Habits of Jesus | Silence and solitude

Date: 17 May 2026 | Pre­a­cher:
Series: | Bible text: 1 Kings 19:1–13
Hint: This ser­mon has been machi­ne trans­la­ted. Plea­se note that we can­not accept any respon­si­bi­li­ty for the accu­ra­cy of the content.

The ser­mon invi­tes us to dis­co­ver silence and soli­tu­de not as a duty, but as a gift from God. The examp­les of Jesus, Eli­jah and the per­se­cu­ted Chris­ti­an Amin make it clear that it is pre­cis­e­ly in retre­at and in silence that we often encoun­ter God’s pre­sence in a par­ti­cu­lar­ly pro­found way. In a noi­sy and hec­tic world, silence crea­tes space to be hea­led, to hear God’s voice and to recei­ve new strength for ever­y­day life.


Amin recent­ly gave a talk about his expe­ri­en­ces as a per­se­cu­ted Chris­ti­an in Iran. He was asked: «How did you expe­ri­ence Jesus? What was good for you in the per­se­cu­ti­on? What did you learn? What did you recei­ve from Jesus?» His lite­ral ans­wer: «Some­thing that is very spe­cial in pri­son is the pre­sence of Jesus, becau­se they can­not take Jesus pri­soner. In Switz­er­land, we have a lot of free­dom. We can enjoy a lot of things. We also dis­tract our­sel­ves a lot. In pri­son you real­ly have time to spend 24 hours just with Jesus. I have never expe­ri­en­ced such a rela­ti­onship and pre­sence of Jesus as I have in pri­son. Espe­ci­al­ly when I was in the iso­la­ti­on cell, all alo­ne. That was my best and clo­sest time with Jesus that I’ve ever had.»

The­se words are tou­ch­ing. Becau­se they reve­al some­thing sur­pri­sing: Pre­cis­e­ly whe­re ever­y­thing was out­ward­ly taken away, the­re was room for a deep encoun­ter with Jesus. It was not free­dom, acti­vi­ty and oppor­tu­ni­ties that led Amin to the neigh­bour­hood of God – but soli­tu­de and silence.

Today we are tal­king about the spi­ri­tu­al habit of Jesus: Silence and loneli­ne­ss. Through spi­ri­tu­al habits, we crea­te time and space to encoun­ter God Hims­elf in depth. A spi­ri­tu­al habit is any acti­vi­ty that I can do through direct effort that even­tual­ly enables me to do what I can­not do through direct effort.

It is not about reli­gious per­for­mance. Not about duty. Not about impres­sing God. But rather an invi­ta­ti­on. An invi­ta­ti­on to dis­co­ver a rhythm of life in which our soul can brea­the again and God’s voice can be heard.

The role model

When Jesus rises from the water at his bap­tism, a voice is heard from hea­ven say­ing: «This is my bel­oved son, in him I have gre­at joy» (Matthew 3:17 NLB). At the same time, this is the launch pad from which Jesus is sent out into the world. But in the very next line we read that Jesus is led by the Holy Spi­rit into the desert for 40 days.

The first thing Jesus does after his bap­tism is: he goes straight into the desert. Desert does not neces­s­a­ri­ly mean sand and heat. The Greek word ere­mos has a varie­ty of mea­nings: Desert, deso­la­te place, deso­la­te place, remo­te place, lonely place, quiet place, wil­der­ness, wasteland.

It is inte­res­t­ing to note that the desert in the Bible is not sim­ply a place of weak­ne­ss. It is often a place of encoun­ter. A place of cla­ri­fi­ca­ti­on. A place whe­re back­ground noi­se is silen­ced and God’s voice beco­mes audible.

Mark 1 basi­cal­ly descri­bes Jesus» first big day of work as the Mes­siah. It was a mara­thon day: he tea­ches in the syn­ago­gue, heals Peter’s mother-in-law and then count­less sick and pos­s­es­sed peo­p­le are brought to him. Peo­p­le flock to him. Expec­ta­ti­ons press in on him. Ever­yo­ne wants some­thing from him. Jesus must have been com­ple­te­ly exhausted.

But then we read: «Very ear­ly, it was still night, Jesus went alo­ne to a lonely place («ere­mos») to pray» (Mark 1:35 NLB).

