When God Goes Quiet

February 13, 2026

What do we do on days when God seems entirely absent? Some thoughts about where I see that in my life today and, looking back, recognising how much has changed.

A Field and a Reminder

Last weekend, I took the dogs for a walk around a field near our house. I consider this space 'my field' because I walk there so regularly. It's become a place where I can process, think, reflect, and pray. If you follow me on Instagram, you'll have probably seen the photos. One of the things that I love about this field is that on a very regular basis I see red kites flying overhead. More or less every time I go to my field, I see at least one, if not half a dozen of these beautiful birds of prey, soaring overhead.


Why is this so thrilling? Because for me, for some reason I cannot explain, they remind me of God's presence. His goodness. And His love for me.


When I was a child, kites were relatively rare, and there was a big effort to reintroduce them to Britain and increase their population. Seeing them as a child was exhilirating. The avian equivalent of yellow car. It only happened occasionally. I remember my dad pointing them out and teaching me to identify them from the curve of the tail and the white marks on their wings. Now, as an adult, I see them all the time. So much so, that when I'm out I pretty much only have to think about a red kite, and I usually see one. Remarkably regular reminders that God is with me!


But last weekend I took the dogs out after it had been raining. It was a muddy, bleak, and grey winter's day (and there have been a lot of them this year). I had my thick winter coat on, complete with scarf, hat, gloves, and, as is obligatory, my wellies. I was also full of cold. My head was swimming and I really wanted to be wrapped up inside. As I trudged through the field with the dogs having a great time in the brush and the mud, I looked up and watched the birds. Was God with me?


There was not one, single, red kite in the sky. There were crows. There was a jackdaw or two. Oddly, even a seagull.


But not one red kite. Which got me thinking: what do we do with days like this? When God's presence and His goodness seems pretty absent?


A Different Field in a Different Time

On mulling over these questions, I was reminded of a different field, 15 years ago, where I was asking a not unrelated question. Back then, I was in a field in the east midlands of England (think Robin Hood territory), asking a similar question from a very different perspective. It wasn't windy and cold that day, but internally it was an everlasting winter. I was in a very dark place. There was no sense that God was a God of goodness and blessing at all and nothing felt certain. 15 years ago, I asked God in that field, 'If you love me, why does your love feel like hate?'


Every day seemed hopeless. God's goodness? More or less entirely absent. There was no sense of the proverbial 'light at the end of the tunnel.' I'd seen enough in the past to know that God was likely somewhere. But the situation I was in felt nightmareish. And those past experiences felt very disconnected from what I was facing. One of the scriptures that saw me through that time was a verse from Job 30:20. "I cry to you and you do not answer me; I stand, and you merely look at me." In the book, Job has lost family, health and wealth and continuing to resist the temptations of his 'friends' to blame his suffering on his sin. Job instead complains to God. But God is silent. Which was also how God seemed to me: entirely absent. I didn't know what was going on and nothing made sense.


All those years ago, I was longing for a single day of sunshine. The spiritual equivalent of just one red kite. I held on, I didn't know the way and I wasn't sure how change was possible. [Sometimes my stubborness has been useful.] Mercifully, I had a community of lovely people who held space for me and prayed with me, when I had no words.


A Slow Dawn

Eventually, very slowly, after difficult wrestling and decisions, dawn emerged. Slowly, steadily. In all kinds of ways. Spiritual work is hard work. There were lots of angry prayers, which puts me in good company with the Psalms and various other biblical passages. There was the work of voicing the things inside that most of us would really rather ignore. Spiritual work is laboursome work. Doing what I could, when I could. Keeping on moving forward, even when I wasn't sure why. Dawn came. I was on silent retreat at Taize, in the south of France, when in prayer I encountered what I can only describe as the presence of the risen Christ, kneeling before me. He was reaching out his hand and saying the words Jesus said to his disciples on the sea of Galilee in Matthew 14:27: ‘Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.’ The disciples were out fishing in a storm and Jesus came to them, walking on the water. They feared for their lives. When they saw Jesus they assumed he was a ghost. But there He was. And I wept.


In ways that I cannot really sum on a blog, I realised he had been there all along, right in the heart of the storm. I could never have seen it or understood it. Yet that's where he was.


Fast-forward to my walk on a dreary weekend in 2026 and an absence of red kites. Today most days are sunny and only occasionally does God seem absent. Words cannot really capture not just the gratitude but the miracle of seeing what God has done. And I know that even if I found myself in a similar dark place this week, month, or even for a lengthy season, I know that light will come into darkness. I know that even if it doesn't feel like it, seem like it, and experience points in the other direction: God really is good. I do not always understand Him or His ways. I have many questions for when we come face-to-face, but He has not forgotten me. Light will dawn. Red kites will soar.


If you're in the endless tunnel of darkness: you are not alone. There are no easy fixes. There's no magic cure. The saints throughout history know this. But hold on. It might seem ludicrously impossible and implausible to say: but the best is yet to come.


