March 7, 2004
"When God Grows Distant"
Riley E. Jensen

As one who has carried the high privilege and sometimes the burden of having the title of “Reverend” in front of his name, I long ago adjusted to the fact that if I am out to dinner with friends or parishioners, there will often be a little uncomfortable jostling as we are seated at the table and the host will say to me, “Reverend, would you mind?”

And I really don’t mind.  It kind of goes with the territory.  I understand the discomfort of someone offering a prayer in front of a professional.  On the other hand when I am on the golf course and am told for the zillionth time that I am in charge of the weather, I start to get a little edgy because then we are just a hop-skip-and-a-jump from assuming that the “Reverend” is in a position to solicit special favors from the Lord of the universe.

I can offer disclaimers from now to kingdom come but there is something about our relationship which makes it important for you to believe that while you may feel distance from God on occasion -- it never happens to me!  Of course, that is not true and it represents one of the great challenges to the faith of all of us.

These first verses of John 14 are some of the most beautiful and comforting in all of scripture.  Most often they are read at those times when the distance from God can seem the most acute -- during a time of loss and death.  Then we hear again, hoping that it will provide a booster shot for faith, “Let not your hearts be troubled; believe in God; believe also in me.”

I.                 It May Not Be God Who Is Growing Distant

Dealing with death is certainly the reality that overarches all of our lives.  It symbolizes for us the great separation.  Even Jesus cried out from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  It is, of course, the death of Jesus that provides the context for these verses, and the fear is that with his absence God is also withdrawing God’s presence.

Just a few verses before we find a hysterical Peter practically throwing a tantrum like a child who kicks and screams when a parent leaves to run an errand.  Then in the opening words of John 14 come the words of reassurance, “If I go, I will come again!”

The truth is that there are times when we all have that feeling of the absence of God, the feeling that God has left us, and it is very personal.  We paint it in the dark hues of rejection, and we enter the slough of despondency.  On the men’s retreat a few months ago Kirk Brink introduced us to Rembrandt’s painting of the Prodigal Son and Henri Nouwen’s commentary on it.  In the painting there is the moving scene of the Prodigal knelt in front of his father, the father holding his head in both hands.  Off to the right, observing this reunion with great detachment is the unmistakable figure of the elder brother.

Later in the story (as Jesus tells it) when the elder brother expresses his anger and resentment at the special treatment given his brother, the father extends the wonderful verbal embrace, “My son, you are with me always, and all that I have is yours.”

It is therefore left for us to consider that when God grows distant, it may not be God who is growing distant.  In my first church I had as one of my parishioners a former Baptist minister.  As we got acquainted, I heard his story as to why he was a “former” Baptist minister.  He told it as a Pauline experience in reverse.  By the numbers he had been a very successful pastor building his church into the thousands.  But then one morning he woke up and it was all gone!  It was as if there had been a leak in his spirit during the night and all of his faith had drained out.  He could no longer mount the pulpit for he had nothing to say.  His faith was gone.  God had withdrawn.

As dramatic as that story was, my curiosity piqued because the man standing in front of me was not beaten and broken but seemed to have a life filled with meaning and purpose.  I couldn’t help but wonder aloud how he had rebuilt his life and faith.  Then he explained to me that after he experienced his “nervous breakdown”, he left the church and wandered aimlessly for a while.  He entered teaching as a profession, and then one day found himself in the study of a respected minister in the community with the question of how he could start over again, not to become a minister but to fill the deep spiritual void in his life.

The wise pastor turned the question back upon him asking him if there was anything that he could say he still believed.  “Yes”, said my friend, “I still believe in the ethics of Jesus.”  “Fine”, said the pastor, “Let’s start there.”  I think that Jesus is saying the same thing to Phillip in our scripture lesson, “If you cannot believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me (in other words that I have this special relationship to God) then believe me because of the works themselves.”  You see, even when we feel that God is distant and that we have lost any faith in God’s presence at all, there is usually a seed that can represent the residue of a new beginning.

