A Providential Absence of God

“Lazarus is dead, and I am glad for your sakes that I was not there.” — John xi. 14, 15.

There may be a benevolent absence of God; say rather there may be an absence of God which is a phase of His providential presence. Strange at first glance read the Divine words, “I was glad that I was not there.” Glad for what? Does He mean that had He been there Lazarus would not have died? Yes, that is undoubtedly His meaning: He says just what Martha said. He felt that had He been there His human sympathy would have overcome Him, and the stroke of death would have been averted. But why be glad for this? Martha was not glad of it, it was the special cause of her sorrow. Yes, but Martha did not see the end; she beheld only the closing of the grave over her dead, not its re-opening to give her dead back again. He beheld what Martha did not behold. He saw the possibility of a greater glory through the suffering than could be reached without the suffering. He saw that the shining after rain would be clearer than the light that had never been dimmed with tears, and He rejoiced in that momentary absence of His person which had given to His love so much more power to bestow.

My soul, there are times when thou lamentest the absence of any visible sign that thy God is near. There are seasons when thou criest in the night, “Why art Thou so far from helping me?” “My way is hid from the Lord, and my judgment is passed over from my God.” Thinkest thou that the hiding of His face from thee comes from His forgetfulness of thee? Nay, but from His very excess of mindfulness. His seeming absence is itself a form of His presence, His refusal to intervene in thy sorrow is itself an act of divinest intervention. Thy sorrow is His messenger to thy heart, and it is a messenger of love. It comes to bring thee a greater glory than it takes away. It is sent to press the flower of life to make it pour forth its perfume. It comes to break the alabaster box, but only that the fragrance which it imprisons within itself may be diffused far and wide and fill the house of humanity. Thy Father rejoices that He is not there. He would not interfere with that which is the discipline, the unfolding of thy heart. He would grieve to grant thee a temporary cessation of pain at the expense of a permanent loss of power. His best gift to thee has been the absence of His intervening power. His best answer to thee has been His refusal to interfere with the discipline of thy human sorrow. His best love to thee has been His silence in the night, when thou madest thy petition that the night might be removed. One day thou shalt thank Him for His silence, one day thou shalt bless Him for His passiveness, one day thou shalt find the treasures of the night, and praise Thy Father that He let thee sojourn there.