How Long, O Lord?

A reflection on the Book of Habakkuk

We would like heaven now.

A world without sickness,
without violence,
without the telephone call
that changes everything.

We want somewhere to rest,
to unpack our belongings
and make ourselves at home.
But this world cannot carry
the weight of all our expectations.

Habakkuk knew this.
He knew the ancient story
of a garden lost,
of human hearts turned away,
of a world that had forgotten
the goodness of its Maker.

Still, he cried out.
How long, O Lord?
How long must I call for help
while you seem not to hear?

He saw violence,
justice twisted,
the innocent suffering,
the wicked prospering.

And when God answered,
the answer troubled him more.
How could greater evil
put an end to evil?

So he climbed the watchtower
and waited.
Not because he had stopped questioning,
but because he had not stopped trusting.

And God spoke.
The proud will not endure.
Evil will not have the final word.
The righteous shall live by faith.
Not by certainty,
not by understanding everything,
but by trusting the One
who keeps his promises.

Habakkuk prayed:
In wrath, remember mercy.

And centuries later,
on a hill outside Jerusalem,
mercy met judgment
in the broken body of Jesus.
His friends watched him die,
carrying away the shattered pieces
of everything they had hoped for.
Yet even there,
where every promise seemed to fail,
God had not abandoned them.
The cross was not the end.

Still, our questions remain.
Why the young life cut short?
Why the family left grieving?
Why the prayers unanswered?

Some questions are too heavy
for explanations.
Some wounds need more
than words.

And God does not ask us
to hide our grief.

The wheat and weeds
still grow together.
The world remains
both beautiful and broken.

And we wait.
Like Habakkuk on his watchtower,
like the disciples
between Friday and Sunday.
We wait,
not because we understand,
but because we have seen enough
of God’s faithfulness
to trust what we cannot see.

Though the fig tree does not blossom,
though the fields yield no food,
though everything we depend upon
is taken away,
yet we will rejoice.

For faith does not mean
we have no questions.
It means our questions
have somewhere to go.

And hope does not mean
we have escaped
the brokenness of this world.
It means brokenness
will not have the final word.

Original message by Lou Fortier
The Bridge Church Macquarie Park NSW
25 October 2026