When God Seems Silent
Nourishment for the Soul
In the Midst of Ruins
Holy Wednesday is sometimes called “Spy Wednesday,” the day we remember Judas’s betrayal taking root in secret. The shadow of the cross grows long as we approach the Upper Room, Gethsemane, and ultimately Golgotha. This is a day heavy with lament, sorrow, and the ache of God’s apparent silence. And for that reason, Psalm 74 is a fitting meditation. It’s a community lament, crying out from the ashes of devastation: “O God, why do you cast us off forever? Why does your anger smoke against the sheep of your pasture?” (v. 1).
This psalm isn’t tidy or sanitized. It’s honest. It confronts God with questions we, too, often carry silently in our hearts: Why have you allowed this? Why are you silent? Why do you seem absent when we need you most? Israel speaks from a place of desolation, most likely after the destruction of the temple. The sanctuary is in ruins. The holy places have been violated. The signs of God’s power seem distant. And yet, they still call him “our King of old” (v. 12). That’s faith - not denying the devastation, but bringing it to the only One who can redeem it.
A Prayer for the Forgotten
“Remember your congregation, which you have purchased of old…” (v. 2). Over and over, the psalmist pleads with God to remember. Not because God is forgetful, but because they feel forgotten. That’s the emotional and spiritual weight of Holy Wednesday. As Jesus moves closer to betrayal, his disciples begin to drift. Judas plots. The others argue. The weight of the mission seems lost on everyone but the One bearing it.
Yet Jesus presses on. He, too, will soon cry out a psalm of lament: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1; Matthew 27:46). In this way, Christ enters into the full sorrow of the human condition. He knows what it is to feel abandoned. He knows the taste of betrayal, the sting of loss, the silence of heaven. Psalm 74 isn’t just Israel’s lament - it foreshadows the deep sorrow of Holy Week, where even the Son of God walks through the valley of devastation for our sake.
God, Our King of Old
Despite the devastation around them, the psalmist doesn’t ultimately give in to despair. Instead, there’s a turning point: “Yet God my King is from of old, working salvation in the midst of the earth” (v. 12). This is a bold declaration of faith, a refusal to let the current darkness erase God’s past faithfulness. The psalm recounts the great deeds of God - dividing the sea, crushing Leviathan, opening up springs and streams, establishing the sun and moon. These aren’t just historical memories; they’re theological anchors.
In the darkness of Holy Week, we must return to who God is and what he has done. The Cross will look like failure. The tomb will look like silence. But we must say with the psalmist: “Yet God is King.” He is not idle. He is not defeated. He’s working salvation - yes, even in middle earth, even in the silence, even through the Cross.
Holy Wednesday and Our Own Waiting
Many of us live in a kind of Holy Wednesday. We believe in resurrection, but we’re not there yet. We’ve seen the ruins - of broken relationships, of dashed hopes, of churches that once stood strong. We know what it means to feel God’s absence more than his presence. And yet, in that place, Psalm 74 teaches us to pray. Not with shallow clichés, but with honest lament. Not with despair, but with hope anchored in the faithfulness of God.
As Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said from his prison cell, “God does not give us everything we want, but he does fulfill his promises - leading us along the best and straightest paths to himself.” The God who seemed silent in the temple ruins wasn’t absent. The God who was crucified outside the city walls wasn’t defeated. And the God who sometimes seems far off in our lives hasn’t forgotten us. Holy Wednesday reminds us to wait - to trust that even in betrayal and silence, God is preparing redemption.
Remember the Covenant, O Lord
Near the end of the psalm, the plea intensifies: “Have regard for the covenant, for the dark places of the land are full of the habitations of violence” (v. 20). This is a prayer rooted not in our performance but in God’s promises. When all else fails - when we don’t know what to pray, when the ruins are too heavy to name - we cling to the covenant. The New Covenant in Christ’s blood was not signed in ease but sealed in suffering.
The Cross wasn’t the absence of God’s power - it was its greatest expression. In the moment of apparent defeat, God was reconciling the world to himself. That’s the kind of God we worship. A God who doesn’t just speak from mountaintops but walks with us through the ashes. A God who remembers when we feel forgotten. A God who raises the dead.
He Has Not Forgotten You
Psalm 74 closes not with resolution but with prayer. There’s no neat ending - just the cry: “Arise, O God, defend your cause” (v. 22). That’s where many of us live - in the gap between prayer and fulfillment. But even there, there’s hope. Because we serve a Savior who did rise on the third day. He stood in defense of the lost, the broken, the sinful. And he will come again to judge, to restore, and to make all things new.
As we move into the final days of Lent and the solemn beauty of the Triduum, may we carry Psalm 74 with us - not as a psalm of despair, but of honest faith. Our King hasn’t despised the affliction of the afflicted. He hasn’t hidden his face. And he won’t forget his people.
Questions for Personal Reflection
Have you ever experienced a time when it felt like God was silent or absent? How did you respond?
How does Psalm 74 encourage you to pray honestly during seasons of sorrow?
What promises of God - his covenant, his past faithfulness, his resurrection - help you hold on in the midst of waiting?
Walking Points
Take time today to pray through Psalm 74 slowly and honestly. Use it as a model for your own lament and trust.
Consider writing down a few moments from your life when God seemed silent - and reflect on how he eventually revealed his presence and power.
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