the God who made them and who will still be God when they are gone.

The City That Will Not Fall

The middle of the Psalm shifts to a city -- the holy city where God dwells. There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God. The nations are in uproar. Kingdoms are falling. And the city does not move. God is within her, she will not fall.

Historically this Psalm may have been written in the context of Jerusalem's deliverance from the Assyrian army in 701 BC -- the night when 185,000 soldiers died outside the city gates and it did not fall. Whatever the specific occasion, the theological point is durable: the place where God dwells is not subject to the instability of everything around it. His presence is a different kind of ground.

Be Still and Know

Be still and know that I am God. This is the most famous verse in the Psalm and the most misread. It is not primarily an invitation to quiet your emotions or practice mindfulness. The word translated "be still" -- raphah -- means to let go, to slacken, to cease striving. It is a command to stop doing the thing you are doing to try to hold the world together, because that job is already taken.

Know that I am God. The knowing is the stillness. When you actually know -- when you have let the reality of who God is land in your body, not just your theology -- the striving stops. Because the striving is what you do when you are not sure the ground will hold. When you know it will, you can be still.

I will be exalted among the nations. He is not anxious about the outcome. He is not uncertain about how this story ends. The nations are in uproar, kingdoms are falling, the earth is giving way -- and He is calmly telling you that in the end He will be exalted in it all. That is either the most reassuring thing in Scripture or we have not let it land yet.