Why God "steps back" after a season of blessing.

Have you ever watched a parent teaching their child to ride a bicycle? Perhaps you've been that parent. I did it with all three of my boys. My father did the same for me.

There comes that pivotal moment when the parent's steadying hand releases the seat, and the child pedals on alone—unaware at first that they're flying solo. The parent hasn't abandoned them; they're watching intently, ready to pick them up again if they fall, but allowing them to discover their own balance.

Sometimes the most profound lessons come not when God holds us closest, but when He gives us space to reveal what's truly in our hearts.

This dynamic sits at the heart of one of Scripture's most intriguing passages about divine testing. In 2 Chronicles 32, after recounting King Hezekiah's remarkable faithfulness and the extraordinary ways God had blessed him, the biblical narrator drops this startling verse: "God left him to himself, in order to test him and to know all that was in his heart" (2 Chronicles 32:31, ESV). The Hebrew verb here, azab, suggests a deliberate withdrawal—not abandonment, but a purposeful stepping back. It's the same word used when a mother weans her child, creating necessary distance for growth.

 

The Context of Blessing

To understand this divine test, we must first grasp the heights from which Hezekiah might fall. The chapter begins by celebrating his remarkable faithfulness during the Assyrian crisis. When Sennacherib's armies surrounded Jerusalem, Hezekiah didn't merely organize military defenses; he "set his heart to seek the Lord" (2 Chronicles 30:19). He restored temple worship, celebrated Passover with unprecedented devotion, and called the nation back to covenant faithfulness.

God's response was spectacular. An angel of the Lord struck down 185,000 Assyrian soldiers in one night (2 Chronicles 32:21). Hezekiah's fame spread throughout the nations. Wealth poured into Jerusalem's treasuries. When Hezekiah fell mortally ill, God not only healed him but gave him a miraculous sign—the shadow on the sundial moved backward ten steps (2 Kings 20:8-11). The chronicler summarizes: "Hezekiah had very great riches and honor... for God had given him very great possessions" (2 Chronicles 32:27, 29).

Here lies the subtle danger. As John Chrysostom observed in his homilies on Matthew, "Not the possession of wealth, but the cleaving unto it, is the destruction of the soul." Success, perhaps more than suffering, reveals the true orientation of our hearts. When everything goes our way, when prayers are answered spectacularly, when blessings overflow—do we grow in humility or in pride? Do we become more dependent on God or more confident in ourselves?

 

The Babylonian Test

The specific test comes through an unexpected channel: Babylonian envoys arriving to inquire about the miraculous sign (2 Chronicles 32:31). On the surface, this seems like a diplomatic courtesy call. Babylon, not yet the superpower it would become, sought alliance with Judah against their common enemy, Assyria. But Scripture hints at something deeper happening in this moment.

The parallel account in 2 Kings 20:12-19 provides crucial details. Hezekiah doesn't merely receive the envoys; he shows them everything—"his treasure house, the silver, the gold, the spices, the precious oil, his armory, all that was found in his storehouses. There was nothing in his house or in all his realm that Hezekiah did not show them" (2 Kings 20:13). The Hebrew construction emphasizes the comprehensiveness: kol, meaning "all" or "everything," appears repeatedly.

Why this exhaustive display? Thomas Aquinas, commenting on divine providence, notes that God's withdrawal doesn't cause our sin but allows our latent dispositions to manifest. Like a doctor who removes a bandage to check if the wound has truly healed, God sometimes steps back to reveal whether our transformation is genuine or merely surface-level compliance maintained by His obvious presence. (cf. Summa Theologiae, I-II, Q. 79, A. 1 & 2; Q. 80, A. 3, Ad 2).

In Hezekiah's case, the test revealed a heart that had subtly shifted. The man who once trusted God alone for deliverance now sought to impress foreign powers with his wealth. The king who had proclaimed "Be strong and courageous... for there is one greater with us than with him" (2 Chronicles 32:7) now acted as if his security lay in displaying his treasures to potential allies.

 

The Nature of Divine Testing

This raises profound questions about how God tests His people. James writes, "Let no one say when he is tempted, 'I am being tempted by God,' for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one" (James 1:13). Yet Scripture repeatedly speaks of God testing His people—Abraham with Isaac, Israel in the wilderness, and here, Hezekiah through divine withdrawal.

The distinction lies in understanding the Hebrew concept of testing (nasah) versus tempting to evil. Gregory the Great, in his Moralia in Job, explains that God's tests are like a refiner's fire—not intended to destroy but to purify and reveal. When God "left Hezekiah to himself," He didn't inject evil into Hezekiah's heart or manipulate circumstances to make him fall. Rather, He temporarily withdrew the sensible awareness of His presence that had been sustaining the king's humility.

Consider how this dynamic operates in our own experience. In seasons of obvious blessing or dramatic answered prayer, we often feel carried along by grace. Our devotion seems natural, our trust unwavering. But what happens when that feeling of being carried subsides? When prayers feel routine rather than electric? When we must choose righteousness without the immediate reward of sensing God's pleasure? These moments reveal whether we've been transformed or merely conformed by external pressure.