II.  It Can Be An Opportunity for Empowerment

When it feels like God is growing distant from us, it may not be God who is growing distant at all.  You’ve heard that homey piece of advice, “It’s not what you do when things are going well that counts; it is whether you pick yourself up after being knocked down.”

In fact the promise of Jesus in this passage is that his absence would be the opportunity for great empowerment:  “When I go to the Father, you will not only do the works that I do but you will do greater works than these.”  Now that is a mouth-full and it is difficult to comprehend when one’s faith has been in a dependent mode.  The disciples had been following Jesus around.  They had been watching.  They had been looking to him and leaning on him for their strength and support.  But now in his absence he is telling them, “You are going to get your strength in a different way.”

Perhaps some of you remember that cartoon with people on the roof of a house, the flood waters rising all about them waving away rescue boats that are circling around them with the words, “God will save us.”  That picture is always cause for a chuckle because it is so ridiculous, but (of course) that is what we often do isn’t it -- we refuse to accept the gifts God gives us in the most ordinary ways.

So far this year, the book that has moved and inspired me the most is Lew Smedes spiritual biography My God and I.  I think that the book meant so much to me because of its surprising honesty.  Smedes was not the kind of person who would be looking to the heavens for “God to save him” while rescuers paddled all around.  At one point he caught me up short when talking about the many wonderful ways in which God had worked in his life.  My head started nodding a bit at the predictable rhythm of the God-talk when all of a sudden I was caught up short.  He quickly had my full attention.  I re-read the line.  Did he really say that one of the greatest gifts God has given me is the little pill I take every morning to treat my clinical depression?

You see, God may not be as far from us as we think but we need eyes to see how God is working in our life.

III.  It Is Always a Matter of Memory

Whether or not God actually grows distant from us, whether or not this is a time of testing or an opportunity for empowerment, there is no question that there are times when we feel the distance and it doesn’t feel good.  And so the question becomes, how do we manage that, how do we work our way through it?  How do we live with the experience of distance from God?  How do we walk through the valley of the shadow until we are once again in that place of light?

The word of hope that I would offer is that it may be a matter of memory.  If that sounds too simple, hear me out.  My friend Jim went to the bedside of his father knowing that his death was imminent.  His father was a crusty old saint whose faith was more practical than pious.  He knew he was dying and when his son asked him how he was doing, he answered with the words of memory, “I have faced a lot of obstacles in my life and God has always seen me through; this is just one more obstacle.”

How do we manage the difficult times?  How do we work through that sense that God has taken a vacation?  It’s a matter of memory.  Remember!  Remember the good times.  Remember the close occasions.  Remember the profound worship.  Remember the Lord’s Table.  Remember your baptism.  Remember the bread and the cup.  Remember your Christian friends.

A word to our young people!  That’s what we do around here.  It may seem a bit boring to you at times, but we are making memories that will help you and sustain you at other times in your life.  That’s why we tell you the stories of faith; that’s why we sing the songs; that’s why we memorize scripture.  That’s why there are older folks around here who share their stories with you.  Listen carefully and then you will remember when you need to.

Fred Craddock tells a wonderful story that reminds us that God is never far from us, and when it seems so it is for our strengthening and empowerment.  He tells of a minister in New York City with whom he was acquainted who had no arms, and who shared with him the early childhood experience of learning to put on his own cloths.

He said that his mother always dressed him and fed him.  But one day she suddenly put his clothes in the middle of the floor and said, “Dress yourself.”  He said, “I can’t dress myself.”  She said, “You’ll have to dress yourself.”  He shared, “I kicked, I screamed, I kicked, I screamed, I yelled at my mother, ‘You don’t love me anymore.’”  Finally he realized that if he was going to get any clothes on, he would have to put them on himself.  After hours of struggle he got his clothes on.  He said that it was not until much later that he learned his mother was in the next room crying.

You see, when God seems distant, God may just be in the next room forcing us to be the people we have been called to be.

Let us come to the Table where God promises God’s presence even when we don’t feel it.  Let us come to the Table and remember!

Amen.