When God Seems Absent

“I’m still not convinced God cares or is involved in our daily lives.” Those are the words of a friend in her fourth decade of Christianity. She goes to church, reads her Bible, gives offerings, and tries to obey the sermons she hears. Yet, she’s walked away from seeking a personal relationship with Christ and only holds hope for one in heaven.

She’s not alone. Many people accept that God offers a personal, endearing, interactive relationship, but they’ve never tasted such a wildly wonderful experience.

So they quit seeking.

They quit believing God will interact with them.

Or they quit Christianity altogether.

And why not?

Who wouldn’t?

Why would anyone keep believing and seeking what they never find?

People who don’t encounter God’s presence sometimes stay faithful to Christ, like a committed spouse in an anemic marriage. They stay, but there’s no passion, no purpose, no joy.

Many can’t remain. They cut the cord and dance away, convinced the offer had no truth.

Who can blame them?

What good is Christianity if there’s no personal relationship with God?

Why would we continue to believe our sins are forgiven and heaven is our destination when we don’t encounter God on earth as promised?

The Scripture teaches we can’t flourish without the interactive empowerment and transformation of the Spirit.

Most of us can’t maintain a loving relationship with anyone if we don’t feel and receive love in return.

God wants us to know him intimately. The apostles lived with Jesus and explained we can encounter him in a spiritual-but-similar way today. “We saw it, we heard it, and now we’re telling you so you can experience it along with us, this experience of communion with the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. Our motive for writing is simply this: We want you to enjoy this, too” (1 John 1:3-4, The Message).

I’ve been fortunate to have encountered God.

I felt his presence when he was drawing me into salvation.

I’ve heard him speak to me at every major turn of my life.

I feel his joy when I walk in the woods or stick my toes in the ocean, though I can’t explain how.

I sense his love when I lie on the floor in the darkness.

I’ve felt his nudge when I read the Bible, and my mind knows what to do. My relationship started personal, and it’s continued that way.

But for a few years, God seemed as distant from me as a seat on a SpaceX flight into orbit.

I knew he was available, but he was far from my reach. I missed sensing and being reassured by his presence.

During those dark years, I prayed passionately more than ever. I had major decisions looming. I was committed to doing whatever God wanted. But he never spoke. I had to make the choices on my own.

I felt anxious.

I’d never encountered such pressure on my chest, irregular thumping from my heart, and racing in my mind. I read about it in Philippians 4:6-7[1] and every psychology resource I could find. I followed the advice of specialists and even a few online quacks. I claimed the promise in Paul’s letter, believing, hoping, and craving for the “peace of God, which transcends all understanding,” to come and take its place in my soul, body, and mind.

But it stayed away like a friend who owes money.

I started to feel insecure and not worth much.

Again, these were new emotions. I’d had moments of doubt before a free throw in a big basketball game or the feeling of smallness when I had to speak publicly. But those were fleeting. These feelings were problematic and, on some days, paralyzing.

Cecil Murphy explained a similar experience:

“God simply switched off the lights. I fumbled around in spiritual darkness.”[2]

I, too, was unable to see or hear or move confidently.

I read in Jeremiah that God prepared and planned my life, and in Ephesians, I discovered I was valuable. But I needed to hear from God directly, just like kids need to hear their father cheering from the stands instead of telling another parent to pass along his support.

But God didn’t speak.

He didn’t supernaturally hug me.

That lasted so long that I wondered if God was still there or if he had ever been there. I thought about walking away. For a while, I lay down and gave up.

I quit wondering.

I quit hoping.

I quit.

And then I found two things.

First, I discovered Psalms that expressed what I felt.

Psalm 13 was especially helpful: “How long, LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me?” (vs. 1-2).

I didn’t have a human enemy causing problems. But the feelings were parallel. The Psalmist expressed emotions reflecting his reality, and I resonated with his feelings and thoughts.

God wasn’t hiding his face from either of us. He hadn’t forgotten us. But it felt he had, and my angst found words in that Psalm and others.

My soul was downcast, discouraged, gutted, and gloomy. And knowing biblical writers had felt the same things gave me hope. But it also showed me we can’t go long without a connection with our father.

Second, I unearthed Paul’s longing, and it reflected mine.

In Ephesians 3, as Paul prods his people to live worthy lives, he prays for them to encounter God. Specifically, he wants them to feel God’s love for them. This desire is so dire that Paul describes himself as kneeling in passionate prayer and tapping into the glorious richness of God for power for his people. He wants that power to help them experience the vastness of God’s love, not learning about it but being enraptured by it:

“to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge” (Ephesians 3:18-19).

Paul knows that we can’t thrive without encountering God personally. No one can.

We joyfully follow and courageously obey when we interact with God—experiencing his love, hearing his voice, feeling his approval.

We find hope.

He gives help.

Without such interaction, we shrivel, and sometimes we quit.

We don’t have to walk away. We can choose to search for God in the darkness and proactively reconnect.

We can do several things when God seems absent.

We can look for things that naturally block our relationship, such as unconfessed sin, disobedience, or broken human relationships.

If we find problems, we must do our best to fix them and unclog the path to God.

Beyond those, I found following the way of Psalm 13 and Ephesians 3 most helpful.

Like the forlorn Psalmist, I told God I needed him to move in my life personally and obviously.

I also expressed my trust and sang my praises based on truths, not my feelings of their veracity.

Like passionate Paul, I got on my knees and tentatively asked God supernaturally to show me how much he loved me.

I didn’t define how he should do that, and I didn’t pray alone. I asked others to read Paul’s prayer and pray that for me. And soon, he made his presence known. God restored me, and the darkness slowly dissipated.

NOTES

[1] “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7 NIV 2011, emphasis mine).

[2] Cecil Murphey, When God Turned Off the Lights (Grand Rapids: Revell, 2009), Kindle, chapter 1.