“How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?”
— Psalm 13:1, NIV
Some people may think this dark night began when my stepfather passed.
It did not.
That was the catalyst.
That was the thing that sent me over the edge, so to speak. But I had been hanging on for a long time before that. Holding the rope with burned hands. Trying to keep praying. Trying to keep believing. Trying to keep doing the next thing while something inside me was already cracking open.
Grief may have pushed me over.
But the crevasse had already begun to form.
There comes a point when the heart and mind are no longer connected to God the way they used to be, and the soul begins to starve.
That is what this feels like.
Soul starvation.
I still see God around me. That is the strange part. I see Him in nature. I see Him in the trees, the weather, the animals, the desert, the sky, the stubborn beauty of creation. I can look at people sometimes and see the face of Christ.
But I do not feel them looking back.
I feel like a spectator in my own soul.
Like I am standing behind glass, watching holiness happen somewhere else.
Like Christ is visible in the world but hidden from the inner room where I need Him most.
And this dark night, especially in an urban place, is forcing me to look at people more closely. Not as ideas. Not as “humanity” in the soft, pretty sense. Actual people. Their faces. Their choices. Their cruelties. Their cowardice. Their indifference.
And most of it hurts.
I am tired of being laughed at.
I am tired of ministers and priests snubbing me.
I am tired of trying to act right, react right, explain right, forgive right, dress right, speak right, pray right, and still feeling like none of it matters.
Are people really that afraid of the Church?
Are they afraid of God?
Have they lost faith?
Or have they only lost faith in what people have done with God?
Because I hate to say it this way, Lord, but some of Your followers are acting like enemies of mercy.
They have twisted Your Scripture.
They have ignored Your commands.
They have disgraced Your churches.
They have turned people into non-practicing, non-believing, spiritually homeless souls who cannot hear Your name without flinching.
And then they wonder why people hate clergy.
They wonder why people avoid faith.
They wonder why the wounded do not come running back to the pews.
Lord, how do You not fix this?
How do You watch Your word become weaponized?
How do You watch Christianity get dressed up as state power, nationalism, cruelty, and control?
How do You watch hatred ooze from people who claim Your name?
The terrifying part is that the loudest voices pushing this are often the richest, most powerful, most prominent people in the room. They talk about You, but they worship money. They talk about righteousness, but they crave control. They talk about faith, but they sound more like empire than Gospel.
Christian nationalism frightens me.
Not because it is strong.
Because it is false worship.
It puts the nation where God belongs.
It puts power where mercy belongs.
It puts a president where Christ belongs.
And Lord, I cannot understand how people who call themselves Christians either do not know Your commands or simply do not care.
“But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!”
— Amos 5:24, NIV
Where is that justice, Lord?
Because from where I stand, I see communities of color living in fear.
I see immigrants and non-citizens treated as threats before they are treated as human beings.
I see protections for minority groups challenged, weakened, and rolled back.
I see queer and trans people becoming targets again and again.
I see healthcare threatened.
I see seniors frightened.
I see the sick, the disabled, the poor, and the destitute treated like burdens instead of beloved children of God.
I see homeless people criminalized instead of housed.
I see history rewritten or erased because truth makes powerful people uncomfortable.
I see people coming for our way of life, our safety, our bodies, our stories, our future.
And yes, Lord, I am afraid they will come for the LGBTQIAP+ community.
I am afraid they will come for those who speak against the current administration.
I am afraid they will come for anyone who refuses to kneel before the golden idol.
People say we are being dramatic.
People say we are overreacting.
People say it cannot happen here.
But some of us have studied the signs.
Some of us have watched the language change.
Some of us have heard the jokes become policies.
Some of us know that authoritarianism does not arrive all at once wearing a costume.
Sometimes it arrives carrying a Bible.
Sometimes it arrives smiling for cameras.
Sometimes it arrives promising safety.
Sometimes it arrives saying, “Only those people need to be afraid.”
And Lord, I am afraid.
I am afraid for our country.
I am afraid for the world.
I am afraid the earth itself is groaning under the weight of war, greed, sickness, disease, climate change, cruelty, and human stupidity.
I am afraid that wider war is closer than people want to admit.
I am afraid that people are putting political leaders into the role of savior.
And worst of all, Lord, I am afraid some of them are trying to make that savior look like You.
How long will You stand for this?
“How long, Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen? Or cry out to you, ‘Violence!’ but you do not save?”
— Habakkuk 1:2, NIV
That is where I am.
Crying violence.
Crying madness.
Crying blasphemy.
Crying Lord, do You see what they are doing in Your name?
And I need to confess something.
My heart is hardening.
I can feel it.
I am becoming spiteful.
Pessimistic.
Disdainful.
Bitter.
Suspicious.
