We had an interesting conversation last Sunday during the 10:00 Friends Talking hour.  We discussed the ice storm – debriefing, sharing stories, seeing what insights we might learn from the experience.

How did you respond or react when you lost electricity and our world changed so dramatically? 

There were some who were as delighted as kids on a "snow day" when school is cancelled.  They felt relief.  No going to work today.  I don't have to face those responsibilities or frustrations or pressures, at least not today. 

Some people said they experienced the ice storm as an adventure.  For some, the adventure was mostly inside their own home and personal space.  Getting creative to provide light or heat or food.  For others the adventure was more outside.  Getting around to check on others – people who live alone or who have handicaps.  Guys grabbed chainsaws and did what guys with chainsaws do.  Lots of people found ways to help other people.

Some people said they experienced a troubling sense of loss of control.  They didn't like being faced with inconveniences that might escalate to threat, without being able to take charge and master the situation.  For others, the dark and cold reinforced their sense of isolation or loneliness.  A widow felt the helplessness of having to face all of this without her beloved partner. 

I heard some people express anger in various forms.  Others experienced fear or dread.  Some people found motel rooms to move to.  Others nested by fireplaces or gas heaters.  There were reports of break-ins at homes that appeared abandoned.  Several people said that they had more family conversation than usual without the distraction of TV or computer.  Someone said they seemed to run out of conversation sometime on the second day. 

Many said how thankful they were for the hard-working people whose job it is to try to restore electricity and do the other essential tasks for our community – things like health-care and police work and fire-fighting.  Several people said how thankful they were that many cell towers functioned, or that they had saved an old analog telephone.

In the days following I heard people talking about making plans for being better prepared in the future.  I heard a few people say they had a new empathy for the homeless and others who live with these inconveniences as a constant presence in their lives.  I heard of gougers taking advantage of needs by overpricing their services, and of Good Samaritans who helped others without expectation of return.  I met a couple of guys who had been unemployed; now they were working, clearing out debris thankfully.  One called the storm "God's economic stimulus package" for people like him.

Someone else said it was like Sabbath.  He spoke about the practice of Sabbath that his Jewish friend observes from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday every week.  During the Sabbath his friend will not turn on a switch, answer a phone, access a computer, drive a car, walk more than a short distance, or do anything that might seem like work.  Instead, he will light candles and have dinner with the family; rest, pray and read; visit with household and friends; think, and be quietly thankful.

It was after just such a Sabbath that Jesus went back to work, as we heard in our reading from Mark's gospel just a moment ago.  At Saturday-sundown Jesus returned to his work of healing.  Mark says "the whole city was gathered around the door."  That sounds overwhelming to me.  So many demands.  So many expectations.  The tyranny of everyone.  The story continues, "And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him." 

I wonder about the demons he silenced – those demons who knew him.  Sometimes it is good to silence voices that are intent on spreading damage, who create confusion and suspicion in community.  Or maybe these were demons that were particularly familiar to Jesus, the voices he met in his temptations in the wilderness; the voices inside of him that might deflect him from his center or compromise his purpose. 

I felt overwhelmed at one point this week, and I let my demons of frustration have their voice.  It was ugly.  It was damaging and demoralizing.  We all have these demons who know us, who know how to push our buttons and deflect us from our better self; who know how to get to us in so many ways – when we're tired and stressed, or equally when we're proud and successful. 

People who practice contemplative prayer tell us that as soon as we start to become quiet, the chatter of the false self cranks up.  The demons who know us try to seize the mental conversation.  In last week's class as we were visiting about the ice storm, we talked about how our particular reactions to the dark and cold tended to mirror something in our own inner lives.  Different things surfaced for different people.  Frustration from lack of control; loneliness or vulnerability; relief for an escape from daily demands; confusion from not knowing what-to-do; anger for not being prepared.  As our lives got interrupted by the ice, we got some clues, some snapshots of the shadows of our interior landscapes.

Sometimes when we stop, we make space for seeing our inner reality more truly.  Sometimes when we stop, we make space for God's presence to silence our demons and to recall us to our center, to reinforce our purpose.  Maybe that's why Jesus got up early "in the morning, while it was still very dark" and "went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed."  There in the dark, quiet solitude he could be open to the divine presence.  Like on the Sabbath, he could rest. 

When you let go of the clamor of demands and you silence the voices, the tyranny of everyone, you can rest, and let God be God.  You don't have to be in control, or fearful, or angry, or lonely.  You can release all of that into the infinite dark silence of God, and simply rest.  Just breathe.  That's enough.  Relax.  Let God breathe you into being. 

"Everyone is searching for you."  That's what Simon and the others said to Jesus when they finally found him at his prayers.  Jesus got up, apparently ready to get back to work.  But he didn't just go back to work.  At least he didn't return to Capernaum, even though there were still plenty of people to heal and plenty of demons to silence.  Instead he said, "Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do."

Sometimes when you back away for a while you get a new perspective.  Sometimes when you make some space, you can disengage from the cycle of demand and response; separate yourself from the compulsive energies that drive and oppress us, the tyranny of everyone; silence some of the inner demons.  Sometimes when you become silent and enter the quiet darkness of God, you reconnect with your center and your purpose.  From that place, it is possible set healthy boundaries that come out of a sense of purpose and the sanctuary of security. 

It is a good thing to find Sabbath and Sanctuary in your life.  Jesus seemed to need that.  If Jesus did, I'm sure we do too.  Stop all the activity.  Turn out the lights.  Turn off the noise.  Let go of the demands.  Rest.  Be still.  Breathe.  Let God breathe for you. 

When you get up, everyone will still be searching for you that was searching for you before.  That's okay.  But maybe you can respond with a bit more definition and trust, with better boundaries and a touch of God's energy. 

Right now is one of those Sabbath times as we offer our Sunday worship.  You can relax and let the prayers happen.  Offer it all to God and let it be blessed.  See life taken, blessed, broken and given back to you as Christ's bread of life and cup of salvation.  Nourished and strengthened, at peace with yourself, with God and with the world, you will be ready, in just a little while, to go forth into the world to love and serve the Lord.  Thanks be to God.