Music: https://www.bensound.com
We live at the bottom of an unseen ocean. An ocean of gases swirling about us every moment. If you think of yourself at the bottom of the Atlantic, you imagine the suffocating weight of countless fathoms of water pressing down upon you. But here, in our unseen ocean, we casually stroll from place to place, never noticing the air through which we move. We know it’s there; we know it by the fact that we can breathe, but it’s more assumed than perceived.
We would certainly recognize its absence, though. In the vacuum of space, the tiny cavity of our lungs would be sucked clean of every ounce of air in an instant. Or if we stood high atop the soaring Himalayas, we would find the thinness of the atmosphere quite unbearable, and wouldn’t be long for that world. But here, we move like gill-less fish along the floor of an invisible sea, with the clouds floating on the surface high above, oblivious to the context sustaining our life.
But we notice when the unseen moves. We feel it on our skin, and on our faces. It cools and refreshes. It tousles our hair and tosses our debris, and rattles the wrinkling leaves. From the subtlest swish as a person passes by us, to the ferocious gale that panics the sailor and drives his mighty boat like a toy across a pond, we perceive the presence of the air only as it changes position.
Seemingly capricious, yet regular enough to warrant our windmills, we can’t predict the unseen flow. We place our kites in its currents and our planes in its drafts and think we’ve harnessed its power, but our hands are not on the reins. “The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear the sound of it, but cannot tell where it comes from and where it goes…” (John 3:8) So said our Savior to the quizzical teacher of Israel upon his nighttime visit. He learned then that sight is only begotten by what we cannot see.
We neglect the imperceptible and assume it isn’t there. It is only as the unseen moves that we realize the limits of our sight. Our eyes were made for this world and can’t perceive the other. How kind, then, of our Lord to send subtle breezes of reminder as we move about our day. The swaying seagrass, the flag unfurled, the rustling in the trees. All of these we see, but not the hand that moves them.
Somehow, the knowledge that we could, if we had the right equipment, see the invisible gases which we call air, makes them less mysterious, and thus, less likely to remind us of our Lord. Be careful you don’t mistake the “how” that science gives us for the reason itself. Thermal drafts and barometric pressure are penultimate causes of the movement. The rush of air is actually fresh testimony from creation. “He is here,” each breath declares. “Just as you cannot see the wind, but still hear its voice, and see its power, so believe the presence of your unseen God!”
“He doesn’t much care for outward appearances,” proclaims the gust that wrecks your hair. “He heals the broken-hearted,” says the breeze that dries your tears. The moaning through the mountain pass says “He understands your pain.” The slumping kite that suddenly rises on the wind reminds us that He sends the feeble strength just when they need it most. And He is never late. All these things and so much more, the moving air affirms.
The wind can unsettle us too. Whose heart does not tremble at the hurricane’s fury, and flee for refuge from the blowing pandemonium? Elijah saw the power of the wind as it tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks. When Peter, walking on the water, saw the winds whipping the waves, he began to sink and cried out, “Lord, save me!” But the same wind that brings the storm, blows it away again. And we are reminded once more that the “winds and waves still know, His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below.”
Like the massive ocean of gases all around us, we are enveloped in our omnipresent God. “In Him we live and move and have our being,” but so often fail to recognize His presence. See, in the wild dancing leaves, caught in the mini whirl before you, the activity of your Creator. Hear, in the breath of every word that is spoken, a reminder that Your Father spoke His Word into the world, and words are never spoken without the movement of air. Let the movement of the unseen, then, remind you, our Lord has come, our Lord is here, our Lord is on the move!
