Following on from the article we sent out in the last edition, ‘Rise up and pray people of God,’ we would love to share this piece of music with you which have called Stillness and Joy (Hésuchazó and Charmolupē)

In composing it, I wanted to evoke something of the sense of divine stillness in the midst of the tremendous ‘din’ that is going on around the world and, very often, in our own hearts too. It quotes the melody of the much-loved hymn, I bind unto myself this day, and I wanted to capture this sense of binding ourselves to Christ above all else, so that His still presence may come both to our inner being, and also out-with us to touch others as we do the work He shows us to do. As we will see, there is both grief and joy in this.

So many competing thoughts clamour for our attention, and often all but drowning out the peace and the stillness of the Lord, so that we find ourselves speaking, doing, and thinking – praying, even – from a place of frenetic rush and distraction rather than with a spirit settled close deeply in the Lord. But when we lay aside our busyness, we are better able to attend to the mode that the Lord is in, whether that be the calling to high praise, deep silence, or something in between. The Spirit has many ways in which to reach and minister to the clamour of a demanding world.

How precious the hésuchazó of God, the rest that comes after busyness, the stillness that follows frantic activity!* This Greek word speaks of an inner awareness that allows our spirit to move beyond the reasoning, analysis and constant process of evaluation that keeps our brains so busy, so that we are better able to encounter and enter more fully into the presence of the Lord.

Many saints have discovered this depth of stillness. In Eastern Christianity, there is a form of monasticism – Hesychasm – which seeks the hēsuchia of God through uninterrupted prayer by means of the mind, body and spirit. Russian believers speak of Molchanie, the ‘Saviour of the Blessed Silence.’

But it is important to be aware that this is not a place of spiritual ecstasy remote from the ‘real’ world. Richard Wurmbrand, immured in the darkness of a dungeon and yet alive in his spirit, flowed in the spirit of prayer. The hésuchazó of God lifts us not out of reality, but into the place where can catch a glimpse of the real realities – and some of them will cause us to grieve and weep.

Jesus did not make light of the joy of the crowd receiving Him into Jerusalem with hosannas, any more than He downplayed the extravagant lengths Mary went to in anointing Him. But He also wept over the city of Jerusalem, which God had intended to be the ‘city (or foundation) of peace,’ but which did not know the things that would have brought it peace. (Luke 19:36-44)

The psalmist’s call that we should come, worship and bow down, come and kneel before the LORD, our Maker, is one to take to heart and actually perform. (Ps. 95:6) But the Greek Septuagint translation urges us instead to, ‘Come and bow down in worship, and weep before the Lord our Maker.’

The Jewish rabbis believed tears to be the highest form of prayer, and Spurgeon declared them to be liquid prayer. In the presence of God, we may often find ourselves moved to tears by His goodness, or by the awareness of our need for His deep cleansing. But tears can also be the expression of deep compassion, or a powerful plea for those locked into painful situations. There is a force and directness about tears that perhaps nothing else quite matches – which is not to rule out the contributions of those who find it hard to release physical tears: there are ‘inner,’ unshed silent tears that tell of deep concern too, and they can be equally fervent and find favour in the Lord’s sight.

There is throughout Jesus’ life, this alternation between joy and grief: joy when people respond to Him in faith – and because He knows how wonderful His Father’s Kingdom really is – and grief over the deep inability of the people to recognise what was truly of God, and the things that would truly please Him. This is where the word charmolupē finds its place. Literally meaning ‘joy-grief’, John Climacus (who continues to this day to be honoured in large parts of the Orthodox Church) sought to convey the close relationship – one could almost say the fusion – that exists between joy and sorrow.

The contemplative quest to enter deeper into the silence of God – where God is – is perhaps not something we readily associate with the earliest apostles; we think of them as being engaged in confident, vigorous prayer, proclaiming the Kingdom of God, the person of Jesus, and the saving work He has done to set us free. It is not until such proto-pioneers as Anthony of Egypt that we begin to see a record of contemplative prayer emerging to become a dominant strand within large parts of the Church. It is this stillness of contemplation, even in the desert places, that is the hésuchazó I wanted to bring to my music.

