“If you want to capture someone’s attention, whisper.”  (A 1980’s commercial for Nuance Perfume.)

“‘Go out and stand before me on the mountain,’ the LORD told him. And as Elijah stood there, the LORD passed by, and a mighty windstorm hit the mountain. It was such a terrible blast that the rocks were torn loose, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake.

  And after the earthquake there was a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire there was the sound of a gentle whisper.”  (1 Kings 19:11-12, New Living Translation.)

Elijah, a prophet of God, had just had some major victories in terms of his call to the people of Israel to return to the LORD their God.  However, when Queen Jezebel threatened his life, he ran for his life and wished he was dead.  Ever been there?  Probably most of us have been at one time or another.  Some of us have our mailing address in that place.

Elijah ended up at Mt. Horeb, which was probably another name for Mt. Sinai.  God gave the depressed prophet a tremendous display of God’s power.  However, God was not in those things, as the Scripture itself points out.

Then, God did about the least seemingly God-like thing that could be imagined: God whispered.

Today, my 3-minute retreat dealt with this very matter.  (You can access the full retreat at www.loyolapress.com/retreats/listening-to-whispers-start-retreat, accessed 08-09-2017.)  Near the end of the retreat, the author asked several penetrating questions.

“Am I comfortable with silence?  What sounds in my life might prevent me from hearing God’s whisper?  What noise in my mind might also interfere?”

Obviously, we live in a noisy world.  But in my own case, it is frequently the noise in my own mind that is most distracting.  I sometimes feel that I am a living, breathing, walking civil war.

Years ago when I was a pastor, I was called by a lady who was a neighbor.  She lived about two blocks from our house, and occasionally attended our church.  The lady was crying and screaming.  Her fifteen-year-old daughter was holding a knife and threatening to kill her mom.  I said, “I’ll be right down!”  I told my wife to pray, and hustled out the door.

Sure enough, when I got to the house, there was Nancy (not her real name) brandishing the longest, most wicked looking butcher knife I’ve ever seen at her mom.  Nothing in my pastoral training had prepared me for this.  (Every seminary should have a required class that deals with these kinds of situations.  Possible titles: “Hostage Negotiation 101,” or “Seminar on the Use and Abuse of Kitchen Utensils.”)

Both of the ladies were crying and yelling and using theological terms in a very non-theological manner.  I wondered why I had decided to handle this, instead of being smart and calling the police.  I quietly wondered if I would make it back to see my wife and three small children.  It’s amazing how many things can quickly pass through your mind in such situations.

I quietly asked, “Could we all just sit down?”  The ladies were not ready to sit down just yet, so I decided to demonstrate how to do so.  Nancy and her mom finally sat down.  Nancy was still gripping the knife firmly, and they were still crying, yelling, and cussing.  But, at least, they were sitting down now.

I whispered something to the Mom.  It was too quiet for either Nancy or her Mom to hear, so they had to ask me to repeat it.  I spoke even more softly.  They became silent, and asked me again what I had said.

I whispered even more quietly, “Why don’t we all just whisper?”  To say that they were surprised by my suggestion would be a gross understatement.  I was surprised too.  I’m not normally that wise.

They didn’t immediately begin to whisper, but they did yell a little more quietly.  Every time they yelled, I would whisper that we were trying an experiment with whispering.  They began to cry and yell less, and to speak more gently.  Eventually, they even began to listen to one another.

Finally, Nancy put down the knife on the coffee table.  She and her mom embraced and cried.  This time, the tears were tears of gentleness and contrition, rather than tears of homicidal rage.

I shook all the way home.

I imagine that you’ve hear of the “horse whisperer,” or the “dog whisperer.”  Our God is the human whisperer.  He often speaks to us very quietly.  Perhaps we all need to sit down, speak softly ourselves, put down our knives, and listen.  Perhaps we could then hear the Human Whisperer speak.  And what he would say might be forgiving, encouraging, and unbelievably loving.