Bringing the ancient to the experience of now, Psalm 46 can be opened as one of the most encouraging and consoling of the psalms, drawing deeply on our experience of living within the unfolding nature of time in a fallen world.

The psalm uses what we know and understand from our concrete experiences of the world and our emotions, then contrasts them with the reality of the Lord our God: God who sustains the entire cosmos beyond our seeing. For we are to see souls, and to cultivate the garden within our hearts.

The psalmist speaks of promise in a metaphorical language that resonates in our hearts, bringing forth hope to the weary soul.

For us today this is no different. The world is burning. Homes are destroyed. War, violence, natural disasters, fire, the storms that batter with heavy winds and rain. Our souls are fighting battles visible and invisible, in both the external and the internal, the spiritual and the temporal realms.

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea. Though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging” (Psalm 46:1–3).

Through time and circumstance we have the routine of the expected and the disruption of the unexpected. In all spheres of influence and effect—from families and towns, cities and villages—we have developed systems and habits, traditions and culture, virtues and vices. It is human nature to draw comfort from the familiar—places, people, relationships—and discomfort from changes and failures: functional and objective, of infrastructure and of communities, personal and interpersonal.

This is where we find the mountains in our lives: not simply the obstacles to getting what we want, but also the things upon which we have relied. Expectancy and familiarity bring with them a certain prediction and hope for changelessness. Buildings that stand, objects bought or received, relational permanence. As adults, a wife expects her husband to be faithful, a worker expects his job to be fruitful; we come to expect and hope for the continuity of traditions, loves, and life as we know it.

The foundation stone of stability is laid in the secure home and the family.

Yet this ideal is tarnished in a fallen world by the divided lines pulling us between the shadows and the light, between the passions and material desires and the innate goodness of our creation.

Speaking of the things upon which we depend, the mountains of certainty in our lives, the psalmist recognises that these are façades, and that when they are shaken in the storms of life—the trials into which we are swept—the emotions may stir like an ocean roaring and surging, making us feel helpless. For who among us can command the seas?

Yet God, sustainer and creator of the universe, is our refuge: our shelter and our peace in times of difficulty. God, the unchanging certainty, the mountain and rock upon whom we can depend, and who changes not.

When the wind and the storms come, a house built upon this rock does not fall; neither when the wind blows does a tree with deep roots fall down. So is a person who exercises great faith and self-control: the mountain of being cannot be moved.

St Paul cautions, “and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:2). We can make great things happen that no one believed possible, but if this is at the expense of love, it is for nothing that will last.

Love is the golden thread intricately woven through all that is good, true, and beautiful—upholding and securing the foundations of all creation—the work of His hands. 

Love in the Kingdom of Heaven grows and flourishes. The heavenly, “super” nature contrasts with the natural order in relentless motion, offering boundaries and protections for the problems of life, despite all its changes and chances. True love protects the freedom of the other; it protects their holiness, recognising the sacred light of our neighbour’s soul.

The tangible experiences of our life often have circumstances that seem too big for us. The material challenges of poverty and war are one thing; but the inner self of our neighbour is also something beyond us, for the secret core of mankind is the place where they stand alone with God. It is the place where we are alone and responsible for our decisions and responses to what is outside of us.

There resides the small still voice within—in the thin place, a liminal space in our heart and soul where heaven and earth touch, meeting together. A place of reverence and humility where we can dwell and draw strength that is not from any earthly or material power or pleasure, from nothing that seeks its own good.

Though we may be resolute, the love of people is often fickle. Where we hope on earth for that unchanging love, stability, and peace, it may crumble and disappear—when it feels like the earth under our feet has given way, and we are falling, unsteady, and the love upon which we depended collapses into the heart of the unknown: into uncertainty, instability, and the turmoil in the heart of the sea.

“Guard your heart with all diligence, for from it flow the springs of life.” (Proverbs 4:23)

The mountain—existing as a real obstacle shaped by the unimaginable forces that drove it toward the stars, the geological time unfathomable in comparison to the shortness of our lives—contains in this giant rock a sense of permanence and stillness that endures. And this echoes the eternity felt deeply in the heart: the transcendent love that goes beyond the bounds of our finite bodies.

