"Be Still and Know"
Psalm 46
Yonce Shelton, Westmoreland UCC
Nov. 23, 2025
I hope some of you are familiar with this way to pray the last part of this Psalm. If it feels OK, close your eyes and hear these words:
Be still and know that I am God.
Be still and know that I am.
Be still and know that I.
Be still and know.
Be still.
Be.
Before this last line of the Psalm, the earth is in tumult, kingdoms are tottering, and there are other pretty dramatic occurrences. The Psalm ends, essentially, asking us to trust God despite chaos. It invites us to be still. The way we just prayed this Psalm invites us to arrive at a place of being despite all that might tempt us to act otherwise.
That’s often – maybe always – part of my agenda when I stand up here: to help you be better. In preparing for today, I was also drawn elsewhere. I was grabbed by the part about knowing. What does it mean to know well? Why is that important? And, in this context, can it mean something in addition to knowing God?
—
Knowing at this time. What I know – and many of you know – is sadness and absence. Leon is not here. It feels like to know and name and accept that is right for now; that to take steps beyond that to figure out what that means in any number of ways just isn’t what is needed. Maybe that allows us to know God better in this time of sadness. Maybe it's OK to not worry about how deep that knowing is. Maybe best just to try to trust.
That's what I know. I’m trying to be still with that. And be with you in that.
But it's not just knowing that Leon is not here. It's also knowing that many in this community are struggling – and seem to be struggling more in recent weeks. More has become known in some cases. More known that causes worry. Knowing is important, regardless of our ability to control or be part of next steps. And knowing can be different for each of us. However you are with what you know, and how still or active you are, this is the place to be: with others who believe there is something special about the space we create when we show up here to welcome, question, or even curse God. This is a place to be and to know in mysterious ways. We honor each other in doing so.
—
Leon is not down there with Maryn. He’s not setting up for a Middle East Committee meeting. He’s not in the office cutting a last minute check. Instead, like for many of you, he’s very present in my mind.
There are also many others in my mind and heart, whether they are here today or not. It just seems like one of those times. There is a lot of tough stuff to know and hold now. And I don’t really know what to do. I’m not in the same space as Maryn and her family. I am only so close to others facing big challenges. So the best I can do is know well, and foster togetherness in this place. We know we are connected. We try to trust God is holding us.
When I visited Maryn this week, “connection” was a theme that weaved through the stories she told about decades of life together, as well as recent events. I shared with her what I realized after learning that Leon had passed. During his last hours, Westmoreland staff were having our weekly staff meeting – and happened to talk about him for about 10 minutes. I felt something unique at that time. I knew something. We were connected to Leon. What a gift to be with him then.
—
Be still and know. Just know what is yours to hold. This may not be the time to change systems and answer existential questions. Find the gift in knowing that you are part of something really big, that is hard to explain. Your knowing and naming may be a gift for others; for many others in this community who need care.
This is one of those times. One of those times when we might move differently, relate differently, and understand differently. That might help others. After today’s service we’ll have a short time of prayer up here on the chancel. Kate will lead us as we pray for healing; for hope; for specific people; for God’s help. All are welcome: those in need of prayer; those wanting to pray; those simply knowing this is a time for praying together.
—
Next week we enter Advent: a special time of hope, mystery, and expectation. You may not like stillness. But I invite you to see if that might be part of your Advent rhythm. Perhaps it will help you honor what you know – maybe not about the depths of God, but about the gifts of community at times of transition and transformation. Transition and transformation.
Be still and know that I am God. Be still and know. Be still and know. Be still and know. That's a gift: for you – and for others.
Amen.