My soul is shutting down to protect itself. My mind and heart want to escape. Leave the country. Move somewhere with no people. Find a place so far away from this noise that maybe I can hear God again.
I am beginning to dislike Your people, Lord.
I do not trust easily anymore.
I do not trust television.
I do not trust radio.
I do not trust the internet.
I do not trust news.
I do not trust reporting.
Some days I do not even trust the people trying to show what is really happening, because everything feels manipulated, weaponized, poisoned, bought, or broken.
And there are moments when I want to walk away from everything.
Including You.
That sentence hurts to write.
But it is true.
I want to walk away.
From Church.
From ministry.
From trying.
From explaining.
From hoping.
From people.
From the whole damn burning mess.
But my love for You will not let me leave cleanly.
My hope for Your love and guidance makes me feel guilty when I say these things. I know if I walked away completely, my soul would be in peril. Not because You are petty. Not because You are waiting to punish me. But because I know my soul was made for You, and I do not know how to survive apart from the One who made me.
That is why I keep calling out.
That is why I keep asking where You went.
That is why I keep asking why.
I have very little hope for this country right now.
Very little hope for the world.
Very little hope for people.
And Lord, sometimes my anger gets so dark that it frightens me. I have thought things I do not want to think. I have felt rage rise in me like a storm. I have wanted You to wipe the whole thing clean and start over. I have wanted fire to answer fire. I have wanted to become as nasty, loud, and dangerous as the people hurting the vulnerable.
That is not peace.
That is not Christ.
And I know it.
That is why I am confessing it.
I do not want violence to become my new religion.
I do not want hatred to become my altar.
I do not want bitterness to become the god I actually serve while still speaking Your name.
But Lord, I am so tired.
I am tired of turning the other cheek while people are being persecuted because of who they are.
I am tired of trying patience while cruelty organizes itself.
I am tired of trying to follow the Beatitudes while the arrogant inherit the microphone, the money, the courts, and the weapons.
I am tired of hearing about leaders who harm people and then call it righteousness.
I am tired of being frightened of strangers.
I am tired of wondering who around me would gladly vote my rights, my safety, my body, my calling, and my community away.
I have cut people off.
I have ended friendships.
I have ignored family members who support what is happening.
I have refused to work with certain people, speak kindly to certain people, or pretend everything is fine.
I have no room right now for people who support cruelty and call it Christianity.
Maybe that is wrong.
Maybe it is survival.
Maybe it is both.
Lord, I tried for years.
I tried patience.
I tried explaining.
I tried loving the hell out of people.
I tried following Your words.
I tried not to become hard.
But ignorance cannot always be fixed with light.
Goodness cannot always persuade people who have chosen power.
And now I am afraid of what is happening inside me.
Because I still love You.
I still treasure Your word.
I still want to come back to Your table.
I still want to continue Your mission.
I still want to love the hell out of people.
But I do not feel peaceful anymore.
I feel cornered.
I feel furious.
I feel spiritually starved.
I feel like a priest fighting like hell not to lose his soul while the world burns and people wave crosses over the fire.
Lord, I am trying to remain one of Your priests.
I am trying to remain one of Your children.
But are You even there?
Or are You being an absent Father?
Maybe that is disrespectful.
Maybe I should not say it.
But damn it, something has to change.
Come back to me.
Hold me the way Your Mother does when I call her.
Find me in this tornado.
Because I do not see a path to walk righteously right now.
I do not see a door open to continue Your work.
I do not even feel like there is a door back into grace.
And maybe that is the lie of the dark night.
Maybe grace is still here.
Maybe the door is hidden.
Maybe You are closer than I can feel.
Maybe.
But I need more than maybe tonight.
Lord, find me.
Help me.
Guide me.
Love me.
Do not let my heart turn to stone.
Do not let my anger become cruelty.
Do not let my fear become hatred.
Do not let my grief become contempt.
Do not let me become what I am fighting.
I want justice.
I want protection for the vulnerable.
I want the stranger welcomed.
I want the sick cared for.
I want the poor fed.
I want queer and trans people safe.
I want immigrants treated as human beings.
I want the homeless housed.
I want history told truthfully.
I want the earth healed.
I want Your Church cleansed of nationalism, greed, and hate.
I want Your people to remember You.
And I want to remember You too.
Because underneath all this rage, underneath all this fear, underneath all this bitterness hardening around my heart, there is still a wounded child calling for his Father.
There is still a priest begging for his Lord.
There is still a soul starving for the living God.
So I am asking again:
How long, Lord?
How long will You hide Your face?
How long will violence keep winning?
How long will Your name be used to bless what Your Son came to destroy?
How long before justice rolls?
I do not know.
But I am still here.
Angry.
Afraid.
Ashamed of what my heart is becoming.
Still calling.
Still fighting.
Still listening.
Lord, find me before the hatred does.