 

The Mercy in the Test and the Gift of Repentance

Remarkably, even Hezekiah's failure becomes an occasion for grace. When Isaiah confronts him about showing the treasures to Babylon, prophesying that everything he displayed would one day be carried away to Babylon, Hezekiah responds with acceptance: "The word of the Lord that you have spoken is good" (2 Kings 20:19). Though his motives remain mixed—he seems relieved the judgment won't come in his lifetime—there's at least recognition and submission to God's word.

The chronicler adds a telling detail: "But Hezekiah did not make return according to the benefit done to him, for his heart was proud. Therefore wrath came upon him and Judah and Jerusalem. But Hezekiah humbled himself for the pride of his heart, both he and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, so that the wrath of the Lord did not come upon them in the days of Hezekiah" (2 Chronicles 32:25-26). The test, though failed initially, ultimately produced its intended fruit—humility and repentance.

This is the great encouragement of the story. Hezekiah failed the test at first, but that didn't mean he ultimately failed. The testing moment became the classroom for perfect repentance. It demonstrated that God's desire is not merely for us to pass a test of perfection, but for us to learn the profound grace of being picked up after we fall. The very discipline of the test creates the opportunity for genuine, heartfelt repentance, which is the truest reflection of a transformed heart. Augustine, reflecting on divine grace in his Confessions, writes: "You were always present to me, mercifully angry, seasoning all my unlawful pleasures with bitter discontent, so that I might seek pleasure that was free from discontent." God's temporary withdrawal isn't abandonment but pedagogy—divine teaching that allows us to discover both our weakness and our need for constant grace.

 

Living in the Space Between

What does this mean for us today? We live in that space between dramatic interventions, in what might be called the ordinary time of faith. Most of our days aren't marked by angels destroying armies or shadows moving backward on sundials. We face instead the Babylonian envoys of our age—opportunities to find our security in visible success, social media metrics, bank balances, or human approval rather than in the God who seems, at times, to have stepped back.

The test of success is particularly relevant in our achievement-oriented culture. When we receive that promotion, when our ministry grows, when our prayers are remarkably answered—these are the moments when God might be "leaving us to ourselves" to see what's really in our hearts. Will we, like Hezekiah initially did, parade our achievements as if they were self-generated? Or will we recognize every good gift as flowing from the Father of lights (James 1:17)?

 

Practical Applications

1. The Paradoxical Proof of Presence

When you feel "tested" by a lack of a sensible connection with God, or when your obedience feels hard-won, remember that this is not evidence of God’s abandonment. In fact, it's often the opposite: it's evidence of His presence and love. The parent who teaches a child to ride a bike will at some point let go, not because they are leaving, but because it is necessary to test the discipline they have already invested. Would it be proper to hold onto and steady the seat forever? No. God wants to allow the discipline He taught us to flow through us, to become ours as a gift, so that even our own efforts become not a source of pride, but a reflection of God's love, His discipline, and His guidance. He steps back to give us room to grow, trusting that what He's put in our hearts will carry us.

 

2. Cultivating Humility in Success

We must cultivate awareness of our vulnerability in seasons of blessing. The Puritan writer John Owen warned, "Be killing sin or it will be killing you." This vigilance must intensify, not relax, when things go well. Develop practices that maintain humility in success: regular confession, even when sins seem minor; gratitude journals that attribute specific successes to God's grace; generous giving that demonstrates treasures aren't being hoarded.

 

3. Interpreting Divine Absence

When God seems distant, when spiritual practices feel dry, when we must choose obedience without emotional reward—these might not be signs of divine displeasure but rather divine confidence in the foundation He has built in you. The space created by azab is the very place where faith is strengthened, where we learn to trust the reality of His character over the feeling of His presence.

The story of Hezekiah reminds us that even when we stumble in the space He gives us, His ultimate purpose is not to condemn, nor even to leave us alone, but to draw us into a deeper, more humble, and more truthful reliance on His grace. God's test is ultimately a testimony to His trust in the power of His own Spirit within us.

What part of Hezekiah's story—his spectacular success, his failure, or his ultimate repentance—resonates most with your current season of life?

There are many stories of saints who endured tests without falling into sin. These are encouraging tales. However, there are just as many (and Hezekiah is a prime example) who failed their test, but exhibited their sainthood in their return to the Lord, in their repentance. For, in the Body of Christ we need the examples of saints who exemplify repentance as much as we need those who embody resilience. This represents the infinite mercy of a God who exhorts us to forgive as He forgives, not just seven times, but seventy-seven times (Matthew 18:21-22).

However, we do not "fall" merely that we might repent and be left in the wake of our failure.

When we fall, when we fail to pass the test, we are reminded of our ultimate dependence, we become the resilient saints who are tested and tried to endure the next trial and test. This is how God removes his hand from the bicycle seats of our lives, from the elementary lessons of an immature faith, that we might become perfect, that is, complete--that we might become the men and women God had in mind when He created us, when He called us by name, when He bid us to take up our crosses and follow.

 

In Christ,

Judah