We all have a purpose and end to which we are directed. We live not simply for ourselves, for the kingdom of Heaven is cultivated not out of selfishness, that soul caved in, as St Augustine says, but out of a love for ourselves that is sent out into all our relationships, our families, our communities, and to the nations.

“There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her; she will not fall; God will help her at break of day” (Psalm 46:4–5).

The rock and the river are contrasting entities. A river of light: as when the sun rises at dawn, its long rays touch gently the flowing river, its surface becomes a glittering shimmer as the water moves with ripples and eddies swirling underneath this golden flood from the storehouse of the heavens. A river of light like a pure emanation from the throne of God flows like His Wisdom—the divine feminine—a gift of the Spirit that works within us and as a guide flowing through all of time.

We are speaking in types: of things temporal, visible, and changing that point to not-yet-seen spiritual realities. Just as in creation the waters of heaven were separated from the waters below in the depths of the earth, it is the former, the water that flows from above, from the heart of God, that brings life everlasting.

As we live in our bodies, the sense of immersion, of living within the sensation of that body, is likened to swimming—that immersive experience where we only move by reaching forward one stroke at a time. Unlike our feelings, which change and move like the weather or as a river flows, God is unchanging; His love is eternal and without end.

We take nothing away from His love by accepting it; God is not diminished as we receive His love daily. This is counter to the world of finitude and resources, where if we eat the food is gone, we spend money and have less, we experience presence and absence. But this is not like the Kingdom of Heaven, where the abundance is like an eternal spring, where the river never runs dry, and where the harvest fruits are never less, nor the result of heavy toil.

The dramatic nature of our feelings in response to events is not the problem; it is our response in thought, word, and deed moving out from us into the world which matters. Jesus says, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” (Matthew 5:27–28).

Our feelings are biological prompts. When it rains, we take shelter; when the sun shines, we put on sunglasses. We change our behaviour in response to circumstances to keep the ship on a steady course as we navigate through the oceans of time. Yet feelings change like the weather; they are not permanent like the mountain place of our sense of being.

The Godhead dwells in unity with all of heaven, so that the angels constantly behold His beauty and sing. Through Jesus Christ we participate as made in His image; our motion through time like an unstoppable river flows toward its end into the greater mystery of the sea.

When we seek and find Him, like the first rays of dawn, the illumination of Presence is a resounding fire in our soul. In this stillness of Presence, with no distance between us, we belong in simplicity to the moment of now, of no time and beyond time, when the fruits of the Spirit glow with their heat, like the Word on fire shut up in our bones.

The voice of eternal stillness echoes silently in the soul; how then can a soul be lost? When we have turned our eyes away from the ocean in the sky, a deep darkness creeps over the landscape of the soul. The sun of righteousness, the true Light, is a light hidden in light, so the rain and the winds are withheld, and we become parched, walking through the wilderness of the world.

Yet though we may feel lost, God knows exactly where we are. We need only to return our eyes, give attention back to Him, listen with our hearts, and we will begin to see with our hearts. We will enter into His rest, as on a hot summer day in the shadow of His presence.

“Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall; he lifts his voice, the earth melts” (Psalm 46:6).

Nations gather, and evil intent is not far from any of us; the temptations we do not resist open the door to sin. The sinfulness of lusts for power and greed turns our neighbours into mere objects and means.

In the world that exists in the noise of this desire for power and influence, for wealth and status, our fears and confusion of what is and what is not prepare many hearts for war and violence. In theft, violence, and unfaithfulness, the darkness beyond the borders of our control yokes the soul to the heaviness of earth, with eyes staring down into the dust.

“The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress” (Psalm 46:7).

In the refuge of His presence we stand apart—observers of the noise and commotion continuing about us.

Amid the uncertainty of undiscovered futures, the consolations of God’s presence—of His touch of love in the solitude—make the inner fire of faith, hope and love rise. The new day within brings renewal: to restore us to courage in the dark world, to remind us of His power amid our smallness. And the response is humility, for God is a consuming fire; His glory, like the heat of the summer sun at noonday, melts the earth in this fiery flame of Presence.

God is unchanging. He remembers His promises of old; He is faithful forever.

“Come and see what the Lord has done, the desolations he has brought on the earth” (Psalm 46:8).

