American popular theology likes to focus on the joys of a relationship with God; and this is not necessarily a bad thing. However, it has left many Christians with an anemic theology that does not adequately grapple with pain, suffering, death and times when God seems to be distant and silent. We like to talk about the nearness of God, but not his farness or otherness. We like to express the beauty of his revealed Word and share times when the real presence of God broke upon us in a difficult time.
My limited experience among American Christians has been that we avoid looking into the times that God appears silent and distant toward us. We squirm in awkward silence when someone shares such an experience. It seems to us to walk the edge of doubt and unbelief in the goodness of God and the rewards of following him; and we are afraid of falling off that edge. Particularly among Pentecostals and Charismatics, who relish the personal experience of God’s presence and power, admitting to such a struggle almost comes across as a complete abandonment of the faith.
I have known the distance and silence of God. Some spiritual fathers and mothers of the faith have called it “the wilderness.” They have likened it to the wilderness experiences of others in the Bible; most notably Elijah and Jesus. Elijah fled to the wilderness. Jesus was led there by the Holy Spirit. For both, God does not appear, speak, or comfort until the end of the wilderness experience. The “desert fathers” of the early Christian faith sought out the wilderness experience and what it could teach them. Me? I would rather avoid it.
Nevertheless, I have had my experiences in the spiritual wilderness where God is silent and distant. One such instance marked me for life because of what I both experienced and learned through the ordeal. A number of years ago, during my first pastorate at Quilcene Assembly of God, the Lord allowed me to go through a dark and terrible time where he seemed silent and distant. Nothing I seemed to do appeared to help – no spiritual discipline, no trumped up spiritual fervor, nor any amount of crying out in prayer. I felt abandoned.
I was warned of the coming wilderness event, however, by a good friend. Ron Frantz and I had begun a close spiritual relationship and began speaking into each others life. Ron had displayed great love for me and was interested in helping me grow spiritually as well as a leader of that small congregation of believers. We both had a passion to see God glorified in the small logging community. I not only knew that Ron prayed, but I also knew that he heard from the Lord. One day, on his way to work for a few months in the Eastern United States, he stopped by the office to pray for me and say good-bye.
Before he left, he told me that the Lord had given him a word of encouragement for me. I was excited to hear what the Lord might possibly say to encourage me and our small congregation. With a small grin on his face and a look of compassion that expressed a genuineness that those who know Ron will know well, he told me,
“The Lord wants you to know that in the days ahead you are going to go through a very dark time. While it may seem like the Lord is not present, the Lord wants you to know that he will be with you and not leave you.”
I was stunned. “THAT’S the ‘encouraging word’!? I’m going to go through a dark time?”
“No,” Ron said. “That the Lord is going to be there in the midst of it.”
“And you’re leaving town,” I noted. “Thanks for the warning...and encouragement. I think.”
“Well, I’ll be praying for you while I’m away. I’m sure the Lord has something special for you through it because He loves you so much.”
That is a typical Ron Frantz’ response. He always focuses upon the goodness and love of God in all circumstances. It is what makes him so endearing, such a great friend, and wonderful spiritual companion on life’s road. I am sure that even as a child, when his mother or father spanked him, he must have turned around afterward and said something like, “Thanks for that. I know you did it because you love me so much.”
We prayed and parted our ways. Ron headed east and I headed went back to pastoring the folks of Quilcene and raising a young family. Soon, I would forget about what Ron shared with me as time and activity erased the memory of it. It would take being in the middle of a spiritual wilderness to jog it loose.
It was only a few months later that I found myself entering into unfamiliar spiritual waters. It was a time of a spiritual wilderness that brought uncertainty about my call to ministry, my worth, and my relationship with God. I slowly slipped into a period of time where God seemed remote and distant. Prayers did not seem to go any farther than the ceiling.
The heavens seemed closed. Studying God’s Word for personal devotions or for sermon preparation felt lifeless. Preaching and teaching God’s Word was drier than the Dead Sea Scrolls. I found no joy or satisfaction in any of it. But the worse of it was how distant I felt from God and how silent he seemed to become. Yet, despite all of this; strangely enough, the church congregation grew and prospered.
This brought about a real crisis of faith and torment of the soul. Did I do something to displease God? Did I sin and alienate God? No amount of soul-searching brought any answers. I doubted my call to ministry. I doubted my ability to lead a congregation. I wrestled with giving up and throwing in the towel. Then, one day, Ron’s encouraging word before he left came back to me. I had been forewarned about this experience! This is what Ron must have been talking about and encouraged me to remember that God was present despite what I felt.
