When God Seems Absent

A Reflection on Spiritual Dryness

Introduction: The Hiddenness of God

There are times in the life of faith when God seems to disappear. You pray, but receive no answer. You worship, but feel no warmth. You seek, but cannot find. These are the seasons of spiritual dryness, known deeply by the saints throughout history. Yet far from being signs of abandonment, such seasons are often evidence of God’s refining work.

St. Bernard of Clairvaux offers a comforting interpretation: “God withdraws Himself, not in anger, but in love; not to punish, but to refine. He hides that He may be sought, and He seeks to be sought that He may be found.” Here is the mystery—God hides not to hurt us, but to awaken a deeper longing for Him. He does not reject us, but calls us further into a love that does not depend on feelings.

1. Seeking God for His Sake, Not for Consolation

Spiritual dryness purifies our desires. When the consolations of prayer disappear, we are confronted with a vital question: Do I seek God, or do I seek comfort from God? The difference is subtle but essential. Dryness trains us to love God Himself, not just the spiritual pleasure we may feel in His presence.

As the book of Sirach urges, “Make not haste in time of trouble. Cleave unto Him, and depart not away, that thou mayest be increased at thy last end” (Sirach 2:2–3). In other words, stay close to God even when you do not sense His nearness. Faith that clings through the silence is faith that grows deep roots. This is when our love becomes genuine—offered not for reward, but as surrender.

2. Prayer in Dryness Is Still Precious

In the midst of dryness, it is tempting to believe that prayer has lost its value. But St. John Chrysostom offers assurance: “The mere fact of standing before God in prayer is a great blessing.” Even when words fail and emotions are flat, the act of showing up in prayer remains powerful. In these moments, prayer becomes a choice—an offering of faith rather than feeling.

John Henry Newman deepens this insight when he writes, “The absence of God is itself a part of His method. It is His shadow, not His absence.” What feels like divine silence may actually be God’s way of drawing us beyond surface dependence into a deeper trust. The shadow is not the end—it is the place where our faith is tested and proven.

3. Formation in the Desert

Spiritual dryness is not passive suffering; it is sacred formation. Theodoret of Cyrus, a great early Church theologian, writes, “These trials train the soul in endurance, detaching it from childish dependence on sense and preparing it for mature union with the divine.” God uses the desert not to punish, but to purify. It is here that we grow up in Christ, learning to walk by faith and not by sight.

Theodore of Mopsuestia echoes this by comparing the soul in dryness to a deep well: “God seals up His consolations to draw out the soul’s desire like water from a deep well.” The more God seems to hide, the more our thirst increases—and with that thirst, our capacity for God expands. The emptiness is not in vain; it is a space God is enlarging so He can fill it more fully.

This was the lived experience of Mother Teresa, who endured decades of inner darkness. “I am told God loves me,” she once wrote, “And yet the reality of darkness and coldness and emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul.” Her honesty reveals the cost of spiritual fidelity. Yet she remained faithful. Her love was not based on feeling, but on fidelity. And through her darkness, the light of Christ shone brighter than ever.

4. Waiting in Love and Trust

What should we do in seasons of spiritual dryness? Wait. But not with bitterness or indifference—wait with holy expectancy. This is not a time for frantic striving or spiritual performance, but for quiet trust, for stillness that leans into God’s faithfulness. Such waiting is not a mark of spiritual failure, but a response of mature love. 

This waiting is full of longing, but free of demand. It does not rush God or measure time with anxiety. Instead, it waits with a heart bowed low—content to desire, content to trust, even when consolation seems far off. Like the watchman who waits for the morning (Psalm 130:6), we wait not in the darkness of despair but in the hope of dawn.

Isaiah 30:18 beautifully captures this divine rhythm:

“The Lord waits to be gracious to you… Blessed are all those who wait for Him.”

God’s delays are not denials. He is not absent, but drawing us deeper. Sometimes, His greatest work is done beneath the surface—where roots grow, desires are purified, and faith is quietly forged in the unseen places.

In these seasons, the soul that waits in love makes a profound confession: “I desire You, Lord—not merely what You give, but who You are.” It is in this loving and patient waiting that we begin to reflect the very faithfulness of the God we seek.

