Lord, Can You Hear Me?

“Out of the depths I cry to you, LORD; Lord, hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy.”
Psalm 130

This morning, after drinking my daily tea and taking advantage of my coveted 15 minutes of reading-by-myself time, I walked into the kitchen to discover my 5-year-old sitting on the floor with chocolate all over his face and a huge grin.

“Who told you that you could eat chocolate for breakfast?” I asked rhetorically.

“You did,” he shrugged. “I asked, you said ‘uh-huh,’ and I took that as a yes.”

His older sister affirmed that this had, in fact, occurred, and I found myself bewildered at my ability to tune out what is around me, including my kids’ voices. To hear without really hearing. And while this time it was harmless, I wonder how often I fail to pay attention to things that do matter, to hear without hearing.

When my kids really need me, I want them to know I will really hear them and respond.

Recently, amongst the graffiti that regularly surfaces on the front of our building, I noticed that someone had written, “Lord, can you hear me?” I don’t know who wrote it, but I do know enough about the difficulty of daily life for so many people in our community that I think of someone trying to make it through another long night without shelter or safety. I imagine someone haunted by past memories and present fears, crying out to the One who, even if no one else cares, is supposed to hear their cry.

But long, hard night after long, hard night, struggle after lonely struggle, it would be easy to wonder if God really hears. I have a home and a bed to sleep in, and I regularly wonder if God really hears. So, I can truly understand why another friend in our community told me in an interview:

“That’s why I hate God, because he does not show up when I’m sleeping here. You think he comes and shows me warmth and affection? You understand? You got an apartment. You got a place to stay. What am I doing, sleeping here with a sleeping bag?”

It is one thing to be tuned out sometimes by our parents when we are children or all the time by our politicians when we grow up. We learn to expect this. But from God, we expect more. We long for more. And too often, it can feel like our deepest cries go unheard.

Any person or community of faith throughout history has had to ask themselves how it is that so much suffering, so much unnecessary poverty, injustice, and violence persist if God hears and God cares.

Prophets asked:

“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

Songwriters asked:

“How long, LORD? Will you forget me forever?”
Psalm 13:1

Even Jesus asked:

“My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?”
Matthew 27:46

And thousands of years later, our community members ask:

“Lord, can you hear me?”

I don’t pretend to know the why or the how of God’s ways in this world. My whole life, I have struggled to understand why it so often seems like God tunes out our cries instead of stepping in to rescue us.

And yet, I have also known those who have endured unimaginable pain and who are still stuck in impossible circumstances who are convinced that God hears them and that they hear back from God. One of my friends tells me that in the loneliest time in her life, when she had been abandoned by everyone else, God was so present with her that she knew without a doubt that she was deeply held and loved.

It is these witnesses from the darkest, loneliest, and most painful places in this world that help me keep believing in a God who hears and who will, someday, make things right.

Even those of us who consider ourselves people of faith don’t find ourselves believing in an attentive and responsive God all of the time. But during the long, hard nights of our lives, I am grateful to be part of a community that carries this faith together, holding each other in our belief or disbelief and in our desperate crying out for someone to hear and save us.

As we long for the day when God brings about a renewed creation of justice and flourishing for all, we look for ways to hear each other in the here and now, to pay attention to each other in our uniqueness and in our need, and to respond with care. We also try to invite our neighbourhood and city to really hear those whose cries are too often tuned out.

On Sundays, we sometimes sing together a song written for this community called “Let Me Hear Your Voice.” May we keep singing with and for each other.

Let me hear your voice
Let me hear your voice
Let me hear your voice
…Until the light of the day