The Storm
As I sit here in my office looking out at our backyard, I’m reminded of how quickly the seasons change in our part of the world. Even though we live busy, hectic lives there’s one thing that will stop us in our tracks: a heavy snowfall.
There is a serene majesty to it, but also a fearful power. In fact this most recent storm has claimed over 100 deaths nationwide. In Psalm 147:16 it says, ”He spreads the snow like wool and scatters the frost like ashes." The Psalmist certainly does capture the sovereign, powerful hand of God over the elements.
In our modern age, we are tempted to look at the weather through the lens of atmospheric pressure, cold fronts, and Doppler radar. We frantically check the weather apps on our phones to see if we need to salt the sidewalks or head to the grocery store for milk and bread. But the Psalmist calls us to look past the “what we need to do” and focus on the “Who.”
The text says, “He spreads." This is a statement of absolute divine sovereignty and absolute power. The snow is beautiful, yet powerful.
Roscoe Conkling was a titan of American politics in the late 19th century and who also prided himself in his physical fitness because of his regimented boxing workouts. On March 12, 1888, the "Great White Hurricane" slammed into the East Coast. New York City ground to a halt as it battled not only 24 inches of snow but drifts up over 50 feet high from the intense wind. Despite the frantic warnings that the streets were impassable, Conkling—ever the man of self-reliance—decided he would walk three miles from his law office at Wall Street to his home at the Hoffman House on Madison Square.
He found himself waist-deep in drifts, blinded by the wind, his great strength failing him with every step. He eventually collapsed into a hotel near his destination, but the damage was done. The exposure led to pneumonia, and within weeks, the man who had shaped the destiny of the nation and was in extraordinary physical condition died. We can have all the white-collar influence or blue-collar muscle in the world, but we cannot command the clouds. Man is no match for the snow. He is certainly no match for the God who sends it.
If we stopped there, we might feel crushed by the weight of God’s power. But the beauty of the 147th Psalm—and indeed the beauty of the Gospel—is that God’s power is never divorced from His compassion.
We serve a God who is big enough to scatter the snow over the entire northern hemisphere, but look at what He does with those same sovereign hands in verse 3: "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." (Psalm 147:3) Think about the contrast. The same God who has the power to send a blast of winter air is the same God who leans down into the dirt of our lives to wrap a bandage around a bleeding heart.
Perhaps your "storm" isn't made of snow. Perhaps it’s a medical diagnosis that has left you cold with fear. Perhaps it’s a broken marriage or the grief of a chair that will be empty this coming Sunday. You might feel like you are wandering in a blizzard, losing your strength, unable to find your way home. Here is the good news: Our God is the Master of the Storm, but He is also the Great Physician.
Lay your burdens at the feet of the One who spreads the snow like wool. He knows exactly how much you can bear, and He is ready to bind up your heart.