The evil that is done will be destroyed, and the earth will not remember it anymore, for His desolations remind us of His justice and that He is close to those who weep because they love.

In the wilderness, in the desolate places, our hearts are turned. When the things in the world disappear, what is left except to depend upon the goodness of God? The desolate places are where the transformation begins, where we let go of the things that train our eyes on the path to destruction, looking into the dust—our eyes in the grave of temptations that lead only to the spiritual death of the soul. On the path of life is justice, in the virtues that foster relationship, that love our neighbour as ourselves and lift our eyes to God. This is the truth that is revealed by stripping away the brambles and thorns, the pruning that discards what is not true food for our souls.

Discernment is more than following a rule—it is an assessment of the treasure held in our heart and the health check of the soul, for only in Him and through Him can we be saved.

“He makes wars cease to the ends of the earth. He breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire” (Psalm 46:9).

Love burns as a purifying fire within us, relieving us of the desire to teach our children to wage war, and teaching us instead to walk faithfully with God. Our example leads, for there is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love (1 John 4:18). Touched by love and with the fruits of the Spirit, the soul enters into His rest. The fire of this love extends into all places that we are: “Who can hide in secret places so that I cannot see them?” declares the LORD. “Do not I fill heaven and earth?” declares the LORD. (Jeremiah 23:24).

God the gardener uproots and plants, tears down and restores. Therefore, let us not strive for things in the world, material and temporal realities the adversary would have us believe to be our true reward.

God, our Creator, has ordered the cosmos; our unique being is the presence that falls like rain, making ripples in time wherever we are. We were made for difference—as gifts, to let the other see themselves through us, to love and be seen—to hold the light of another’s soul like sacred treasure in our hearts.

Jesus says, “You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire.” (Matthew 5:21–22)

We pray for those we are angry with, offering everything in totality to Him, for nothing is truly hidden that will not be seen.

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

In belonging to this moment, in the place that we are, we are still—not striving, not reaching forward. In this stillness, though the world continues its motion, the sun moves and the birds fly, the ears and eyes of our hearts have locked on to the eternal now—to time’s absence when all distance is gone and the Lord’s presence is burning with songs filled with joy in our hearts.

In love’s stillness, with love, and through love’s changelessness: God is love, and our strength lies in its vulnerability—not in submission to the temptations of the material world, but to Him and to another.

Then we know Him, in the secret inner core of our soul, that He is God: the Creator, transcendent, all-powerful, all-loving, and exalted above the earth.

Love is still, like a mountain.

Upon Him we can depend. Though all around us gives way, and all certainties fall into the hidden mysteries of unfolding in time.

“The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress” (Psalm 46:11).

With Him we find our spirit cast in iron, so that whatever may be, we can always continue. Like Joseph imprisoned, after a time of trial He will set us free. Time and chance change; we need only to endure and take hold of Him to stride confidently into the heart of the sea—our faith strong and firm.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to Him,
and He will make your paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5-6).

A fortress has walls on all sides, all four corners of the place in which we stand, before and behind us, left and right, on every side. He is there, with us, unchanging, constant—even when we do not feel it. God knows exactly where we are, what we are thinking, speaking, and doing. The spiritual light, unseen, is closer than our breath, and waiting patiently for us to cry out from our core, from the heart where He whispers softly: come, I AM here.

Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (Matthew 11:29).

Jesus, like the mighty mountain, is a refuge for weary souls, weary of labour through the painful toil that has beset mankind after the Fall. He came and met us while we were still far off, to raise our eyes from looking to the dust, to straighten our backs, to have our souls stand upright from tilling the cursed earth by the sweat of our brows.

His rest leads us into the seventh day with heaven’s touch of presence and peace.

Jesus Christ encounters us on level ground; the mountain is brought low and the valley raised up, the islands removed, so that we meet with Him face to face. We look upon the fire in His eyes, and through the Holy Spirit, speak to Him as one does with a friend.

The radical humility that God became small as we are upon the earth, in the vast wilderness of the universe of a multitude of stars and galaxies—humanity, each of us precious and rare—He met us to save our souls, planting us with deep roots into the mystery of His abounding love.

Amen.