The Stillness, Simplicity and Sanity of Solitude

Stillness in the Dark

I want to take you to Mark 1:32-39

“Very early in the morning,
While it was still dark,
Jesus got up,
Left the house and
Went off to a solitary place,
Where He prayed.”

So many thoughts come at once as I read these amazing words of example and witness.



The second phrase stands out like a beacon,
“while it was still dark.”

“Still”

The darkness had not yet passed.
The dawn was yet to come.

Still; yet; although; while it was…

Do I wait for the dawn before I seek the quiet, solitary place?
Do I wait for the light before I move out in faith;
while it is still dark;
while my soul still struggles;
while I yet await an answer, a comfort, an encouragement, a confidence?

Jesus went while it was “still” dark.

Two different verses come to mind here.

First, Romans 5:8
“But God demonstrated His own love for us in this: While we were “still” sinners, Christ died for us.” (accent mine )

I want to just sit and think on this, letting it fill my heart, my soul – to overflowing with gratitude, amazement and love.

While I was yet, still a sinner
While it was yet, still dark
God demonstrated His OWN (don’t miss this word)
His OWN love for me…
While it was still dark, while I was still a sinner, Jesus got up – went out to a solitary place and died for me.
He did not wait for the dawn of change in me.
He did not wait for the evidence of discipleship or servanthood –
but while my soul was “still” in darkness –
He got up – left His house – and sought the solitary place of Golgotha --
to make a way for me out of the darkness…

Selah!

Second, Psalm 46:10
“Be “still,” and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” (accent mine )


Because God is God – and what He says is done, I can be “still.”
Even in the yet darkness of the situation, of my soul, of the world,
I can get up – leave my house, my perceived place of security – and find the solitary place with God.
He will be there.
It is my only safe place of refuge.

© 2010 UlrikeGrace