Jesus with­draws. Not becau­se he does­n’t love peo­p­le. Not becau­se he is irre­spon­si­ble. But pre­cis­e­ly becau­se he knows that his soul needs this clo­sen­ess to the Father. And that was not a one-off excep­ti­on. Luke wri­tes: «Howe­ver, Jesus repea­ted­ly with­drew into the desert («ere­mos») to pray» (Luke 5:16 NLB). It was a rhythm of life.

Per­haps we some­ti­mes think: When I have more time, when things are cal­mer, when the child­ren are older, when the stress subs­i­des – then I will make time for God. But with Jesus we see the oppo­si­te. In the midst of minis­try, in the midst of demands, in the midst of pres­su­re, he seeks out solitude.

Jesus did not com­mand us to fol­low his own prac­ti­ces. He sim­ply set an exam­p­le of a com­ple­te­ly new way of living his life. Then He tur­ned round and said: «If your way of life makes you tired and if you want to find rest for your soul, come, take my gent­le yoke and copy my life in all its details» (accor­ding to Matthew 11:28–30).

Loneliness and silence

Loneli­ne­ss means first of all: being alo­ne. Alo­ne with God and with your own soul. Many peo­p­le fear exact­ly that. Becau­se as soon as it gets quiet, thoughts, fee­lings, worries and inner rest­less­ness ari­se. That’s why we dis­tract our­sel­ves so often. Music is always play­ing. The mobi­le pho­ne is always at hand. Even short wai­ting times are fil­led immediately.

Amin was forced into iso­la­ti­on – and it was the­re that he expe­ri­en­ced the pre­sence of Jesus more deep­ly than ever befo­re. Eli­jah also expe­ri­en­ces loneli­ne­ss. Howe­ver, it beg­ins quite dif­fer­ent­ly. The pro­phet Eli­jah – a hero of faith – expe­ri­en­ces a deep col­lap­se after a gre­at vic­to­ry. He had just expe­ri­en­ced God’s power on Mount Car­mel. And short­ly after­wards, exhaus­ted, he flees into the desert.

«But he wal­ked a day’s jour­ney alo­ne into the desert. Final­ly, he sank down under a broom bush that was stan­ding the­re and just wan­ted to die. «I’ve had enough, Lord,» he said. «Take my life, for I am no bet­ter than my ances­tors» » (1 Kings 19:4 NLB).

Per­haps you know moments like this too. You with­draw, not becau­se you are par­ti­cu­lar­ly spi­ri­tu­al, but becau­se you sim­ply can’t take any more. Tired. Emp­ty. Overwhelmed.

And this is exact­ly whe­re some­thing important beg­ins: God does not meet Eli­jah with reproa­ches. He does not say: «Pull yours­elf tog­e­ther.» He does not say: «You would have to belie­ve more.» God meets him with care. Eli­jah is asleep. An angel wakes him up and gives him food and drink. Then he is allo­wed to sleep again. He is woken once more. Once again he is strengthened.

That is remar­kab­le. The first step out of the cri­sis is not a spi­ri­tu­al flight of fan­cy, but rest, food, sleep and loving care. God meets us holistically.

That is why silence is not just a tech­ni­que. It is not sim­ply a spi­ri­tu­al tool for self-opti­mi­sa­ti­on. Silence often beg­ins when we slow down. Whe­re we admit to our­sel­ves that we don’t have to car­ry ever­y­thing. Whe­re we stop allo­wing our­sel­ves to be con­stant­ly driven.

St Augus­ti­ne said: «Ente­ring into silence means ente­ring into joy.» And a Syri­an monk from the sixth cen­tu­ry said: «The fri­end of silence draws clo­ser to God.» Our world, on the other hand, is loud. In his sati­ri­cal work Ins­truc­tions to a Devil, C.S. Lewis has the demons rail against silence. The chief devil Screw­tape calls the enemy’s realm a «king­dom of noi­se» and says: «In the end, we will turn the who­le world into a sin­gle noi­se.»

Per­haps that is exact­ly what we are expe­ri­en­cing. Not only extern­al­ly, but also intern­al­ly. Thoughts are cir­cling. Worries weigh us down. Impres­si­ons flood us. This is exact­ly what Eli­jah expe­ri­en­ces. Out­ward­ly it is quiet in the desert, but inward­ly a storm is pro­ba­b­ly raging.

