I must learn the humility of a creature, that there are many—if not most or all—things beyond my grasp, and that God’s ways and wisdom are not my own. Scripture assures me this King is for me, not against me (Romans 8:31ff), calling me to entrust myself to him amidst the hardest providences. 

Plans sputter, hopes crumble, relationships derail, or evil exposes itself. I know I did my part—but God didn’t come through. Because life is full of disappointments, modern pastors and writers inform me, it must also be full of forgiveness. Their sage advice? Loosely commandeering Psalm 142:2, they urge cultivating a lifestyle of forgiving others, forgiving myself, and forgiving God to move forward. After all, they assert, forgiveness is “for me.” Some go so far as to assert that forgiving God is required, arguing unforgiveness affects my faith, intimacy with God, and eternity.^[1]

As with the error of forgiving myself,^[2] this is an argument from silence—not from Scripture. Isaiah and Jeremiah faced unspeakable horrors under God’s providences toward Israel; Paul’s list of sufferings for Christ makes me wince every time I read it (2 Cor 11:16-33 and 12:5-10); but none of these men forgave God. Saint after saint in Scripture “endured as seeing him who was invisible” (Heb 11:27). There’s not a hint of charging God with wrongdoing.

But what goes unrecognized? Forgiving God is deeply theological in nature. It forges my working confession of faith: shaping my worship, framing my life, and demonstrating my operative approach to Scripture. Consider the articles implied in my “forgiveness.”

1. God failed; and fundamentally, he failed me. In my disappointment, I learn God made a mistake: this means he was wrong, he erred. This instance may have been something he couldn’t handle, foresee, or accomplish…turns out he’s mostly sovereign, though perhaps not meticulously so.
2. Therefore, God must be somewhat imperfect. Nobody is entirely perfect; limitations and flaws characterize all beings in a fallen world, which necessarily includes God. The Creator is more like his creatures than his word attests; even his wisdom and judgments stumble sometimes.
3. Hence, I must consider God insufficient. I may cast many of my cares upon him, perhaps even most of them; he cares for me, but can’t always do anything about it. I must face facts: sometimes God loses, evil wins, and hope is deferred, awaiting “next time.”
4. Because of this, God might not always be trusted. He means well in Scripture, though he can be a bit unreliable or unrealistic in what he says there. Like a kindly uncle who does his best, he’s usually good for what he promises.

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