Poem October 8, 1955 Issue

ELIJAH

Max Dunaway

Hiding in a cave I was that day,
hiding in a hole made in the earth.
I, who had once restored the dead to life,
been fed by fowls, tasted unfailing food,
overthrown false prophets, and rebuked a king—
now I was hiding in a cave. My zeal
had stirred the wrath of men. I did not know
the world would rise against me as a foe.

And then God called me to the mount. I heard
the raging of a fierce, tumultuous wind,
like men's fierce threats—yet empty, without God.
I saw the earth convulse in fury, which was
devoid of God and therefore impotent.
I felt the searing heat of conflagration,
consuming only itself, for God sustained
it not, and the indestructible remained.

These fearful things I heard, I saw, I felt.
Then all was still, silence wrapped in silence.
And in that moment's holiness I saw
where power lies. I heard the resonance
and felt the boundless potency within
the mighty thunder of a still small voice.
Destruction is not power, however wrought:
Transcendent power moves in God-sent thought.

Max Dunaway

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