******





Photo by Doncoombez on Unsplash

By Suse McBay June 24, 2026
Peter Murrell, a Scottish political worker and now ex-husband of Nicola Sturgeon (former SNP party leader), was this week sentenced to 5 years in prison for embezzlement. Over the years he had used party money to buy all manner of things. It began with a Play Station 3 but escalated, to buying silver wine coaster, a Jaguar, and a motor home (the list goes on and on). Now embezzlement is not new. Nor is using political office for personal gain. But what struck me were the comments from the lawyer following the sentencing: “ The accused is now an individual overwhelmed by feelings of embarrassment and shame .” Shame. We don’t know if it’s true or not, but I wonder how you respond to hearing such contrition? Responses can range from the judgemental (“ Good! He deserves it ”) to the overly sympathetic (“ Perhaps he’s learned his lesson ”). But regardless of where we individually fall on the sympathy scale, it was an interesting example of what I’ve been thinking about recently: healthy shame . Mr Murrell has undeniably done something wrong and has betrayed the office given to him. He’s estranged from his wife. He’s headed to prison. He was there to represent the people, but instead, he has preyed on the sheep (Ezek. 34:2 has things to say about this). That uncomfortable feeling of recognising where we have transgressed our limits and have become hoodwinked by our own hubris and entitlement. His inadequacies have been publicly exposed. His dirty laundry is out in public. We may be more accustomed to scandal given the internet age, so we may be desensitised to it, but I bet Peter Murrell is not. When it happens to you, it’s painful. It’s uncomfortable. It’s exposing. I’m no psychologist, so I’d recommend John Bradshaw’s book on Healing the Shame That Binds You , if you want to think more about it. Dan Allender and Tremper Longman have a good Christian reflection on different emotions in Cry of the Soul. But I’ve been noticing where healthy shame appears in Scripture. Shame crops up again and again and again. I’m still in the early stages of thinking about where it appears and why, but one clear example of where it occurs is in scenes of divine judgement, both those in the present and those yet to come. God’s People Exposed (1) Daniel 12:1-4 talks about how Jewish believers in the 2 nd century BCE would be raised. The wise and understanding ones who didn’t comply with the political schemes of Antiochus IV would be raised to shine like stars. The others? Those who had aligned themselves with the emperor and in the process forsaken their covenant loyalty to God? They would be faced with everlasting shame (and contempt). (2) Jeremiah 2 has strong words for God’s people of Israel who have got so wrapped up in themselves they have stopped seeking where God is at work and instead are playing with other idols under the illusion of thinking they’re faithful because they keep the Law. They even say they don’t run after false gods (v.23). They’ve tried to seek out gain from the political powers (v.18) rather than humbly submit themselves to God (v.20). The result? They will be put to shame by Egypt (v.36). In an eerily similar statement to the news from Scotland: “As a thief is shamed when caught, So the house of Israel shall be shamed: They, their kings, their officials, Their priests, and their prophets.” (Jer 2:26) And the same is true in the New Testament. Mark 8:38 says this: "Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels." I suspect these are words for people who don’t listen to Jesus’ words in the preceding lines: the message that to follow Jesus is to take up your cross, deny yourself. Surrender your own wants and desires. Those who, like Peter, wanted to avoid death. Avoid suffering. Avoid hardship. Those who wanted a Messiah that came on a horse not a donkey. One who wore a crown of gold, not one of thorns. ** So what a bout us? How do we avoid that fate? Well, like a bill that if you don’t pay now you’ll be paying a lot more later, we need to start facing our inner shame today. Both the healthy shame and the shame we’ve been given that doesn’t belong to us. We might take some time to pray, be still, listen. See what comes up when we think about our uncomfortable feelings that usually stay in the shadows. The great gift of shame is that it shows us our limits. Where we’ve crossed the line and harmed ourselves, others, and our relationship with God. Where we’ve tried to be more than human (or acted in fear that we’re less than human). But shame also dies on exposure. Though I’d also add that shame dies on exposure in the presence of a loving other. We find a person or a group where we can start doing the crazy thing and actually revealing our shameful selves to others. Peter Murrell is full of shame, his lawyer says. The question is: what will he do with it? Will he use this public humiliation to face himself as he is? Does he have people around him to listen to him and to help him through it? I hope so. Genuinely. I hope that for all of us. That we would have the courage to allow the One who is Light to bring light into the midst of our shame today. To bring us out of hiding. Shame is a horrible feeling: I’m not a fan. But I do know that on the other side is acceptance, serenity, and a joy that really does make it worth it. It is true freedom—and it’s only in that freedom I can become who God has made me to be. Because whatever I’ve done, however humiliating, the deepest truth of all is that I’m made in the image of God. I am loved. ****** Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash
By Suse McBay May 26, 2026
What did Paul really teach? What is God's relationship to the nations? Here are the talks I gave in Houston in April 2026, which hopefully help to answer both questions!

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