WHERE IS GOD?

“Where was God on election day?” Since 2020’s presidential election, I have often heard this or some variation of it. Up to inauguration, I heard things like, “God’s going to pull this out!”—out of what appeared to be the inevitable installation of “that other guy” into the oval office. This pronouncement was augmented with speculation how the incumbent would at the last moment orchestrate a maneuver, pull a trick out of his legal sleeve, that would result in his maintaining office. Rather than facilitate such a hope, the storming of the Capital on Jan. 06, only dashed it. The questioning only increased. “Where was God during the certifying of the election results?” Then, last week, “Where was God during the inauguration?” I do not fault the fervor of folks who truly felt their candidate was God’s righteous pawn against such evils as abortion. I am sure this desire for righteousness is why 80% of evangelicals voted for the Republican candidate. I am not trying to wade into a political polemic or fray—that’s been done. It’s just that there seems to be a seismic-registering shaking of some folks’ faith expressed in their question, “Where was God on election/certification/inauguration day?” And, it’s not just presidential elections that produce the “Where was God?” question. Life is full of sharp disappointments, devastating loss, heart-wrenching betrayal, painful disease, and injury that spawn the question, “Where was God?” and, if one is currently living such calamity, “Where IS God?” “Where was God on election day?” I have another question, “Where was God on Crucifixion Day?” I’m not the first to ask it. Jesus did. “And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying,… ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’” (Mat 27:46). We take this as Jesus’ awareness and declaration that the Father had abandoned Him while He hanged on the cross. However, I think there is real hope in realizing we may have gotten Jesus’ questioning all wrong. You see, I don’t think that for one second Jesus really thought that the Father had forsaken Him, abandoned Him, left Him alone, walled Him off from Himself, or exiled Him to a God-free alternate-universe. I believe, Jesus is revealing, not that He thought or knew the Father had abandoned Him, but that on the cross while bearing humanity’s separating-from-God sin and experiencing the wrath of God upon that sin, He FELT like that the Father had abandoned Him. It seemed that the Father had turned His back on the Son. He knew it was not true. But that is the way it appeared—to any observer too. However, the Father had NOT left Him! How can I say that so emphatically? Because, at the moment Jesus is asking the question, “Why hast thou forsaken me?” He is praying to the Father. Unless deluded, you and I won't continue to talk to someone who we know has left the room, the house. Neither did Jesus. Jesus was praying the words of Psalm 22 and, by doing so, pointing the observing crowd’s attention to that Messianic psalm which is full of prophecies of His substitutionary death that He was at that moment fulfilling. So much can be explored by exactly what Jesus meant by “My God, why have you forsaken me,” but, in the end, it cannot be supposed that God had actually forsaken Him nor that Jesus believed He had. The torture of the cross and the sin and wrath Jesus bore, made it feel as if God had forsaken Him. Perhaps, a little illustration may help: In flight, prior to 9-11, the door to the cockpit was often left open. The plane would hit successive turbulence that rocked and yawed the plane, and passengers would look up from their books, open their eyes from sleep, or turn their heads from the one with whom they were chatting and peer up the aisle toward the cockpit. There they would see the pilot in his seat, hands on the yoke, steadily and calmly flying the plane. Reassured, the passengers would return to their activities. Now, post-911, before takeoff, the door to the cockpit is closed and locked shut. Passengers will not see the pilot again until the plane lands. Hitting turbulence, the plane shudders as it rocks and yaws. The passengers look up the aisle towards the cockpit and see nothing but its door. They cannot see the pilot. For all they know, the cockpit is empty. Or the pilot has had a heart attack. Or the pilot is a malevolent terrorist. There is no reassurance. In fact, it feels like, it seems, it appears, that there is no pilot at all, no one controlling the plane. Perhaps they never articulate the question, but in a storm, the passengers are asking, “Where is the pilot?” It definitely feels like there is no one. Or, that he’s away from the controls. Often in the turbulence of life, God’s presence, involvement, and voice are veiled from the eyes of our experience. The cockpit door is closed. With each roller-coaster bump and jerk, we ask, “Where is God?” It feels He is no longer around. Often, in a storm, there is nothing but silence from the cockpit. The pilot, busy with controlling the plane, says nothing to the passengers. But, flying the plane out the other side of the storm, the pilot suddenly speaks over the public address system announcing that they are through the rough storm and assuring them that they had been safe throughout their experience. One thing for sure, when the plane has safely landed on the tarmac, chocked at the terminal, the cockpit’s door is opened. The pilot appears, standing outside the cockpit, and the passengers receive his greeting as they exit the plane. He had been there all along. We often doubt God is there; doubt that He is piloting our plane. But, if not before, when this trip of life ends and this plane of faith lands, the cockpit door of the temporal and visible will be opened. We shall see the Pilot has been there along as He greets and welcomes us to eternity’s terminal. Then we will concede, in the roughest of times, it only felt as if He were not there—He always was.

WHERE IS GOD?

Contact

Follow Us