Dear Friend,
The other day, I was just idly typing “Why does God…” into Google to see what the search bar would suggest. Your question, “Why Does God Hate Me?” popped up as the third most common suggestion. It struck me deeply, and I felt compelled to respond directly to you.
I wish I could simply tell you, unequivocally, that God does not hate you. Many responses online offer this reassurance, alongside more cynical answers like “Because God is a monster.”
Have these responses truly resonated with you? While I understand the sentiment behind both – acknowledging the world’s suffering while offering comfort – they often feel inadequate. Simply stating “God loves you” might not address the pain you’re currently experiencing. So, I want to set aside pre-conceived notions and truly explore your question.
It makes me wonder what led you to believe that God harbors hatred towards you. Was it something someone told you? If so, you place significant trust in their words. But is that trust warranted? Historically, have those who proclaimed “God hates you” been proven right, or generally been people of good character? In the New Testament, Jesus frequently criticized religious leaders for burdening people, and challenged those eager to condemn others. Yet, he never declared God’s hatred for anyone.
My deeper concern is that your question might stem from profound suffering. Perhaps you’ve tirelessly tried to overcome challenges, but without success. In such circumstances, it’s natural to question if divine animosity is at play. This feeling of divine abandonment can be incredibly isolating and painful.
Interestingly, the very act of asking “Why does God hate me?” suggests a desire for change. Seeking an explanation implies a hope for resolution, a way to alleviate your pain. Many in your position might simply reject the concept of God altogether, or agree with the online voices labeling God as malicious. Perhaps embracing such conclusions might offer temporary relief.
Have you noticed how frequently your question appears in Google searches? You are far from alone in asking this. Many others grapple with the same feelings of divine rejection. This shared experience highlights a common struggle in the face of adversity.
Consider this: throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, the ancient Israelites often interpreted misfortune as divine punishment for wrongdoing. (Do you believe you’ve done something to deserve this?) However, their understanding evolved over time. They gradually learned that suffering doesn’t automatically equate to divine displeasure or personal fault. Sometimes, life is simply, undeniably difficult. Understanding this distinction is crucial when grappling with feelings of divine hatred.
Imagining your experience, it’s tempting to immediately reassure you that God loves you and that you are inherently good. This is a genuine belief, but perhaps it also reflects my discomfort with your pain. When my teenage sister tragically died, well-meaning people offered platitudes like, “She’s in a better place,” or, “God needed another angel.” But such statements can feel incredibly dismissive and even cruel. Does it imply God intentionally inflicts suffering to fulfill some divine purpose? Such explanations often fail to provide genuine comfort and can even amplify feelings of anger and abandonment.
My own experiences and mistakes have taught me that confronting another’s suffering can trigger our own discomfort, leading us to offer unintentionally hurtful or dismissive “comfort.” Who are we, mere readers of your question, to fully grasp the depth of your experience?
It’s okay for me to acknowledge my sadness that you’re enduring this, that your suffering is so intense that the only explanation seems to be rejection by a God typically associated with love and compassion. This feeling of being forsaken is a heavy burden to carry.
Let’s try a thought experiment. No need for deep breathing or mantras. During a period of personal doubt in my twenties, I found solace in a simple, unexpected practice: spending time with art. While my experience pales in comparison to your pain, it was a deeply unsettling time. Sitting before paintings or photographs, simply observing them, became surprisingly helpful.
This wasn’t a magical cure, my mind still raced. But it offered a gentle point of focus outside myself, a visual anchor. Gradually, unexpectedly, I began to feel a sense of distance from my anxieties, a space to simply be.
Perhaps you could try something similar. Find a piece of art you appreciate and spend at least fifteen minutes simply looking at it, phone off and away. It might feel like an eternity, but persevere. Just observe.
I don’t know if this will offer relief, and it certainly doesn’t answer your question directly. But maybe it can create a small pocket of peace, a moment of respite amidst your struggle.
There’s a more overtly spiritual exercise I could also suggest, but feel free to disregard it if it doesn’t resonate.
Find a quiet space, and when you feel ready, try two things.
First, visualize God looking at you. (This might seem daunting, even frightening given your current feelings. If it feels wrong, please don’t proceed.)
I sincerely hope that voicing your question will bring you some measure of peace and perhaps even a path forward.
But if you are willing, know that there’s no “incorrect” image of God. Imagine God as a grandmother, an otherworldly being, the sun, or a kindly figure with a beard. Trust the first image that comes to mind. It could be a beloved teacher or even a cherished pet.
So, picture God looking at you. Once you have that image, imagine God smiling at you. Not just a polite smile, but a warm, welcoming smile. A smile that says, “It’s so good to see you!” A smile like watching a sunrise that fills you with awe.
Simply sit with this image of God smiling at you. It might be overwhelming at first, and it’s okay to look away if needed. But return to it, and see if you can hold onto that image for a little longer.
Again, I can’t guarantee this will change your circumstances or instantly resolve your feelings about God. It’s not intended to drastically alter your theological perspective. My hope is that it might offer a moment of rest, a brief pause from your pain. (And if it leads to associating God with the unconditional love of your pet, that would be wonderful too.)
I am truly sorry you are going through this difficult time. And I am also grateful for your courage in voicing such a vulnerable question. The popularity of your question online suggests you’ve given others permission to voice similar unspoken struggles. Your honesty inspires me to be more truthful about my own pain and vulnerabilities.
This may not offer much comfort right now, but it is genuinely true: you are brave for asking this question, brave for speaking your pain aloud. And I sincerely hope that by voicing your question, you might find some peace, some path forward. Sometimes, naming our deepest fears can, in some small way, liberate us from them. I hope this holds true for you.
