When God Seems Silent
by Bart Denny
In Psalm 13 (NIV), we read:
How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
3 Look on me and answer, Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
4 and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
5 But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
6 I will sing the Lord’s praise,
for he has been good to me.
There are seasons when life goes dark—and we don’t always know why.
Sometimes the darkness comes from suffering we didn’t choose. A loss we didn’t see coming. Confusion we can’t explain. And if we’re honest, those seasons don’t just test our circumstances; they expose how we respond when God feels quiet.
I know they do for me.
How We React When the Silence Sets In
When life goes dark, my first instinct isn’t always to turn toward God. Sometimes I turn inward. I overthink. I replay conversations and decisions again and again, hoping that if I think hard enough, I’ll find clarity.
Other times, I distract myself. I stay busy so I don’t have to sit with the silence. And sometimes—if I’m really honest—I pull away. I keep praying, but without much expectation. God doesn’t feel close. Not because I’ve stopped believing, but because I don’t know what to do with the quiet.
And I don’t think that’s just me.
When God seems silent, many of us don’t immediately turn toward Him with open hands. We react. We default to whatever helps us survive the waiting.
Some of us withdraw. We don’t stop believing; we just go quiet. Our prayers become vague and cautious—“bless this day… if it’s your will”—because praying with hope feels risky.
Others perform. We assume the silence means something is wrong with us, so we try harder, do more, and turn faith into a scorecard.
Still others try to control. We plan, manage, and fix so we don’t have to sit with uncertainty.
All of these reactions are understandable. They’re deeply human. But none of them brings light. They don’t heal the pain. They don’t draw us closer to God. Often, they deepen the darkness.
Psalm 13 shows us another way.
It doesn’t give us reasons for the silence. It gives us permission—permission to stop reacting and start praying.
Beginning Where Faith Begins: Honest Lament (Psalm 13:1–2)
We don’t know the exact circumstances behind Psalm 13. David doesn’t tell us what triggered this prayer. That matters, because it allows any sufferer to step into his words.
If I had to guess, the most likely backdrop is David’s long conflict with King Saul. After being anointed king, David spent years on the run—hiding in caves, fleeing from city to city. He did everything right and still suffered. This psalm isn’t about a bad week; it’s the sound of prolonged, unresolved pain.
David opens with four words that carry enormous weight: “How long, LORD?” And he asks the question four times.
“How long will you forget me?”
“How long will you hide your face from me?”
“How long must I struggle with sorrow in my heart?”
“How long will my enemy have the upper hand?”
This isn’t impatience. It’s endurance wearing thin.
And notice something crucial: David is not talking about God—he’s talking to God. He addresses Him by His covenant name, Yahweh. When David says God has “forgotten” him or “hidden His face,” he isn’t denying God’s existence. He’s describing what God’s silence feels like inside a relationship.
Lament is not faithlessness. Lament is faith that refuses to pretend.
Throughout Scripture, God’s people bring their confusion and pain directly to Him. Job does. The psalmists do. These are not the prayers of rebels; they are the prayers of worshipers who believe God is still listening, even when it doesn’t feel like it.
Honest lament says, “God, I don’t understand what You’re doing. I don’t like it. I’m upset. But I’m still talking to You.” According to Scripture, that isn’t weak faith. That’s faithful faith.
When Lament Becomes Urgent Prayer (Psalm 13:3–4)
After David names the pain, he doesn’t fall silent. He asks.
“Turn and answer me, O LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will die.”
The tone shifts abruptly—from questions to requests. David treats God’s silence not as permission to disengage, but as a reason to press in.
He asks God to “look” and to “answer”—language that, in Scripture, means renewed attention and faithful action. David isn’t asking for information; he’s asking for presence.
And notice how personal the prayer becomes: “O LORD my God.” Even in silence, David claims relationship.
Urgent prayer in Scripture is never grounded in human deserving. It’s grounded in God’s character. David appeals to God’s covenant honor—“If I fall, my enemies will say they’ve won.” He understands that God has bound His name to His people.
This kind of prayer runs all through Scripture. Moses prays this way. The prophets pray this way. Even Jesus, in Gethsemane, entrusts His anguish to the Father without disengaging from obedience.
Urgent prayer isn’t panic. It’s attentiveness. It’s faith daring to ask God to act before despair has the final word.
Trust That Refuses to Let Silence Win (Psalm 13:5–6)
And then Psalm 13 surprises us.
Without any indication that circumstances have changed, David makes a turn:
“But I trust in your unfailing love.”
That word but matters. It marks a deliberate decision—not because the pain is resolved, but because David chooses where his confidence will rest.
He anchors himself not in the moment, but in God’s character. He speaks as if deliverance has already happened, interpreting the present through the lens of past faithfulness.
This is not denial. It’s defiant trust.
Throughout Scripture, faith often looks like this—not clarity, not explanation, but confidence in God’s character when answers never arrive. Job never receives an explanation. Habakkuk rejoices before deliverance comes. Even Jesus cries out, “Why?”
Biblical faith does not wait for clarity before it trusts. Trust isn’t the reward for understanding. Trust is the decision to rest in who God has revealed Himself to be.
Learning to Wait Faithfully in the Dark
Psalm 13 doesn’t tell us how long the darkness will last. It tells us how to wait while it does.
It gives us practices, not explanations.
When the silence stretches on, faithful waiting might look like this:
Naming the pain honestly before God.
Praying one real request instead of many polite ones.
Anchoring trust in something God has already done.
This isn’t about feeling better. It’s about staying connected.
Some grief doesn’t resolve quickly. Some pain can’t be explained away. Psalm 13 shows us how to remain with God inside those realities.
A Final Invitation
Psalm 13 doesn’t leave us with answers. It leaves us with a question:
Not “Do you understand why God is silent?”
But “How will you stay connected when He seems to be?”
You don’t have to resolve everything today. You don’t have to feel strong. You don’t even have to feel hopeful.
You can simply pray:
“God, I don’t understand the silence—but I’m not walking away.”
That’s not weak faith. That’s biblical faith.
Watch the Sermon
You can watch the full worship service from January 4, 2026, at Pathway - A Wesleyan Church, where this message was preached here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqNOnuI2dM0
About the Author
Dr. Bart Denny is the Lead Pastor of Pathway – A Wesleyan Church in western Michigan. He holds a Ph.D. in Christian Leadership and, since retiring from a career as a naval officer, has served in pastoral ministry, Christian higher education, and church revitalization. His preaching and writing focus on biblical faithfulness, honest discipleship, and following Christ with courage in difficult seasons.
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