The Scrap of Paper Sewn into Pascal's Coat

On the night of November 23, 1654, Blaise Pascal — mathematician, physicist, one of the sharpest minds in France — encountered something no equation could contain. For two hours, alone in his room in Paris, he was overwhelmed by the direct, unmediated presence of God.

Afterward, trembling, he grabbed a scrap of parchment and scratched out what he had experienced. The first word he wrote was simply: "Fire." Then: "God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob — not of the philosophers and of the scholars." He wrote of "certainty, certainty, heartfelt joy, peace." He sewed that scrap into the lining of his coat and carried it against his chest for the rest of his life. It was found only after his death.

Pascal had spent years mastering the forces of nature — atmospheric pressure, probability, the behavior of fluids. But that night, he met a force that mastered him. The voice that Psalm 29 describes — the voice that thunders over the waters, that splinters the cedars and shakes the wilderness, that flashes forth flames of fire — that voice found Pascal in a quiet room and brought him to his knees.

And notice what Pascal wrote alongside "fire." He wrote "peace." That is the mystery the psalmist knew. The same God whose voice strips the forests bare sits enthroned forever, and the Almighty blesses His people with peace. The voice that shakes everything is the voice that steadies the soul.