A Quiet Heart

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up,
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.

O Israel, hope in the Lord
from this time on and for evermore. (Psalm 131)

John Lennon, at the height of the Beatles' popularity, expressed the cry of many when he screams out in the song "I'm So Tired": "I'd give you everything I've got for a little peace of mind!"

Still in his 20s, Lennon possessed everything that people assume leads to happiness: fame, fortune, power, and prominence. And yet, none of these things brought him the peace he craved. His deep disillusionment is expressed in the desperation of the lyrics - he is willing to give away everything for just a little peace of mind.[1] 

If peace is not found in performance, possessions, or popularity, where can it be found?

The Psalmist's Astonishing Claim

The author of Psalm 131 claims to have found the peace we long for. He claims to have found peace in a humble relationship with God which he pictures as a child resting in the tender embrace of its mother: "I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is like the weaned child that is with me" (Psalm 131:2).

However, this serene scene is misleading. The image he provides is that of the "calm after the storm" for this is not just any child. It is a "weaned" child. The peace he pictures is not easily possessed, but comes after a long struggle.

Weaning is a difficult process for both mother and child. The child is forbidden access to what it once enjoyed. Mother's milk - that once meant life, health, satisfaction, and comfort - is rudely taken away. Unable to understand why, the child cries and flies into fits of rage.

As painful as it is to both mother and child, this struggle is necessary in order for the relationship between them to advance to a new and deeper level. The child has to lose its attachment to mother as a "milk machine." The child must come to find comfort in its mother's presence - to love mother as a person, and not simply as a means to satisfy its desires.

It is only after this long process of weaning that peace prevails. Peace does not come without a struggle, without weaning, without loss. The fact that the psalmist has come to possess a "calm and quiet" soul reveals that he initially experienced anxiety, restlessness, and discontent. What change allowed him to progress from restlessness to peace?

The Fight for Peace

Paradoxically, peace does not come without a fight. The psalmist had to renounce his pride in order to achieve inner peace: "O Lord, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high" (Psalm 131:1a).

Pride is an inflated sense of self-importance that puts us at odds with others. Why? Pride is never content with "good enough." Pride must always be number one - the biggest, the best, and the brightest. C. S. Lewis writes,

Pride gets no pleasure out of having something, only out of having more of it than the next man. We say that people are proud of being rich, or clever, or good-looking, but they are not. They are proud of being richer, or cleverer, or better-looking than others. If every one else became equally rich, or clever, or good-looking there would be nothing to be proud about. It is the comparison that makes you proud: the pleasure of being above the rest.[2] 

The proud heart constantly compares itself to others. All of life becomes a competition - a challenge to outperform others and thus prove one's superiority over others.

This mindset wreaks havoc in our relationship with others. It is impossible to dwell at peace with others when we view them as opponents whose existence threatens our superiority. We can't love others and seek their best when we must be the best ourselves. We can't wash feet from a pedestal.

This mindset also wreaks havoc in our relationship with God. Lewis continues,

In God you come up against something which is in every respect immeasurably superior to yourself. Unless you know God as that--and, therefore, know yourself as nothing in comparison--you do not know God at all. As long as you are proud you cannot know God. A proud man is always down on things and people: and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you.[3]

Pride cannot tolerate a Supreme Being. There can be no real peace with God until we settle the matter that God is God and we are not.[4] Thus, one expression of humility is embracing our own limitations: "I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me" (Psalm 131:1b). The psalmist is content with his limitations rather than frustrated by them. He is aware that there are things - life, reality, God - that are greater than his comprehension. He admits that he doesn't need to know everything or control every situation in order to know peace.

In her most recent book, novelist Anne Rice, most famous for her book Interview with a Vampire, tells the story about her journey from atheism to faith in God. One great breakthrough in her spiritual awakening occurred when she realized that she didn't need to have all the answers to come to God - she simply needed to trust that God had the answers. This is worth quoting extensively:

In the moment of surrender, I let go of all the theological or social questions which had kept me from Him for countless years. I simply let them go. There was the sense, profound and wordless, that if He knew everything I did not have to know everything, and that, in seeking to know everything, I'd been, all of my life, missing the entire point.

No social paradox, no historic disaster, no hideous record of injustice or misery should keep me from Him. No question of Scriptural integrity, no torment over the fate of this or that atheist or gay friend, no worry for those condemned and ostracized by my church or any other church should stand between me and Him. The reason? It was magnificently simple: He knew how or why everything happened; He knew the disposition of every single soul.

He wasn't going to let anything happen by accident! Nobody was going to go to Hell by mistake. This was His world, all this! He had complete control of it; His justice, His mercy--were not our justice or our mercy. What folly to even imagine such a thing.

