Why God Hides Himself
Habakkuk iii. 4 v. “There was the hiding -of his power.”
My Father pretends to be not omnipotent. It is the most beautiful fiction in all the world. It gives me what I call the freedom of the will. He puts me on an open plain, and tells me to walk alone. He never really lets me go, never loses hold of the fringe of my garment; but He hides the guidance of His hand, and h 2 makes it appear as if He were not there. He stands at a seeming distance, and says “Come.” He makes me think that I am all by myself. He does not let me see His everlasting arms around me. He does not let me feel the encircling care lest I dash my foot against a stone. He does not let me know that I am guarded utterly, jealously, all round. He conceals His supporting arm in a mist; He leaves a margin for my own choice. If I need the fire by night, I need still more the cloud by day. So much vision would destroy my manhood; it would compel me to come in. I must not be compelled to come in; I must come of my own accord. I must not be driven from forbidden fruit by the flaming sword and the cherubim. The stars are so driven; there is compulsion into the way of light. But into the way of life there is no compulsion. I am not a star; I am a soul. I may not be driven; I must choose. God must hide himself amid the trees of the garden that I may feel myself to be free.
Therefore, I am glad, oh, my Father, that Thou hast not wholly revealed Thyself; I am glad there is a cloud as well as a bow. Men praise Thee for Thy many voices; they ought to praise Thee for Thy silence too. Thy silence is precious to me; it gives a voice to my heart. In Thy silence my heart finds room; faith soars, imagination speeds, hope beckons, will longs, conscience cries. Thy silence is my music; Thy shadow is my revealing; Thy night is my day. When I see not Thy hand of retribution, I awake to the majesty of unaided virtue. When I hear not the sound of Thy last trumpet, I listen to the judgment of the still, small voice. When I read not Thy writing on the wall, I consult the tables of my own book of life. The ceasing of the thunders of Sinai has left room for the sighing of my love; I am glad that Thou hast hid the fulness of Thy power.