Psalms 42:3

My tears have been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is thy God?

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Where is thy God?

Surely a searching, solemn query. Not a question, notice, of having, or not having, a god; not a question as to what, but where? Every man has some kind of god, for the religious instinct is an important part of every man’s constitutional make-up. Every child is born with the germ of conscience. It must be so, else why do we find in our children a chord that vibrates at the touch of religious story or appeal? Upon our idea of God centres our ideas of religion, of sin, of prayer, of consecration, and of service.

I. Your religion will be whatever your idea of God is. Religion has two acts--to know what is true of God, and to express that knowledge in life. It is personal experience that gives life to one’s creed, not cold type. A blind man’s world can be measured with a cane. But to be able to say, “Now I see,” speedily leads on to “I believe that Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” Experience is the soil out of which the best creeds grow. Conduct must tally with conviction.

II. Your idea of sin will be shaped by your idea of God. They stand or fall together. The exceeding sinfulness of sin will never fill you with shrinking abhorrence until you see God as a God of holiness and purity and righteousness. If your idea of God be that of the Pantheist, or that of the philosopher, or that of the materialist, your standard of holiness will rise no higher than your idea of God. What greater reason can we have for hating sin than to know that it drove the nails into the hands of our blessed Lord?

III. Your idea of the value of prayer will hinge upon your idea of God. Look at David’s prayer: “My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God.” How could David utter a prayer like that if he believed God to be an impersonal force at work in the universe? The value and power of true prayer lies in its reflex action of the man who prays. You cannot say “our Father” to an impersonal force; nor hold sweet communion with a law, nor pour out your soul’s need to a sacred cow. The Pharisee prayed with himself. The Publican talked with God. Penitence is heaven’s latch-key. So, too, prayer becomes a good test of character. To prove it, note the objects for which many people pray; the temper in which they pray; the regularity with which they pray, and the period during which they pray.

IV. Your conception of consecration will rest upon your idea of God. To say, “I do now consecrate myself to the service of Christ,” is the most solemn thing you can say. You remember what “consecration” meant to the high priest of old. That it must mean to you and me; for anything less noble, less sacred, is unworthy the professed follower of the Master.

V. Your idea of christian service will depend upon your idea of God. If every man of us is to be judged according to the light he has, how can any one afford to spend his time picking out flaws in his neighbour’s conduct, instead of improving the little span of life that God has given him by whole-hearted devotion to the service of God. If you believe in the Church as a Divinely-ordained institution, and in the preaching of the Gospel as the Divinely-ordained means of bringing this world back to God; and if you believe that God is able and willing to forgive your sins and to cleanse you from your iniquity, then I call heaven and earth to witness against you that, so long as you hold back your whole-hearted allegiance from Him, you are trifling, you are trifling with God! (C. H. Jones.)

Where is thy God?

This is a question which, in every age, the doubting heart has propounded to itself; and every time it recurs it bespeaks a deeper agony of soul, and demands a profounder answer. The contradictions of our life can neither be ignored nor annihilated. But all depends on how we view the whole--whether in the gloom of despondency, or the shining light of hope. If God is with us anywhere and ever, then everywhere and always. Not only in the height of our exultation, but in the depth of grief and woe. Not only in the glad communion of our sweetest fellowship, but in the chilly isolation of our sheer bereavement. In all the evils of existence--in shame and crime and want--we must believe he is no further from us than in plenty and peace and virtuous delight. There are periods of depression incidental to all flesh, when all around is gloomy, and the outlook drear and blank; when the joys of life appear so few, so fleeting, and so faded: when sin and suffering seem so vast and sure, our lot so hard and burdensome, our whole existence so beset with toil, that the pulse of the spirit beats feeble, faint and low, and the dead weight of sombre misgiving clips the pinions which we spread, and drags us downward to despondency. At such times we learn the value of example. We call to mind the stories we have heard of peaceful death-beds and triumphant departures. We think of Socrates, with the cup of hemlock in his hand, discoursing sweetly--like the dying swan, his noblest strain his last--concerning the immortality of the soul. We think of Christian martyrs and the saints of old. We see them dying for divergent creeds, yet all alike serene. They walked by faith, not by sight; and therefore they were strong. And anon, as we review that noble host, there rises one above the rest, who is the chief among ten thousand, and the leader of an army by Himself. Who was a man of sorrows, who was acquainted with grief, like this our elder brother, the despised and rejected of men? Are our discouragements to be compared to His? If in the midst of a priest-ridden world, a corrupt and worn-out society, even out of the unpromising materials which were all that lay ready to His hand, He never relinquished His sublime idea of building up the kingdom of God, shall we not also rise above our griefs, and lift the drooping head--we in whose cup is mingled that more even measure that God metes out to ordinary men? There is nothing so bad but it may be well, if we wait to see the end. But oh, the good which we discern already! what shall explain that away? The mere refusal of our hearts to acquiesce in despondency--whence comes it, if not from a God in whose embrace we lie secure? The desire which springs spontaneous, like the fountain in the desert, to help and befriend the distressed; the anodyne of sympathy, and the balm of compassion, which gushes in most abundance where sorest need prevails; the love which many waters cannot quench; the devotion of a mother; the attachment of a child; all that makes suffering tender, and sheds beauty upon grief--are these no signs of God? Signs! They are more. They are the beating of a universal pulse, the breathing of a universal soul; they constitute the Godhead of the World. And when we have once discovered the great Father in our hearts, we may go forth courageously to find Him everywhere. (E. M. Geldart, M. A.)