I didn't have to know how He was going to save the unlettered and the unbaptized, or how He would redeem the conscientious heathen who had never spoken His name. I didn't have to know how my gay friends would find their way to Redemption; or how my hardworking secular humanist friends could or would receive the power of His Saving Grace. I didn't have to know why good people suffered agony or died in pain. He knew.

And it was His knowing that overwhelmed me. His knowing that became completely real to me, His knowing that became the warp and woof of the Universe which He had made.

His was--after all--the Divine Mind which had made the miracle of the Big Bang, and created the DNA only lately discovered in every physical cell. His was the Divine Mind that had created the sound of the violin in the Beethoven concerto; His was the Divine Mind that made snowflakes, idle flames, birds soaring upwards, the unfolding mystery of gender, and the gravity that seemingly held the Universe together--as our planet, our single little planet, hurtled through space.

Of course. If He could do all that, naturally He knew the answer to every conceivable question before it was formulated. He knew the worst suffering that a human soul could feel. Nothing was wasted with Him because He was the author of all of it...

And why should I remain apart from Him just because I couldn't grasp all this? He could grasp it. Of course!

It was love that brought me to this awareness, love that brought me into a complete trust in Him, a trust that God who made us could not ever abandon us--that the seeming meaninglessness of our world was the limit of our understanding, but never, never the limit of His.[5] 

Fundamentalism - whether expressed in its conservative, liberal, or moderate form - is about absolute certainty and a consequent unwillingness to admit the possibility of being wrong. Everyone else must be wrong in order that a fundamentalist can be right. No shades of grey are permitted. No complexity is allowed. The truth is black and white. And any perspective other than the "right" perspective is a threat and must be silenced.

Faith, on the other hand, is about trust within a relationship. It is confidence in another, and not in one's self. In respect to God, it is trust in God's faithfulness. Anne doesn't have all the answers, but she knows who does. Like a weaned child, she rests in the arms of God.

A child doesn't know all that his or her parents know. The relationship is not equal in regard to knowledge, experience, or responsibility. But a child does not need to know everything in order to rest in its parents' arms. It may not know much, but it can know that it is loved. Indeed, intellectual knowledge can actually be a detriment to the relationship. If a child gets too cocky and becomes a know-it-all, then it will certainly want nothing to do with a relationship of humble dependence upon its parents.

God's affection for us is like a mother's love for her child. The proper response to the deep mystery of divine love is humble resignation and trustful surrender. According to the psalmist, this brings peace. It does not come without a struggle. The psalmist has given us intimate access to his heart in order that we might join him in his experience and share his peace.

Like Christ

The weaning process changes the relationship between mother and child. Mother is no longer the provider of instant gratification. The relationship must mature.

In the same way, our relationship with God must advance beyond viewing God as our personal wish-fulfiller, our own personal bell-hop. If God gave us everything we wanted, when we wanted it, we would not be people of great faith, hope, and love, but spoiled brats, more in love with God's provision than with God's holy character. God wants us to find peace in God's presence more than God's provision.

Ultimately, God wants us to become like Christ. Christ is the fulfillment of Psalm 131. Christ perfectly embodied this lifestyle of humble dependence and quiet trust. His relationship with God and others was not rooted in performance, possessions, or popularity. He did not demand to be the biggest, best, and brightest. Instead, he humbled himself to serve others. The incarnation is the ultimate expression of the humility of God.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death--even death on a cross. (Philippians 2:5-8)

Christ also knew God's weaning in his life. During his temptation in the wilderness, his agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, and his suffering on the cross, he was weaned from all God's comforting provision. Hungry in the wilderness, lonely in the Garden, and thirsty on the cross - all his comforts were removed. His greatest comfort - his deep and abiding sense of God's presence - was removed at the cross: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" And yet, like a weaned child, he quietly accepted the loss of his comforts and cast himself into the divine embrace: "Father, into your hands, I commit my spirit." This is the most faith-filled, humble, child-like prayer one can utter.

Like the psalmist, Jesus invites us to share his peace. In the Upper Room before his passion, Jesus told his disciples, "The hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, each one to his home, and you will leave me alone. Yet I am not alone because the Father is with me. I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!" (John 16:32-33).

The same invitation can be found in Matthew's gospel: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, 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. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light" (Matthew 11:28-30).

Are you weary of seeking peace in performance, possessions, or popularity? Like the psalmist, Jesus offers us insight into his inner life in order that we might join him in his experience and share his peace.

There is a way of peace. The psalmist teaches that it comes when we renounce our pride, walk in humility, accept our limitations, and surrender to God's provision. We are not strong enough to carry our burdens alone. Jesus invites us to personally put down our heavy burdens, and rest quietly in faith. Though it may take awhile to wean us of our immaturity and arrogance, the hands that hold us are eternal, loving, and patient.

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© Richard J. Vincent, 2008