The Silence of God

It's enough to drive a man crazy; It'll break a man's faith
It's enough to make him wonder if he's ever been sane
When he's bleeding for comfort from Thy staff and Thy rod
And the heavens' only answer is the Silence of God.

It'll shake a man's timbers when he loses his heart
When he has to remember what broke him apart
This yoke may be easy, but this burden is not
When the crying fields are frozen by the Silence of God.

And if a man has got to listen to the voices of the mob
Who are reeling in the throes of all the happiness they've got
When they tell you all their troubles have been nailed up to that cross
Then what about the times when even followers get lost?
'Cause we all get lost sometimes. . .

There's a statue of Jesus on a monastery knoll
In the hills of Kentucky, all quiet and cold
And He's kneeling in the garden, as silent as a stone
All His friends are sleeping and He's weeping all alone

And the Man of all Sorrows, He never forgot
What sorrow is carried by the hearts that He bought
So when the questions dissolve into the Silence of God
The aching may remain, but the breaking does not.

The aching may remain, but the breaking does not
In the holy, lonesome echo
Of the Silence of God.

--Andrew Peterson


I heard this song yesterday and the words really spoke to me. I'm not necessarily in the author's place right now, but I have been there in the past and I remember it well. For whatever reason, the memory of that season of my life brought tears of thankfulness.

Some people look at me quizzically when I talk about the "blessing of suffering." It seems like the two things should be mutually exclusive. They're not--the times I suffered most are the times I grew the most, learned the most, drew closest to God. When the suffering was over, I had no regrets and no resentment--just thanks, and a new, very tender place in my heart for the One who suffered unspeakable pain for me.