For a few months, the words Ron spoke into my life were the only thing I had to hold on to. Sure, I had the promises of God’s Word. But whenever I read God’s Word, there seemed to be no life in them. Sure, I had personal communication with God, but fellowship through prayer seemed dead and to be only one-way. I would often repeat to myself, “Lord, you promised your presence at all times. You even sent Ron to personally tell me. I choose to believe that you are here even though it seems that you are not.”
Soon, however, that personal confirmation did not seem to be enough. I could not talk myself out of the dark despair of what seemed to me to be God’s absence and silence. My prayer became singular and focused upon only one request, “God, I am human. I need to know you are here and that you are pleased with me. If I know that, I can keep going.” For many weeks, that was my only prayer. I shared it with no one. Few people knew the cry of my heart.

Mount Rainier, 2002 ©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)
Months later, Ron Frantz returned from working out east. He was anxious to go to a conference in Moses Lake, WA. with me and a mutual friend of ours, Ray Canterbury. I was not as excited about the conference as much as I was looking forward to time away with two good friends. The Lord had knitted our lives together spiritually and we were learning a lot from each other.
The last meeting of the conference, we sat up front and were anticipating the return trip home. The speakers and worship had been good. However, for myself, I did not enjoy them as much as others appeared to be around me. My soul was in anguish. God seemed to be distant and silent. I sat in my chair and prayed only one prayer. I went to the pre-service prayer times and prayed only one prayer: “God, I am human. I need to know you are here and that you are pleased with me. If I know that, I can keep going.” I had no other prayer. I could pray no other prayer.
As the meeting was wrapping up, and we began to look at each other to check on whether it was the right time to exit, one of the speakers came over to us and said, “Do you guys all know each other?”
“Yes,” we replied.
“I believe that Lord has a word for each of you. Why don’t you come up here for a moment,” he offered.
At this, I have to admit I was not spiritually minded at all. My first thought was, “Great! This is all I need.” Truthfully, I just wanted to head home and was anxious about getting back on the road. We had a long drive ahead of us. Plus, the fellowship and discussion in the car would be much more invigorating than whatever this guy had to say to us. I am more than a little skeptical of strangers who do not know me, and whom I do not know, giving me “words from the Lord.” My experience has been that more often than not, they are good intentions that completely miss the mark.
As the guest speaker was talking to each of my friends, I felt my spirit shrink. “All right, Lord,” I prayed. “If you want to speak through this person to me, then I will receive it. But the only thing I am really interested in is what I have already been asking you for these past months. God, I am only human. I really need to know you that are here and that you are pleased with me. If I know that, I can keep going.” Then, I waited.
Soon, this spiritual stranger was standing in front of me. I shifted me feet nervously, wondering what the outcome of this chance meeting was going to bring. My main worry was that it was not going to be too embarrassing. I was suspecting that “the word from the Lord” was going to be some meaningless, generic pabulum spoken over countless lives before me. My expectations could not have been any lower.
He stood in silence a few moments before me as if to examine me. “You are the pastor of this group, aren’t you?”
“Good guess,” I thought. I was dressed very unpastoral, but something must have given him a clue, I thought.
“Well, the Lord wants you to know that he is with you. That he has never left you. And that he is pleased with you.”
I was shocked. These were the only words that he could have spoken that would have meant anything to me. It was as if he read my mail. Of course, he did not, but the Holy Spirit at work through him did. He said a few things after this but I heard nothing else. I broke into tears and weeping as the realization of what I had just heard hit me. God had heard my hearts cry, spanned the distance I felt, and broke the silence by speaking directly into my life and situation in a way that was unmistakable. Ron was right. The Lord did have something special for me in it all. He does love me very much.
As you can imagine, the ride home was very lively as we all shared our impressions and experiences of the conference. It went much faster than we wanted. I shared with Ray and Ron my experiences over the past months and the impact of my experience as the speaker at the conference spoke into my life something no one else could have possibly known. From that time on, there was a freshness to my spiritual journey I had never experienced before.
I cannot explain to anyone why God sends us through periods where he seems to be distant and silent towards us. I know some who have had an experience like this last years instead of months. I know some who came through these times scarred instead of healed. I know others who have come through wilderness times more spiritually empowered than ever before. God does not seem to need to explain himself. He is God – even when distant and silent.
©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)
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