God has not moved

There is no way to read the Bible, without concluding that, through thick and thin, God keeps coming back.

Bishop Edward B. Scharfenberger

Alone in the dark. Drifting at sea. Lost in a crowd. Trapped in a sticky web of addiction. Abandoned. Jilted. All of these metaphors for the terror of being friendless and without hope are a primal fear of every human being. There are certainly times in our lives when, yes, “I want to be alone” like Greta Garbo pleaded in “Grand Hotel” (1932). A petulant child will slam the door to sulk in silence to pout in protest against parental discipline. There may be “mad at God” moments in our lives wherein, frustrated that God does not seem responsive to our needs and demands, we just stop praying or attending Mass, wondering if God cares or even exists.

“There are no atheists on a sinking ship,” it is said. That may be so. Certainly, there are tales of dramatic conversions in desperate situations. In fact, the hymn, “Amazing Grace,” was inspired in part by a man, John Newton, who survived a violent storm, and crying out at sea for God’s mercy, began a process of conversion that radically changed his life. But it can go another way, too. 

People who have been hurt and abused sometimes become so despondent that they cannot believe it possible that any benevolent, let alone loving God could permit such pain and tragedy as they or a loved one may have experienced. I can only say that if anyone reading this column has been there and feels that God, the Church, and maybe even family and friends have abandoned them — or just don’t understand — my heart goes out to you. I know from accompanying as best I can survivors of sexual abuse, particularly by clergy or family members, that feeling any connection with a loving God, even looking at an image such as a crucifix, may be painfully unsettling. It is like God has actually left. How could a God who is kind and present have let me experience the terrible, life-shattering wounds that violated my innocence and trust?

Well-intentioned companions may point to the cross as the ultimate sign of the purest and most innocent one of all being subjected to most horrific and painful torture imaginable. Although Jesus was fully man in his human nature, it is also true that he was a divine person. It is reasonable to question whether his divinity gave him a certain edge over us mere mortals — although nothing in the Scriptures bears witness to him being spared the full agony in any way, including the excruciating psychological anguish of total abandonment, and even by the Father: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

When we are in pain we are often tempted to isolate. We do not want our wounds to be touched. It only hurts more, even if a salve or bandage brings relief, at least in the eyes of the caregiver. Isn’t it a supreme irony that the victim or survivor herself must often take the first step toward healing, perhaps by moving away from one state of being to another? 

I am not talking “forgive and forget.” Certainly, one can never forget deep and scarring wounds or trauma. And forgiving? Well, that is of God and no human can fully release another from the demands of divine justice. Even though Christ gives priests the authority to forgive sins, he does not empower them to absolve penitents of the demands of justice. 

Some Holocaust survivors have decided to forgive their oppressors, not because they deserved it in any way, but to free themselves from being forever in their power — by being their eternal victims. It’s a way of saying, whatever you did to me, you no longer have power over me. “Begone Satan,” in other words. That at least is what Eva Mozes Kor (1934-2019) did. Her story of survival and healing is a path that some may find hope in as well.

Speaking only for myself, what helps me find peace and some degree of security in times of crisis and disorientation, such as what we are experiencing now as nation, where we are not able to tell very easily who is telling us the truth and who is not, who is with us and who is betraying us, who really is for our country and who is an agent of some other power, our faith, if nothing else, reveals to us a God who WANTS to be with us. We may not always feel God is with us or even that God cares about us or understands what we want or need. But there is no way to read the Bible, with all of its twists and turns, quirks and inconsistencies, without concluding that, through thick and thin, God keeps coming back. Is it not more that we have moved?

Timothy Keller (1950-2023), a Presbyterian pastor whom I have admired over the years often said, “God sees us as we are, loves us as we are, and accepts us as we are. But by His grace, He does not leave us where we are.” I cannot help but wonder at times whether our feeling, fear or even conviction that God may have moved or has been absent from our lives — with all due regard for the numbness and shell-shock that accompanies many an injury, especially a traumatic one — may be aggravated by an apprehension that “too much” of God in our life might actual rattle or upend us. In other words, God might dislodge us from a thought, a pattern, an attitude, a lifestyle, a way of thinking, a conviction, even a long-standing way of behaving that we cannot imagine ourselves able to do without. As Keller says, God has no problem meeting us right there where we are, in whatever state we are in, but he does not leave us there.

No. God has not moved, but is as present to each and every one of us as ever. God cannot be absent from us in our joy or sorrow, our elation or depression, our health or infirmity, our virtue or sin. Not realizing that always will not change who God is or what Jesus does for us – and he would have suffered and died on Calvary for you or me if we were the only person in the world. As Pope Saint John Paul II said: “There is no evil to be faced that Christ does not face with us. There is no enemy that Christ has not already conquered. There is no cross to bear that Christ has not already borne for us, and does not now bear with us.”

 @AlbanyDiocese