Conclusion: The Silent Work of Love

Spiritual dryness may feel like abandonment, but it is often God’s tender strategy. He hides not to punish, but to purify. He withdraws to increase our longing, to teach us to love Him for who He is, not just for what He gives. As the saints testify, such seasons are not the death of faith but its deepening.

So if you find yourself in the desert of the soul, do not give up. Let your waiting become your worship. Let your silence be filled with trust. Remain faithful in prayer, even if all you do is sit quietly before Him. In time, the veil will lift. And you will discover that the One you sought was there all along—shaping your soul in love.

Spiritual masters echo this truth:

St. Teresa of Ávila: “Prayer is not to think much, but to love much.”

Brother Lawrence: “God regards not the greatness of the work, but the love with which it is performed.”

Jean-Pierre de Caussade (Abandonment to Divine Providence): “The most excellent method of going to God is that of doing ordinary things in a perfect manner.”

Even in dryness, your love matters. Your silent trust is seen. And your perseverance in prayer, even without comfort, is a precious offering to God.

A Prayer in a Season of Spiritual Dryness

Heavenly Father,

You who dwell in unapproachable light, yet come near to the lowly—

I come before You with a dry and thirsty soul.

I do not feel Your nearness, and I hear no answer when I cry,

Yet I believe You are here, closer than my breath,

Present even when I cannot perceive You.

Lord, I confess my impatience.

I have grown weary of silence,

Tired of praying without consolation,

Tempted to seek You only for the joy You bring.

But in this desert, You are purifying my love.

You are teaching me to seek You for Your sake alone.

Teach me, O Lord, to wait—not with folded hands,

But with hands open in surrender.

Not in passive despair,

But with a heart bowed in reverent expectation.

Let my silence be filled with trust.

Let my longing be shaped by love.

As St. Bernard taught,

You hide not in anger, but in love.

As Theodoret said, You are training my soul in endurance.

As Mother Teresa lived, faith is not a feeling, but a gift offered daily.

So let my prayer today—simple, wordless, even tearless—be received

as a fragrant offering before Your throne.

O Lord, when You delay,

Help me remember that You are drawing me deeper.

You are not distant,

But gently removing the lesser loves

So I might cling to You alone.

May I learn to echo the watchman who waits for the morning.

May I wait with a holy restlessness—

Longing for You, and yet content to wait as long as You choose.

Let my soul say,

“It is good for me to be afflicted, that I may learn Your statutes.” (Psalm 119:71)

When my mind grows weary and my emotions fade,

Anchor me in Your Word.

Remind me of Isaiah’s promise:

“The Lord waits to be gracious to you…

Blessed are all those who wait for Him.”

Grant me the grace, Lord, not to rush You,

Not to resent the silence,

But to embrace this season as holy.

To know that love is tested not by ecstasy,

But by endurance.

Not by delight, but by devotion.

I offer You not my feelings, but my faith.

Not my strength, but my surrender.

Not my understanding, but my obedience.

Receive my poverty and fill it with Your richness.

Receive my dryness and pour upon it the dew of Your Spirit.

Receive my waiting, and make it worship.

And when You choose to reveal Yourself again—

In light, in fire, in peace, or in the stillness—

May I be found ready, humbled, and grateful,

Able to say not only “You are my joy,”

But also, in the dry places: “You are my God.”

Amen.

Soli Deo Gloria

Worship in Spirit and in Truth:

What the Father Seeks

“But the hour comes, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeks such to worship him. God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.”

—John 4:23–24 (KJV)

When Jesus spoke these words to the Samaritan woman at the well, He shattered centuries of religious, cultural, and theological assumptions in a single breath. For generations, the Jews worshiped in the temple at Jerusalem, while the Samaritans had built their own center of worship on Mount Gerizim. Both groups were convinced that God’s presence was tied to a place—that true worship depended on proximity to a sacred site. The question of “where” had divided entire peoples.

But Jesus—speaking not to a scholar or priest, but to a marginalized woman from a despised ethnicity—declares something revolutionary: “The hour is coming, and now is…” In Him, a new era has dawned. Worship would no longer be confined to sacred geography. God was not interested in altars of stone, but in hearts yielded in spirit and truth.

In saying this, Jesus doesn’t merely adjust religious practice—He redefines it from the inside out. He moves worship from the realm of ritual into the realm of relationship. As Richard Foster writes, “Forms and rituals do not produce worship, nor does the disuse of forms and rituals. We can use all the right techniques and methods… and still not worship. Worship is a matter of the heart.”

