God, Do You See This?: A Study of Habakkuk

It’s hard to scroll lately without feeling the weight in your chest.

The stories keep coming—headlines, videos, commentary, outrage, grief—layered one on top of another. How do you ignore what’s happening in Minnesota? ICE-related events have resulted in loss of life, injustice, crippling fear, and confusion. Families are shattered. Communities are grieving. The list of unanswered questions grows longer by the day. And for many of us, a deep, disorienting ache settles in: How is this happening? Why is God allowing it? Where is He in all of this?

We believe in a good God. We sing about His justice rolling like a river, His mercy, His nearness. And yet, we are watching devastating evil unfold in real time. At some point, every Christian feels the tension between what we know to be true about God and what we are seeing in the world.

This is exactly where the book of Habakkuk meets us—in the unbearable wondering.

Habakkuk is truly my favorite book of the Bible, not because it’s tidy or comforting in a surface-level way, but because it’s honest. It was written for believers who love God deeply, but are overwhelmed by what they see. People who aren’t doubting whether God exists, but are struggling to understand how He’s working when everything feels so wrong. Unlike other prophets, Habakkuk records himself speaking to God on behalf of the people—not to the people on behalf of God.

Habakkuk teaches us how to wrestle honestly, wait faithfully, worship fiercely, and respond obediently when the world seems upside down.

The heart of this book is the question humanity has asked for generations—and the one that’s floated around my mind a lot these days: If God is good, why do bad things happen?

Habakkuk’s very name carries immense meaning. It can both mean “to wrestle” and “to embrace.” Those two ideas belong together here. A committed believer can wrestle with God through honest questions and still embrace a genuine faith. The foundation beneath the whole book is this truth: God is sovereign, and He works all things for good—even when we can’t see how.

In the opening chapter, Habakkuk bares his struggles before the Lord. He can’t reconcile what he believes about God with what he sees happening around him. Specifically, he is anguished that the Babylonians—violent, corrupt, and oppressive—are being allowed to flourish and succeed while God’s people suffer. If God is pure, why does He seem to look on evil and do nothing? Why doesn’t He protect His chosen people?

How long, Lord, must I call for help, but You do not listen? Or cry out to You, “Violence!” but You do not save? Why do You make me look at injustice? Why do You tolerate wrongdoing? Destruction and violence are before me; there is strife, and conflict abounds. . .justice never prevails.

Habakkuk 1:2-4

Do you hear your own questions echoing in his words?

Why do violent criminals go unpunished?

Why do the innocent suffer?

Why does injustice persist?

Why do we cry out…and hear nothing?

Habakkuk clearly loves God. His questions aren’t born out of rebellion. They come from relationship. That distinction matters! Challenging God with honest questions is an act of faith. Testing God, demanding control or proof on our own terms, isn’t. Habakkuk doesn’t water down his emotions. Scripture makes room for his rawness because a faith that pretends isn’t biblical faith at all.

God’s response is striking. He doesn’t rebuke Habakkuk for asking, but welcomes the questions! He answers, but maybe not in the way Habakkuk hopes. Instead of providing immediate relief, God offers an eternal perspective. The hard truth is that God tells him things will actually get worse before they get better.

And yet, this becomes an anchor rather than a kite for the prophet to drift away from God on. God is good. His ways are good, even when they’re hard and confusing. When things look bad, He’s working. When we don’t understand, He’s still working.

Lord, are You not from everlasting? My God, my Holy One, You will never die.

Habakkuk 1:12

In the second chapter, something shifts. Habakkuk stops speaking and chooses to listen. He humbly positions himself to wait for God’s response, even though he doesn’t know how long that waiting will last. He proves that waiting isn’t passive. It’s attentive, watchful, and rooted in trust.

I will stand at my watch and station myself on the ramparts; I will look to see what He will say to me.

Habakkuk 2:1

God reminds him that His people have always been characterized by waiting.

“For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay.”

Habakkuk 2:3, emphasis mine

The Lord speaks of an “appointed time”—the Hebrew word moad—a perfect, unstoppable moment set by God Himself. What might feel delayed to us is deliberate to Him. His timing is never accidental (read more about this in The Gap Between the Pages). Hope resurfaces in His powerful promises. Judgment and justice are coming.

“For the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the gory of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.”

Habakkuk 2:14

This is a covenant promise and future hope, ultimately fulfilled in Revelation 21! And then comes this grounding reminder:

The Lord is in His holy temple. . .

Habakkuk 2:20

This is what my women’s bible study group calls a “BUT God” moment! The world may feel chaotic, BUT GOD is still on His throne!

By the third and final chapter, Habakkuk moves into worship—not because his circumstances have changed, but because his perspective has. This prayer opens with Shigionoth (3:1), a musical instruction that signals wild passion and vigorous enthusiasm. Please don’t mistake this as a call for denial. This is a prayer of defiant worship in the face of real, deep pain.

Habakkuk reminds us to return to what we know to be true about God when we’re in the valley.

Lord, I have heard of Your fame; I stand in awe of Your deeds, Lord. Repeat them in our day, in our time make them known.

Habakkuk 3:2

He essentially says, “God, I remember and embrace what You can do.” Remembering strengthens our faith for an unknown future, because it anchors praise to the character of God—the WHO, not the WHAT.

God is near.

He is the eternal Rock.

He is a mighty warrior who fights for His people.

Habakkuk prays God’s own Word back to Him, echoing a posture we later see Jesus take in the garden of Gethsemane. It’s a parallel of trusting God even when deliverance doesn’t come the expected way.

And then comes this defining declaration that sings to my heart:

I heard and my heart pounded, my lips quivered at the sound; decay crept into my bones, and my legs trembled. Yet I will wait patiently for the day of calamity to come on the nation invading us. Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.

Habakkuk 3:16-18, emphasis mine

Even though.

Even though the fig tree doesn’t blossom. Even though the fields produce no food. Even though everything familiar collapses. Yet I will trust in the Lord my God.

Even though I don’t like it.

Even though I don’t understand it.

Even though I know He could and should but hasn’t.

Yet will I trust.

You don’t have to understand the why to trust God’s heart and intentions. Habakkuk faces a choice—the same one presented to us: trust his emotions and present reality, or trust in God’s ability to bring good from the inconceivable. In this context, grace is accepting what is instead of resenting what isn’t.

Acceptance does not mean pretending everything is fine. Let’s be honest—it’s not. It’s not denial or putting on sand-colored glasses. Habakkuk looks the truth squarely in the face. He names how bad it really is. And he lets grief drive him deeper into faith, not away from God.

So what do we do now?

We are called to choose a faith that responds, not retreats.

We lament honestly, pray boldly, and name injustice without minimizing it.

We wait faithfully, resist cynicism, and refuse to numb our hearts.

We worship intentionally, even when our emotions lag behind our obedience.

We act justly, advocate for the vulnerable, support organizations that aid affected families, and pray for our leaders, first responders, and grieving communities.

We choose, again and again, not to walk away, quit, or grow cold.

We wrestle.

And we embrace.

God of justice and mercy, we bring You our grief, our fear, and our confusion. We confess how hard it is to hold faith and sorrow together. Teach us to wait without walking away. Help us to worship without denying reality. Give us courage to live faithfully in a broken world, and compassion that moves us toward action, not apathy. We choose to trust You, not because everything makes sense, but because You are good, You are near, and You are still on the throne. Amen.