March 30-The Hiddenness of God Luke 24:13-24

What do you do when God is silent? What do you do when God seems distance or absent?
We are beginning a four week series "On the road to Emmaus”. This is a story that happened late in the afternoon on that first Easter day. It begins with two disciples walking down the road to the town of Emmaus. It begins with silence. Jesus had died and with his death went their hopes for the redemption of their lives and of their nation, Israel. As they walked, they practiced the ancient Jewish custom of talking about the law when they traveled. Moses introduced this custom after he gave Israel the law. Walking gave them the opportunity to talk things out, to try and make sense of what happened to Jesus: his rejection, trial and death. Indeed, they had most likely been talking about little else for the past three days. This is a custom worth our adopting. Think of the time we spend waiting in travel, in traffic.
Then Jesus comes and walks alongside them unrecognized. Jesus promised nothing less then he taught that “whenever 2 or 3 witnesses gather in my name, there I will be in the midst of them” (Matt 18:20). The same is true for us today. Remember that whenever we gather in Jesus’ name, in a small group, with a prayer partner, in a committee meeting, Jesus comes and walks alongside us. We don’t see him, but he is in our midst none the less.
Then Jesus enters into the conversation by asking a question. In the gospel’s Jesus often began an interaction by asking a question. To Bartimaeus the blind man, he asked “What do you want?” To the 2 disciples of John, he asked “What are you seeking?” To the man by the pool of Bethsaida, he asked “Do you want do get well?” To the Samaritan woman, he asked “Will you give me a drink?” These questions put the focus on the disciples, on those Jesus is interacting with. Jesus loves us and is interested in discussing whatever is on our hearts.
I wonder if the silence of God is part of his entering into a conversation with us. When I experience the silence of God, I often hear a question well up deep within the quiet. Like the way an effective counselor will be still, giving us room, and suddenly we are pouring out our hearts.
The two disciples are silent for a moment. After all, they didn’t know Jesus and if he is working for the Jewish authorities, they could be arrested for their allegiance with Jesus. Cleopas takes a chance and begins, cautiously. Jesus asks another question, “What things?” scratching the surface a little deeper. So Cleopas pours out his heart. His grief and bewilderment are so great he tosses caution to the winds and tells this stranger everything, including Cleopas’ allegiance with Jesus. It’s all a jumble, but there it is.
What do you do when God is silent? I keep telling you to believe in God and all that from up front. Then you set aside time for God, begin to pray, sincerely, earnestly, and you hear nothing but silence.
The answer might be simple—sin. In other words, we have wandered away from God. His silence merely reflects the distance we have put between ourselves and God. But what if we have not done anything particularly wrong? What if, it appears as if God has withdrawn from us? What do we do then?
At those times, it’s important to remember that God has a purpose for these times of silence. First, silence is a regular part of our walk with God. According to the Westminster confession of faith—a summary of Reformed Theology written in the 17th century used by the Presbyterian church, God seems to withdraw his presence for a season to test us, to show us our hearts, our weakness, so we will cling to him all the more. According to the Hebrew prophet Habakkuk “the righteous will live by faith” not by sight. Paul repeats this principle in his letters. To remove signs of God’s presence, his silence in words and in provision compels us to lean all the more on just faith.
St John of the Cross, a16th century Spanish mystic, confessor for St Theresa, wrote about this experience in his poem “The dark night of the soul.” For those wishing to know God, they must embrace the path of nothingness as the way towards having everything. He called this the ascent to Mt Carmel—or union with God. He exhorts us to accept our worst circumstances, with thankfulness, with joy, for these terrible gifts will put our feet on the straightest road to knowing God. Our world pulls at us to expect everything, on time, right away, yet it leaves us wanting more, impatient, and bored. The way to contentment is for us to expect nothing.. If you want to become loving go where there is no love. If you want to be faithful, go where there is faithlessness. If you want to become patient, go to the land of delays. If you want to become joyful, dwell with depression.
This is counterintuitive and extremely difficult. In fact, this is impossible for us.
But as followers of Christ, we are never truly alone. For in the darkness of depression, of poverty, of pain, of betrayal, of loss, of grief, the man of sorrows, one acquainted with grief, walks with us like he did with those 2 disciples on the road to Emmaus. The gentle shepherd of our souls and once instructed in the hard school of loss, we will become forever full of the fruits of righteousness, of joy and patience, goodness and kindness, of love and purity.
This is the road Jesus traveled. This is the road he bids us to walk. This is the straight path to glory. Few travel it. What will you do?
He is risen,
James