Be Still
and know that love is with you
On Wednesday, I found myself writing a contemplative song (a hymn really, or a lullaby) as I renew my intention to sit still more in this New Year, to find time each day for meditation, prayer, or creative contemplation in some way.
Then came the news from Minneapolis. My heart is aching for Renee Nicole Good, for her children, for her mother who told the media what a loving and kind person her daughter was…for everyone who knew and loved her and all the poetry she will no longer write. My mind still can’t take in the level of hatred and contempt for her—and for all loving people—by those who hold power. It seems too much to take in.
Somehow music, though, seems big enough to hold it all…along with poetry, the beauty of a landscape, colour and light, gentle touch, a smile. Paradoxically, the small simplicity of the breath itself, or a simple melody, can open up enough space to hold the unfathomable. This new space can allow strength and courage to enter.
As ministers go, I’m not the most skilled at quoting Biblical scripture, but I’ve always loved Psalm 46:10: “Be still and know that I am God.” As I’ve grown up, I’ve let go of images of God as an all-powerful humanlike being, and come to rest in a sense of an encompassing Presence: something that holds everything, all we wish for and all we don’t, but which somehow has love at its centre. I see This as connected also to what Jung called the transpersonal Self, accessed through dreams, intuition, and creative expression…and I sometimes call it Love for short. I get closer to it, if only briefly, in meditation and prayer, which are continually taking new shapes in my life (including the shape of songs).
I pray that, somehow, Love can work in the world as a healing presence: transforming those addicted to violence and rage, and sustaining those of us who stand in sorrowful witness.
Be still, be still / Be still and know that love is with you / Be still, be still / Let a far deeper peace come to you / Be still, be still / when all the world is whirling ‘round you / be still and know / love still is near..
Be still, be still / Be still and know the healing presence / be still, breathe still / let go of all your heavy burdens / Be still, be still / quieting all unanswered questions / Be still and know / love still is near. Be still and know love still is near.
Songwriting Notes: One thing I absolutely love about creative work (and that affirms my emerging understanding of God as a transpersonal creative force) is that often (or usually) the “best” things come unbidden by my conscious mind. They bubble up spontaneously, like dreams do, and bring with them as sense of surprise and delight.
In “Be Still” this was true of the word “whirling.” In the book of Job, God answered him “out of the whirlwind” Job 38:1 and 40:6. As well, the final line of both stanzas came as a complete surprise, offering a different meaning of song’s key word. The (perhaps) surprising chord at about Bar 15 arose spontaneously, too. (It’s worth noting, too, that “be still and know that I am God” has been the starting-point for lots and lots of songs out there!)
I hope that “Be Still” offers some peace to you, along with an encouragement to continue your own spiritual practice, in whatever form it takes, in this New Year and newly challenging times.
Thank you and welcome to everyone returning to Chapel of Song or those who are arriving for the first time. I’m honoured and grateful that you are here.



Lynn, thank you once again for reminding me of my own fortune in the love I have experienced in my life. Surrounded by so much hate and violence, and wishing so fervently for peace and security for all, I forget how much of these I have had, despite the terrible suffering of others. Your song and words help me to be thankful.
Loved your thoughts and song on this subject, Lynn. They resonated with two books I’ve been reading recently: Thich Nhat Hahn 2021 “Zen and the art of saving the planet”, and Stephen Bachelor, 2020 “The art of solitude”. Also, and especially, a beautiful little poem, “The loved ones”, by Wendell Berry from the 2025-11-17 issue of The New Yorker.
Link here: https://www.newyorker.com/contributors/wendell-berry
Thanks for your heart and voice, Lynn. I’ll sing on with you!
Keith