This early monastic tradition of seeking God in desert places in Egypt and Syria soon spread to countries such as Ireland, taking fresh expression in the Celtic Church, which has left us with such a glorious celebration the everyday made holy. So St Patrick gave us his treasured Lorica, or Breastplate statement of faith in the protective shield of God over His people. (See also this post.)

Time spent in contemplation does not come easily to us all, and it needs to be undergirded by a firm evangelistic foundation that keeps us safely grounded in the word of God and concern to make Christ known, rather than whimsical ideas about silence and reinterpretations of what God has actually shown He desires of His people.

But when it is tuned by and to the Holy Spirit experience, contemplative prayer becomes a wonderful way to wait on the Lord in loving stillness. It’s the place of silence where we are able to hear and pray things we could have heard or discovered no other way. [see Richard Foster’s book, Prayer, the Homeland of the Heart, and also the second half of Freedom of Simplicity.]

When we are feeling overwhelmed by challenges and difficulties, however, it is easy to lose sight of the beauty of this relationship because of the din that is going on in our hearts: the pressure that past failures exert, the clamour of desires we are desperate to see fulfilled . . . one racket after another bearing down on our souls, leading either to emotional overload or to a general closing down.

Perhaps there is a tiny, barely acknowledged part of us that thinks, ‘It was easier for Jesus – after all, He was God!’ We seriously underestimate how hard Jesus’ work was and is. It is a terrible thing it is to take Him for granted.

In reality, of course, it wasn’t remotely easy for Him in any shape or form. Imagine having to deal with the din of crowds who all wanted a piece of Him, with friends and critics alike questioning His wisdom and authority, and leaders stubbornly hating Him. Yet He had trained Himself to look and see what His Father was doing, and only to do likewise.

Fully engaged in the Father’s will, He knew that everything that happened to Him was permitted by His Father, and He neither sought to blame others nor thought of Himself as a victim. Instead, He carried profound peace and stillness in his heart. May the Lord help us to do so likewise more and more with each day that passes.‘Din’ is an old Norse word, betokening such things as the rumbling of thunder, or the sound of an approaching avalanche.

Even if we are not particularly hurting ourselves, we may well be walking alongside someone who is. In which case our heart may well be thumping loudly with the din of desire to see them free from whatever is weighing them down, or leading them astray. So we pray and do battle, and pray for the power of God to restore them to a deeper, purer place in the Lord.

Whatever our personality type or inclination, may we be resolute in seeking the Lord Jesus, and doing all that we do for love of Him – He will certainly guide and answer us as we commit our way to Him!

Many people find it helpful to use particular words and phrases to start them off, much as we may begin our prayers with the one Jesus taught to His disciples. Some people find the ‘Jesus Prayer’ (‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me’) to be helpful, and we have featured a stunningly beautiful and moving sung version elsewhere. There are a whole variety of words, verses and phrases that can serve to enhance a simple and singled-heart intention that will take us beyond saying prayers to becoming a living prayer.

O come, let us worship and bow down; let us kneel before the LORD our Maker. He is our God, and we are the people of His pasture, the sheep under His care.

* For more insights into this lovely word, hésuchazó, see the studies gathered here.

You may also appreciate this post on the Lorica (breastplate) of St Patrick

And this post on the art of stillness and silence:
Still and Still – because sometimes what the Lord requires is not so much our action, but our stillness and attention.

This special song from Carol comes highly reccommended too: Peace, be still.
“Peace be still!
When the storms of life surround,
Peace be still.”

To read the whole poem, together with associated bible references, see here.

Huge thanks to Thomas, Susanne and Julia Herzog who, with Peter Richards, recorded this piece for us in the summer of 2022 in Berlin.

Photo by martin bennie on Unsplash