The Reservoir of Stillness

The Reservoir of Stillness

By Harold Mawela, from my study in Akasia, Pretoria

The winter air bites sharp as a mamba's tooth here in Akasia. I sit on my veranda, watching the last light set the jacaranda trees ablaze with purple fire, a steaming mug of rooibos tea warming my hands. On my phone, the headlines scream their familiar dirge: unemployment at 32.7% eight million South Africans without work. Water levies jumping 66% from July. Fuel taxes returning in full. Another politician deflecting another scandal.

The noise is relentless. It gnaws at the edges of your soul like a million locusts consuming your future.

And in the middle of all this noise, the Scripture speaks a strange, almost offensive word: “Be still, and know that I am God.”

Be still? In this economy? In this country? With this news cycle?

Let us define our terms clearly, my friend. The Hebrew word is raphah it means "to cease striving," "to let go," "to drop your weapons". It is not the stillness of a passive resignation. It is the stillness of a soldier who knows the battle belongs to Another. It is the stillness of a man who understands that his power is not measured by his noise but by his depth.

The deepest river flows with the least sound.

I learned this truth in a way I will never forget. It was during the height of the load-shedding crisis—those dark hours when Gauteng would plunge into blackness. My neighbour, a young man named Thabo, was frantic. He had just lost his job, his marriage was cracking, and the darkness outside seemed to match the darkness inside. He paced my veranda like a caged lion, his voice rising with every new anxiety.

"Harold, I can't sit still!" he shouted. "I need to do something! I need to fix this! I need to"

I placed my hand on his shoulder. "Thabo," I said, "when the power goes out, what do you do? Do you run around the house screaming? Or do you light a candle and wait?"

He stopped. Blinked.

"The darkness," I continued, "does not change because you shout at it. It changes because you bring light into it. And you cannot bring light if you are running in circles."

That night, we sat in the silence. We prayed. We read the Word by candlelight. And in that stillness, something shifted. Not his circumstances not yet. But him. The chaos in his soul began to settle. The noise in his head began to quiet. And in the quiet, he heard the voice of God.

Stillness is not the absence of noise; it is the presence of God.

Picture this, if you will: The Psalmist writes these words in a context of national crisis. Nations are raging. Kingdoms are tottering. The earth is giving way. And into this chaos, God speaks: "Be still, and know that I am God."

The argument can be formulated thus:

· Premise One: The world generates noise—fear, anxiety, temptation, distraction.

· Premise Two: Noise disorients the soul and drowns out the voice of God.

· Premise Three: Therefore, the believer must deliberately create reservoirs of stillness to hear God and be reoriented

This is not escapism. This is strategy. The warrior does not fight in the chaos; he retreats to the command post to receive his orders. The musician does not compose in the crowd; she retreats to the quiet to hear the melody. The follower of Christ does not navigate the storm without first anchoring in the stillness.

A common objection is: "But Harold, I don't have time to be still! I have bills to pay, children to raise, a job to keep, a country to survive!"

However, this fails because it misunderstands the nature of stillness. Stillness is not a luxury for the idle; it is a necessity for the effective. It is not wasted time; it is the filling of your spiritual lungs. You do not skip breathing because you are busy. You breathe because you are busy. Stillness is the oxygen of the soul.

South Africa understands chaos. We understand the noise of inequality, the clatter of corruption, the thunder of protest. We understand the scream of the taxi rank, the buzz of the township, the relentless hum of survival. But do we understand stillness?

Ubuntu teaches us "I am because we are". But Ubuntu without stillness becomes codependency losing yourself in the crowd. Stillness without Ubuntu becomes selfish isolation losing yourself in yourself. The two together create the overflowing cup a soul so full of God's presence that it cannot help but pour out into the lives of others.

I think of the woman selling vetkoek outside my local Spar. Her smile brighter than the morning sun despite the obvious struggles etched on her face. Where does she find that joy? In the stillness of early morning prayer, before the world demands her attention. I think of the grandmother in Soshanguve, raising her grandchildren on a pension. Where does she find that strength? In the quiet moments when she opens her worn Bible and remembers the promises of God.

Your secret weapon is not your noise it is your depth.

Let us be honest, my friends. We have been seduced by the noise. We scroll our phones until our thumbs ache, searching for something—anything to quiet the anxiety. We fill our ears with podcasts, our eyes with screens, our minds with endless information. And yet, the anxiety persists. Why? Because noise does not heal noise. Only stillness heals noise.

Jesus Himself modelled this. In the middle of a storm, while the disciples panicked and screamed, He slept. He slept! Not because He was indifferent, but because He was anchored. The storm did not disturb His stillness because His stillness was not dependent on the circumstances. His stillness was dependent on the Father.

And then, from that place of stillness, He spoke to the storm: "Peace, be still." And the wind obeyed.

From this deep reservoir of peace, you will draw wisdom to speak into storms, for you carry the calm of the Creator within you.

So how do we build this reservoir? How do we carve out this daily cave of silence?

First, shut the door. Not just the physical door, but the mental door. Turn off the notifications. Silence the inner critic. For five minutes—just five minutes—sit at the feet of the Almighty. Let the chaos rage outside while you rest inside.

Second, open the Word. Read it slowly. Chew on it like a cow chews cud. Let the Scripture saturate your soul. The Psalmist did not say, "Be still and think about yourself." He said, "Be still and know that I am God." It is the knowledge of God that stills the soul.

Third, listen. Not for the voice of your anxiety, but for the voice of the Spirit. He speaks in a still, small voice not in the earthquake, not in the wind, not in the fire, but in the gentle whisper. You will only hear it if you are quiet enough to listen.

Fourth, act. Stillness is not the end; it is the beginning. It is the filling of the tank so you can drive the road. It is the sharpening of the axe so you can cut the tree. From the reservoir of stillness, you emerge not weaker but stronger. Not passive but powerful. Not silent but speaking words that carry weight because they were birthed in the presence of God.

Therefore, reason itself, illuminated by Scripture and confirmed in our deepest longings, compels us to acknowledge that stillness is not weakness; it is warfare. It is the weapon that defeats anxiety. It is the strategy that outlasts the storm. It is the posture of the one who knows truly knows that God is God, and that He will be exalted among the nations, He will be exalted in the earth.

The noise of this world will not last. The headlines will fade. The politicians will come and go. The economy will rise and fall. But the One who sits enthroned above the chaos? He remains. And those who know Him? They remain with Him.

What you practice daily determines what you become permanently. If you practice noise, you become noise. If you practice stillness, you become still and in that stillness, you become strong.

Prayer:

Holy Spirit, lead me into the deep reservoir of stillness where I encounter the calm of the Creator. Quiet the noise in my mind. Silence the anxiety in my heart. Anchor my soul in the unshakeable reality of who God is. From that place of stillness, send me forth not as a noisy fool, but as a still warrior, carrying the peace of Christ into a world that desperately needs it. In the mighty name of Jesus Christ, my Lord and my God. Amen.

From my study in Akasia, Pretoria where the jacarandas bloom and the Spirit still speaks I leave you with this:

Your power is not measured by your noise, but by your depth. The deepest river flows with the least sound. Be still. And know.

https://open.spotify.com/episode/1lRyLz7sXOhwebCEYrZgnK?si=XQyM3XnHTXO5SNp5WvQLpg

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-reservoir-of-stillness/id1506692775?i=1000773011946