A barely audible whistle began to blow. It rose to a high-pitched sound that didn’t come through the window, but rather seemed to hit the window and then be dispersed against the house. Then it was gone. For about a minute, maybe more. Its return was nothing like I had heard or witnessed before. A force of wind blasted the side of the house and when the curtains were parted for a better view, black, red, and brilliant yellow shades of lightening raced across the sky in the distance. Hail pounded against the glass in what felt as if an attempt to shatter it. The world of humankind was at a standstill while nature over-shadowed it.
Into this space, my husband spoke with a firmness, as well as an absolute of care and concern. His words moved me to respond without hesitation. I quickly bade him good-bye as he raced out the door into the relentless storm, and then I headed into our basement.
These actual events remind me of another day centuries ago. Read the story in Matthew 27:45-54 about Jesus’ death. A storm ravaged the earth that day with such force that rocks split. Its power was so great that onlookers shook with fear. Nature responded, as it always does, to God. And if you can imagine it, you might hear the boom of God’s voice as he says, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him,” (Matt. 17:5). But God did not leave it there. His firm and commanding voice also might be heard over the magnificent ripping apart of the Temple veil, “I love you, my child. You must come now. Do not delay. This is for you. Trust me. The time is near.”
I believe that God spoke to the children of the world that day, but it was received in different ways. First, those who believed that Jesus was the Christ heard a whisper of urgency. The firmness in which this was received affirmed their belief and encouraged them to keep on the lonely work that reaped no earthly reward. Second, were those like the centurion (27:54) who heard the command like that of a superior officer that left room for no doubt in the action that must be taken in order that his life was to be spared. Lastly, were those who heard, saw, and felt but believed the storm would pass and their lives would not be harmed.
If we liken this image to that of God and his omnipotent love, we must see a few things. First, that God does not simply speak love. He expresses it. And his love is so great it shakes the foundations of the earth. No, no, read that again. God’s love flows from him with such force and power that the windows rattle, the earth splits, waters rage, perilous skies blot out the sun, the wind demands attention. Secondly, that his love is given without regard. Just like all in the middle of a storm can see and feel it’s power, so too can all see and feel the love expressed by God. It is in the hearing and responding that we differ. What we do with this love is the reflection of how we hear it. Can one stand by in the midst of raging water and not reach out his hand for his neighbor? Can one witness a friend’s house ravaged and not offer shelter? Are you one of those who heard the whisper of urgency because you believe Jesus the Messiah? If so, your answer to these questions most likely is a resounding no. If this is the case, a response is required (Gal. 5:13-14).
Monica Swank 