Moses said to the people, “Do not dread, but stand still, and see the great works of God… The Lord will fight for you, but you must keep still.” (Exodus 14:13-24) Stand still. Not as a stone, not as the dull weight of worry nailed to the earth, but as a mountain stands—rooted yet alive, open to wind and rain. To stand still is the opposite of what our anxious minds crave. We fidget, we shuffle; we invent clever tools to stave off the silence. But here is God, through Moses, telling us to anchor ourselves in the present and trust the unseen hands that part seas and overthrow empires. This is not passivity but poise—the deep and supple stillness of a hawk poised to fly.

Tension is the work of the old trickster. You’ve seen him, even if you call him by no name: in the crowded rooms, where small voices feed on fear; in the clench of your own fists when life’s tide drags you off course. Tension smells of sulfur and sweat, of brittle minds stretched too thin. It fools us into believing movement is power, that flailing will save us. But the hawk knows better; the tree knows better. Life unfolds in stillness, not in frenzy. God works in what seems an unbearable pause, asking for trust we’re too tense to give. When the “trickster’s tail” swipes through our thoughts, making havoc, it’s a signal to resist the pull toward panic and return to the still place —in prayer, in church, in communion with God, where His power unfolds.

The task is hard, isn’t it? To quiet the gnawing need to act, to shout, to scramble. Stillness can feel like death in a world that exalts noise and motion. But in the still places, the Spirit hovers, as He did over the waters at creation. The Lord does not fight for us to be anxious; He fights to make us let go, opening our hands to the holy wind. And so, to stand still is not to fold but to be raised, meeting God at the edge of what you fear most and being given the calm you cannot create. Stand there, and you will see—not with your frantic eyes, but with the vision that opens when the soul is quieted. There, God parts the seas; there, the enemy breaks like waves upon the shore. There, He fights for you while you keep still.

By Donavon Riley

Donavon Riley is a Lutheran pastor, conference speaker, author, and contributing writer for 1517 and The Jagged Word. He is also a co-host of the Banned Books and Warrior Priest podcasts. He is the author of the books, "Crucifying Religion,” “The Withertongue Emails,” and, “The Impossible Prize: A Theology of Addiction.”

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