Jesus teaches that the geography of worship is now internal, not external. The temple is no longer in Jerusalem—it is within the believer. As Paul later writes, “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit?” (1 Corinthians 6:19). This is a seismic shift: worship is not about the place you go, but the Person you meet—and the posture you bring.

The hour Jesus proclaimed is still now. It’s not about entering a building but about opening our lives. It’s not about standing on holy ground, but becoming holy ground. As Dallas Willard observed, “We are built to live in the presence of God. It is where we thrive.” Worship, then, is not a weekly appointment but a continual abiding—a turning of the heart toward the Father in spirit and in truth, wherever we are.

Worship the Father: A Personal Encounter

The call is intimate. Jesus does not speak of worshipping an impersonal force or distant deity but the Father—the One who seeks relationship, not ritual. As Brother Lawrence said, “We ought to act with God in the greatest simplicity, speaking to Him frankly and plainly, and imploring His assistance in our affairs just as they happen.”

This is worship as communion, not performance. God does not seek polished perfection but hearts aligned with His. He seeks true worshippers—not spectators, not consumers, but those who respond with their whole being.

In Spirit: Worship that Flows from the Inner Life

To worship in spirit means to worship from the heart, with our affections, our will, and our inner being made alive by the Holy Spirit. Dallas Willard explained, “The first and most basic thing we can and must do is to keep God before our minds.” Worship begins in this inner attention—this deliberate turning toward God in the secret places of the soul.

George Müller, who trusted God radically in prayer and provision, said his first task each day was not to serve, but to “get his heart happy in God.” Worship in spirit springs from that inward rejoicing—a heart awakened by grace.

Richard Foster adds, “Worship is our response to the overtures of love from the heart of the Father.” It is not initiated by us, but by God—who loved us first and awakens in us the ability to love Him back.

In Truth: Rooted in Reality and Revelation

To worship in truth is to worship in alignment with who God is and who we are. It is both sincerity and substance. St. Bernard of Clairvaux wrote, “Truth without love is not truly truth, and love without truth is not truly love.” Worship in truth is never sentimental or vague—it is grounded in the revealed character of God and centered on Christ, who is the way, the truth, and the life (John 14:6).

Professor Joachim Jeremias emphasized how radical it was that Jesus addressed God with the Aramaic word Abba—“Father.” It was a word of intimacy and trust, unheard of in formal Jewish prayers. This, too, is truth: we are invited into the Son’s relationship with the Father.

John Chrysostom, in his commentary, highlighted that “spirit and truth” are not accessories to worship but its essence. “God is not worshipped with sacrifices or incense, but with a pure heart and a holy life.”

Worship as a Life, Not a Moment

Andrew Murray wrote, “Worship is not a part of the Christian life—it is the Christian life.” It cannot be confined to songs on Sunday or sacred spaces. True worship involves obedience, gratitude, repentance, joy, and faithfulness in every arena of life.

Robert Moffat echoed this in his missionary witness: “We shall have all eternity to celebrate the victories, but only a few hours before sunset to win them.” Worship in truth is mission-shaped, justice-driven, and love-poured.

Theodore and Theodoret both emphasized that authentic worship brings transformation. Theodoret observed that when a person encounters God in truth, “they are no longer the same; the soul bows in awe and rises in joy.”

What God Is Seeking

This may be the most beautiful and staggering surprise in the entire passage: “The Father seeks such to worship Him.” The eternal, self-sufficient, all-powerful God—who created the heavens with a word and holds the galaxies in His hand—is seeking something. Not because He lacks, but because He loves. Not to be filled, but to be shared.

God, who lacks nothing, chooses to desire our worship. Not for His benefit, but for ours. As St. Bernard of Clairvaux said, “God does not thirst for our praise because He needs it, but because we need to give it.” In calling us to worship Him, God invites us into the life for which we were made: to love Him, to know Him, to delight in Him—and to be changed in His presence.

This seeking is not casual; it is purposeful and personal. As George Müller believed, “God delights to give us what we need when we ask in faith, and He delights to receive from us what we give in love.” God is not looking for impressive performances or external appearances. He is not drawn to style, volume, tradition, or novelty. He is not swayed by incense or instruments, architecture or articulation. He seeks something far more costly and precious: the heart—humble, sincere, yielded.

