God has turned his face from us

Has God Stepped Back?

Is it easier not to believe in something than to believe that something once cared—and doesn’t anymore? I’ve never doubted that God exists. In my heart, mind, and spirit, I know He’s real. There’s too much evidence of design, order, and power in the universe. I believe He can do anything: hear every thought, split His attention among billions, and know exactly how one small change affects countless others. His power is limitless.

But what if limitless doesn’t mean constant involvement? What if the Creator chose to step back?

The Silence Feels Personal

Lately, I’ve felt abandoned by God. Not because I think He can’t help, but because He doesn’t seem to. My prayers—some of them desperate—go unanswered. My family’s pain, my brother’s struggles and loss, the brokenness I see everywhere… stillness. Silence. It hurts deeply to believe God could intervene and yet remain quiet.

The psalmist knew this feeling:
“Awake! Why are You sleeping, O Lord? … Why do You hide Your face?” (Psalm 44:23–24).
Job felt it too:
“I cry to You for help, but You do not answer me.” (Job 30:20).

Even biblical figures wrestled with divine silence. Their words remind me I’m not alone in wondering where God went.

When God “Hides His Face”

Scripture shows there are times when God appears to withdraw.
In Deuteronomy 31:17–18, God says, “I will forsake them and hide My face from them.”
In Isaiah 8:17, the prophet declares, “I will wait for the Lord, who is hiding His face from the house of Jacob.”
And in Ezekiel 39:23–24, God “hid His face” because of Israel’s unfaithfulness.

These verses describe not a vanishing God, but a silent observer—still present, but withholding direct aid or revelation. It’s not annihilation, but restraint. A God who steps back to let consequence, time, and human choice unfold.

A Pattern of Divine Distance

Between the Old and New Testaments, there were roughly 400 years when no prophets spoke—often called the “silent years.” No new revelation, no angelic appearances. Many believe this “pause” was deliberate divine restraint—a sacred quiet before Christ’s arrival.

Could there be similar seasons even now—eras when God chooses to watch rather than intervene?

Paul once described a kind of divine letting-go in Romans 1:24–28: “God gave them over…” Three times, he repeats it. God allows humanity to chase its own path—not abandoning creation, but releasing it to learn the weight of its freedom.

Free Will and a Hands-Off God

Genesis tells us God gave humanity dominion over the earth (Genesis 1–3), while Psalm 115:16 says, “The heavens belong to the Lord, but the earth He has given to the children of man.”

That passage always strikes me: what if Earth truly is ours to run—granted stewardship, but with autonomy? Maybe God owns the system but no longer micromanages it. Maybe His love is seen in allowing us choice, even when it breaks His heart.

Faith in a Watching God

I still believe in miracles. I’ve heard stories of prayers answered in extraordinary ways. But for every story of healing, I see countless others who prayed just as hard and didn’t get a miracle. Why one child and not another? Why one parent saved and not the rest?

Perhaps God’s hand is lighter now—small nudges that are easy to miss, shaping outcomes through subtle alignments of conscience, logic, and law rather than thunderbolts and burning bushes. Maybe His silence isn’t absence, but intentional restraint.

Deuteronomy calls this “hiding His face.” The prophets call it waiting. The psalms call it sorrow. Maybe it’s just love letting go long enough for us to grow.

Still Believing, Still Hurt

I know He exists. I know He can act. But I fear He simply… doesn’t anymore. And that hurts more than disbelief ever could.

Yet even in that fear, I think of Isaiah’s words: “I will wait for the Lord, who is hiding His face… and I will hope in Him.” Maybe all that’s left for me is faith in a God who seems gone but never truly is.

And so I keep watching too. Waiting. Hoping He’ll speak again—if not to the world, at least to me.