But God leads him on. For for­ty days and for­ty nights to Horeb, the moun­tain of God. God does not work under time pres­su­re. He leads step by step.

In the last few weeks, I have often spent hours wal­king through Aar­gau in pre­pa­ra­ti­on for the Rig­i­marsch. Some peo­p­le asked if I had so much time. For me, the­se were times of encoun­ter with God and I ask mys­elf whe­ther I can even afford not to take this time. Per­haps that is pre­cis­e­ly the cru­cial ques­ti­on. Not: Do I have time for silence? But rather: Can I afford to live wit­hout it?

Becau­se if we never beco­me still, we often lose some­thing essen­ti­al: the per­cep­ti­on of God’s presence.

Isn’t one of the big pro­blems of spi­ri­tua­li­ty in our time the fact that we feel sepa­ra­ted from God? We rare­ly expe­ri­ence God’s pre­sence in ever­y­day life. Soli­tu­de and silence are the reci­pe against this.

And some­ti­mes it starts very prac­ti­cal­ly: a walk wit­hout a mobi­le pho­ne. A mor­ning wit­hout instant mes­sa­ges. A con­scious silence. A few minu­tes in which we are sim­ply the­re befo­re God. Not as a com­pul­so­ry exer­cise. But as a gift.

Hearing God’s voice

Then comes the decisi­ve moment for Eli­jah. A storm comes – but God is not in the storm. An ear­th­qua­ke – but God is not in the ear­th­qua­ke. A fire – but God is not in the fire. And then: a quiet, gent­le whisper. And the­re is God.

That is per­haps the most important point of this sto­ry: God is often not in the loud, not in the spec­ta­cu­lar, not in the dra­ma­tic – but in the quiet. 

We live in a world that con­stant­ly wants to attract atten­ti­on. Ever­y­thing has to be fast, impres­si­ve and inten­se. But God does not impo­se hims­elf. He does not shout. He does­n’t drown out ever­y­thing else. He speaks quietly.

That is why we need silence. Not becau­se silence is sacred in its­elf, but becau­se it beco­mes the space in which we can hear God’s voice again. The Hebrew word for desert – mid­bar – is clo­se­ly con­nec­ted with dabarthe word.

Per­haps God speaks much more often than we think. But we don’t hear him becau­se so many other things have beco­me lou­der. And that is why silence is ulti­m­ate­ly not a retre­at from life, but a return to the essentials.

Eli­jah covers his face. He reco­g­ni­s­es: God is the­re. Not in the storm. Not in the fire. But in the quiet presence.

In my opi­ni­on, we have two options:

  • Opti­on A: We negle­ct this prac­ti­ce, fall into the hams­ter wheel and end up at best in emo­tio­nal imba­lan­ce and at worst in «spi­ri­tu­al insensitivity».
  • Or opti­on B: We take up this anci­ent and yet so cur­rent prac­ti­ce again and expe­ri­ence the life of Jesus.

Mindful­ness – the who­le world is tal­king about it at the moment. Mindful­ness is not­hing other than the secu­lar term for silence and soli­tu­de. It’s the same thing, but wit­hout the best part – Jesus.

This sto­ry invi­tes us to redis­co­ver silence – not as a duty, but as a gift.

  • A silence in which we can be honest
  • A silence in which God heals and streng­thens us
  • A silence in which we hear his voice

Per­haps the next spi­ri­tu­al step in your life is not more acti­vi­ty, but less. Not more words, but more lis­tening. Not more doing, but more being. And per­haps Jesus is alre­a­dy wai­ting for you right the­re – in the silence.

 

Possible questions for the small group

Read the Bible text: 1 Kings 19:1–13

  1. When do you expe­ri­ence the most noi­se and dis­trac­tion in your ever­y­day life – extern­al­ly or internally?
  2. What expe­ri­en­ces have you alre­a­dy had with times of silence or soli­tu­de with God?
  3. What could spe­ci­fi­cal­ly help you to regu­lar­ly crea­te space for silence with God in your ever­y­day life?
  4. Why do we often find it dif­fi­cult to sim­ply be still befo­re God wit­hout having to do anything?
  5. What would be a prac­ti­cal next step in the coming days to give God’s pre­sence more con­scious space?