Where Are You?
“O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not hear?”
These are Habakkuk’s opening words to the Lord of the universe at the start of a dialogue that lasts for three chapters. Habakkuk is angry. He’s frustrated. It’s as though God has turned a blind eye to the evil that Habakkuk sees all around him. He’s asking, “Where are you, God?”
Let’s be honest with ourselves for a moment as we look at a world full of many griefs. News of war flashes across our feeds like rain splattered on the windshield. Hostages, including young children, being returned by terrorists – deceased. Wars with death tolls in the hundreds of thousands – still ongoing. Rising every-day costs and building political tensions threaten like a tsunami. Where are You, God?
But the griefs aren’t just raindrops falling from the proverbial sky that can, at times, easily be wiped away by the pace of life. They’re also open, festering wounds in our own flesh. Members of our church body – critically ill, some on death’s doorstep. Others feeling the weight of ongoing health struggles, financial hardships, or marital strain. And more, experiencing loss and grief that downright seems not only unfair, but wrong. Where are You, God?
Where are You?
You’re not alone in asking that question, friend. I’m asking it too. Just like Habakkuk.
God’s reply?
“I am doing work in your days that you would not believe if told… live by faith.” (Habakkuk 1:5, 2:4)
If you’re like me, you don’t find immediate comfort in that reply. The defiant parts of myself want to say back to God – “Oh yeah?! Try me – I’d love to understand! Explain yourself, God!” But the more I sit with God’s response to Habakkuk’s (and my own) complaints, the more it eases my frustrated soul. The reason is because, deep down, I don’t really want to understand all of God’s ways. I just want to know that all of the pain, all of the grief, all of the sorrow will somehow be purposed for good. Really, I just want to know that the pain of my friends, of my church, of the father across the world that’s grieving the return of three bodies instead of his wife and two small children, is FOR SOMETHING. That’s it’s not just meaningless.
When God says, in reply, to “live by faith” – it asks a question of me. The question it poses is the very same question I frequently pose to God. God is asking Habakkuk (and me, and you) “Where are you in all of these things?”
I’ll tell you where I’m not. I’m not in the genocide. I’m not in the war. I’m not in the oval office. I’m not in the hospitals. I’m not in the memorial services. I’m not in the hospice ward. I may think about those things – I may be grieved by them, but I’m not in them. I’m affected by them, but have no effect on them.
God? He is in all of it. He says, rhetorically, to Habakkuk (and to us) “Look among the nations and see; wonder and be astounded.” Your vision may be 20/20, but not even corrective lenses could help you see what God sees clearly.
And so, the call to live by faith is not just a “cop out” response. It’s a fitting one. God is not a cosmic operator that pushes buttons from afar. He’s in the midst of the conflicts and the brokenness. And He is good. Ultimately, my questions and frustrations, my grievances and complaints, they aren’t going to be quieted by long drawn-out explanations. They are quieted by remembering that God is there. From the massive details – the rising and falling of nations. To the small ones – the grieving family around the dinner table. And because He is there, and He is good, faith in Him is the only sufficient antidote when my heart is wrenched by the weight of all that’s around me.
Our valid question, “Where are you God?” is met by Him with the reply, “I’m right here.”
At this reply, Habakkuk’s heart posture changes. What starts as anger, ends with praise as he sings, “I will rejoice in the Lord, I will take joy in the God of my salvation.” When the burdens of life pile up, and when we bring our complaints to God, may we remember that the best medicine is simply to look at Him. Seeing God rightly heals the broken heart, mends the callused, and turns sorrow into praise.
In Christ’s Mercy,
Pastor Ryan A.
Categories: Evergreen Connection