Weather Alert
Dear Savannah and Sutton,
There is something within me that desires to protect you from every storm and earthquake that might come your way. I know that I have not, and cannot, do that. That feels bad enough. But what feels worse is knowing that I have actually been the source of some of those storms. Ugh. I’m sorry.
Storms, floods, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, lightening, marital conflict, vocational turmoil, parenting, learning and individuation are all inherently dangerous. They leave us feeling vulnerable and exposed. I encourage you to remember the feeling, for it may be the very place where you discover the divine voice, both without and within.
-Dad
Inside Out Lectionary Letters
Readings for January 11, 2026
Isaiah 42:1-9 / Psalm 29 / Acts 10:34-43 / Matthew 3:13-17
There are collections of poetry out of the Canaanite tradition, and other ancient near-eastern groups, called “storm poetry.” This literary form points toward storm deities who deserved recognition for the havoc and blessing they could create through extreme weather and geological upheaval. The poetry acknowledges a divine force that is not controlled by human will. Psalm 29 is a Hebrew version of that literary form. Therefore it is characterized by its commitment to one God, not to multiple deities. And the poetry asserts that the work of the Divine is not random nor nefarious, but rather is directed toward movement, redemption and blessing.
In verses 5 and 6 the poet references Lebanon and Sirion. Lebanon is most likely a reference to the Lebanon mountain range, known at that time for its massive cedar trees. Sirion is the name for Mt. Hermon, the tallest peak in the region. They were both symbols of strength, power and permanence. But cedars and mountains don’t skip… And that’s the point. There is a power that is greater than the cedar or the mountain. And it is a power that cannot be domesticated.
The storm language is a beautiful fit for the inward journey. Too often we worship the inner structures of stability, we cling to some knowledge we have acquired, or we deify an opinion as if we have been enlightened with some ultimate truth. We cling to a particular way of doing things because it is familiar, even if it is no longer constructive or effective.
In a strange sort of mercy, our inward foundations are rattled. Old patterns no longer serve us well. An earthquake erupts in a relationship and shatters the old way of seeing things. A storm within pits new information against tired beliefs, or novel experiences against biased thinking, or mere exhaustion against institutional allegiance. The inward rafters shake and the foundational footers give way. The rising floodwaters of the unconscious expose the fragility of possessions and the fleeting nature of security.
As difficult as all of this feels, it is also the path to fresh fertile soil. it is the way of separating the chaff from that which is life giving and nutritious. It is how space is created for innovation, fresh perspectives and new life. When the storm stirs the inward journey we are given the opportunity to discover that which is bigger than we can control. There is a divine voice within that is neither domesticated nor idle. It is unleashed love and untamed passion. And to embrace it is to feel mountains skip, to watch trees dance, to hear creation sing, to let the unconscious emerge.
Prayer
Lord, when my soul experiences the storm, when the outward earthquake shakes the inward foundations of belief, please help me move from a place of fear and panic to a posture of awe. Amen.