It’s been a long time since I sang: "I’m inright outright upright downright, Happy all the time?"

Even longer since I believed it.

And from the looks of it, I’m not alone. I read the papers. I read this paper. I read the church bulletin. And I read your faces. Perhaps you have just lost your job. Or the hidden pain in your marriage is breaking the surface and becoming public. Your father is dying. Or your child.

You still go to church sometimes, but it seems like make-believe. Are those singers always that happy? Does the pastor believe everything he says? Can the Christian life be summarized by three formulas, two prayers and a bumper sticker?

Then they announce the youth pastor has been dismissed because he was acting inappropriately with a couple of teenage girls. So you go home, turn on your computer, and start to surf the murky waters of shame.

What difference does it make? Where is God, anyway?

John the Baptist must have asked that question. He had given up the life of comfort and prestige that came with being the son of a priest. He dressed like a beatnik and ate grasshoppers. He walked around the wilderness yelling about repentance. He called the religious leaders "vipers" (were these his parents’ friends?). He called Jesus the Lamb of God.

He was radical. He was energized. And for a while, he was popular.

And then he got in trouble. John confronted Herod about his adulterous relationship with his brother’s wife and was thrown in jail.

The crowds were gone. The rush was gone. The certainty was gone.

"Go ask Jesus if He is the One." The prophet who had prepared the way for the Messiah, who had seen the dove and heard the voice that launched Jesus into ministry, sat alone in a prison cell, doubting.

His friends came back with good news. They could hardly contain themselves with what they had witnessed and heard.

"Man, John, you should see Jesus now! He heals the sick, He frees the demon-possessed, He preaches the Kingdom of God. Of course He’s the One. Isn’t it great?!"

My guess is that John didn’t feel any better.

Jesus was healing and freeing a lot of people, but not John. Not His herald, His cousin, His prologue. Solitary confinement is nothing to feeling abandoned by God.

John’s life had changed dramatically. He had run the gamut from a passionate high to a painful low.

I am an "up" person by nature. I smile a lot and generally enjoy life. That’s part of my reality. But my daughter caught me crying the other day. That’s part of my reality too—a part she wasn’t comfortable with.

"You’re supposed to be strong, Mom, like these things don’t happen to you," she said.

"No honey. I’m supposed to be real. And because you’re watching me, I’m supposed to show you how to keep doing the right thing even when they do happen."

I went on to point out that Christians laugh and cry and get bored, just like everybody else. John the Baptist did. So did Jesus, for that matter. God is not a less effective deity because His followers have foibles and feelings. Rather, it reveals His power—ever caring, ever present in real life.

Admittedly, real life can throw us a lot of curves. In the midst of his own upheaval, John’s story shows me two important things: it is the job of the follower of Jesus to keep on doing good, even when it doesn’t make sense. And secondly, whether I’m happy or sad, believing or doubtful, the truth is constant: Jesus is still the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.

So dear daughter, the next time you are tempted to ask, "Where is God?", remember this: He has probably never been closer.