The Mountain was Quiet

By David Hobbs

In Israel’s spiritual life, there were times of great activity and drama, and other times of quietness and peace. There were times when “the mountain burned with fire unto the midst of heaven, with darkness, clouds, and thick darkness.” [Deut. 4:11], times with …

“… the sound of a trumpet and the voice of words, so that those who heard it begged that the word should not be spoken to them anymore. (For they could not endure what was commanded: ‘And if so much as a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned or shot with an arrow. ‘And so terrifying was the sight that Moses said, ‘I am exceedingly afraid and trembling.’) [Heb. 12:19-21].

And there are times when "the waters of Shiloah that go softly” [Isa. 8:6], when “the work of righteousness shall be peace; and the effect of righteousness quietness and assurance for ever” [Isa. 32:17]. There are times when "the mountain is on a smoke,"and  times when the mountain lies quiet.

I experienced that last week. I was preaching two weeks in a row at two different churches, which always puts me under stress. Maybe regular pastors get used to it, but it still puts me under a lot of pressure--to hear the Lord’s voice and know what He wants to say through me, to get all the scriptures down, and most importantly: to discern the right weave through the pages of scriptures in order to flow in the stream of the Holy Spirit.

My first week I had woken up at 2:30 Sunday morning to pray and wait on the Lord, only to find that my computer was disconnected from the Internet and the printer. I had worked till breakfast on it and finally got the printer going so I could print out my notes. I still couldn’t reconnect to the Internet.

Now a week later I was back connected to the Internet and the printer, but other things kept going wrong. My frustra­tion level was rising, my patience had evaporated, and the demons were taking full advantage of the door I had opened to them in the spirit realm.  When I finally sat down to breakfast and tried to say grace, it became apparent how much bondage my giving vent to frustration had brought me.  I cried out in anguish, glad I was alone in the house. The spiritual oppression was like a cement wall sitting on me. “God,” I cried, “I’m sorry! Forgive me!” Then I became even more aware of the demonic oppression weighing down on me. “My God get them off me!” I cried out. In the moments of silence that followed, I felt like angels were indeed peeling them off one by one. 

After I finished my cereal I felt much better. I launched into song and began praising the Lord with a loud voice. For a long time I continued a barrage of singing and praising, casting down principalities and powers and proclaiming the victory of Jesus Christ on the cross. It covered me with a wave of triumph that infused my whole being!

The preaching had gone well, though it was a tough crowd.

After all that drama, when Monday rolled around I rested from spiritual things and turned to natural things, going through the mail and paying the bills for the past two weeks. In the afternoon I went and visited some people at the hospital.

That evening I was done with all that and wanted to pray and seek the Lord for a while, and that’s when I came to the realization that “the mountain was quiet.” I was at peace in the softly flowing waters of Shiloah, but so was the mountain. The Lord, at least regarding any manifestation or felt presence, seemed far away on His mountain. It was not the feeling of abandonment I get when I blow it and He leaves me to my own devices until I repent. There was peace between us, but also space.

I went in and lay on my bed. It was a different sensation: the mountain being quiet. As the room grew dark in the gathering dusk, I took stock. There was nothing else I wanted to do, nothing to hurry off to. The house was empty; I wasn’t hungry; I didn’t want to read or recreate or listen to music or sleep or anything else. So I lay there and pondered the moun­tain. “Lord I don’t have the energy to scale the mountain: to seek you vigorously for a breakthrough. But there’s nothing else I want other than you. Won’t you come to me in this room so we can spend some time together? Maybe I won’t have to climb the top of the mountain; maybe You can come to me.”

And He did. Gradually He made Himself known to me and I invited Him to sit in the chair by the bed. We had a time of the Holy Spirit quickening things to me and me praying them out. I asked to hear His voice and I imagined what it would be like if He suddenly spoke to me in an audible voice (but He didn’t). I thought of heaven and how I longed to be there and be part of the worship. I enthused how wonderful to be there pouring out everything within me in worship to the King.

Then it hit me. “Lord,” I said, “why would you leave the glories of heaven and come down to sit in this dark room with me?” It was unfathomable.

I still didn’t hear His voice, but a fleeting thought went through my mind: “Because you are here.”

“What!? You love me so much that You would leave the glories of heaven and come down and sit with me in this dark­ness?”

“Wasn’t that what Jesus did?”

I was crying now. That was what Jesus did.

The mountain was quiet, but God was there.