This God is absent and present. He is hanging on an execution stake, mocking the mockers, destroying destruction, and killing death.
I am not alone in this struggle. This is a part of the narrative into which I have been cast, beside my brother Jacob. He too struggled with God in the midnight hour, and walked away with a permanent limp. Because the struggle is to learn and grow and be decimated into a blessing; our struggle is to allow ourselves to be pinned down by an avalanche of cosmic love.
Why am I so resistant to allowing God to love me? Why do I shower others with grace and forgiveness, and yet harbor resentment and rage toward myself? Perhaps my struggle with God is not predicated on the objective to win, rather my victory comes in surrender. Because when I am weak, I am strong enough to put down my fist and say yes and amen. My Hosanna was born in a furnace of doubt; my glorification comes as a collapse into the arms of the Victor.