As John Chrysostom wrote, “God is not worshipped with sacrifices or incense, but with a pure heart and a holy life.” The true worshipper is not one who merely sings or bows, but one whose life is aligned with the Spirit and anchored in truth.

God seeks those who are open—open to the Spirit’s leading, open to correction, open to wonder. He seeks those who come not to get something from Him, but to give themselves wholly to Him. As Richard Foster notes, “Worship is the human response to the divine initiative.” God moves first; we respond. And in our response, we are drawn into the heart of God.

Let us then offer our lives—ordinary and holy—as worship. Let our conversations be full of grace. Let our work be done as unto the Lord. Let our solitude, our laughter, our lament, our love—all be liturgies of praise. As Andrew Murray wrote, “True worship is the adoration of the heart rising to God through the Spirit, grounded in the truth.”

In every quiet moment, every unseen act of kindness, every whispered prayer, may we be found among the ones the Father seeks. Not because we are perfect, but because we are present—hearts open, spirits alive, and souls made true in Christ.

A Prayer: 

“Lord, Teach Me to Worship in Spirit and in Truth”

Heavenly Father,

You are Spirit—holy, infinite, invisible, yet nearer than my own breath.

You are truth—pure, radiant, and unchanging.

And still, You seek worshippers. You seek me.

What mercy, what mystery, what love.

I come not because I understand,

Not because I am worthy,

But because You have drawn me near through Jesus Christ,

And I have heard Your call:

“Worship the Father in spirit and in truth.”

So Lord, teach me—

Teach me what it means to worship as You desire.

Strip away from me every counterfeit—

Every performance, every pretense, every hollow gesture.

Let my worship not be a mask I wear,

But the cry of my heart laid bare before You.

Teach me to worship in spirit.

To come not only with words and songs,

But with soul and silence, with groans and gratitude.

Let my whole life be a living offering,

Not confined to sacred places,

But carried into every street, every task, every breath.

Awaken my spirit to Your Spirit—

To the stillness of Your whisper,

To the fire of Your presence,

To the joy of Your nearness.

Let my worship flow from love,

Not from duty or fear or approval.

Make me aware of You in the ordinary,

As Brother Lawrence found You among pots and pans.

Make me attentive, like Mary at Your feet.

Let me worship when I rise, when I walk, when I labor, when I rest.

And Lord, teach me to worship in truth.

Anchor me in the truth of who You are—

The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,

The Father of Jesus Christ,

The One who is holy, just, merciful, and good.

Guard me from worshipping my emotions,

Or my preferences,

Or any god of my own making.

Let me be shaped by Scripture,

Fed by Your Word,

Corrected, challenged, and comforted.

Keep me from sentimentality without substance.

From loud words with empty hearts.

From traditions that have lost their meaning.

And from “truth” that has lost its love.

Help me to bring my whole, honest self before You—

My praise and my pain,

My doubt and my desire,

My sin and my song.

As Chrysostom once said,

Let my worship be a holy life,

Offered in humility and awe.

Father, if You are seeking true worshippers,

Make me one of them.

Train my soul in secret,

Shape my heart in silence,

And draw me ever deeper into Your presence.

Let my worship never be about me—

My performance, my experience, my comfort.

Let it always be about You—

Your glory, Your holiness, Your majesty.

Let it lift up the name of Jesus,

And align my will with Yours.

May my worship overflow into justice and mercy.

Into love for my neighbor and compassion for the world.

May it pour out in prayers and in action,

In solitude and in service.

As Theodoret once said,

Let my soul bow in awe and rise in joy.

Lord, I do not know how to worship as I ought.

But I know You are worthy.

So send Your Spirit to help me.

Let Your truth guide me.

Let my heart adore You.

Let my life reflect You.

Now and forever.

Amen.

Key Scriptures

• John 4:23–24 – Worship in spirit and truth
  
  
• Romans 12:1 – Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice
  
  
• Philippians 3:3 – We worship by the Spirit of God
  
  
• Psalm 51:17 – A broken and contrite heart God will not despise
  
  

Suggested Hymns

• Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing
  
  
• Holy, Holy, Holy
• Heart of Worship by Matt Redman

Soli Deo Gloria