MANILA, Philippines — After a fiercely fought basketball game, a man sits dejectedly in the stadium and with his eyes raised to heaven, blurts out this question: “Is anybody watching?”

The question appears senseless. He knows that during the game, the stadium was filled to capacity. But he asks the question not because he wants to know how many people watched the game. He wants to know if there is somebody who was watching him during the game, or more precisely, watching over him.

He wants to know if there is somebody who cares for him enough so as to turn the game in his favor. Before the game started, he had wagered all his savings on the team that eventually lost.

“Is anybody watching?” is his despairing cry to a God whom he had hoped would intervene but did not.  He had intensely prayed and begged God to help his team win. He had bargained with God that he would be good and morally upright if He would just grant him that one win. But he lost, and now all his savings were gone.

“Is there anybody watching?” echoes the same existential cry that the Psalmist raised to heaven: “Awake O Lord, why do you sleep? Why do you hide your face?” Or Job’s desperate lament: “Remember that my life is like the wind; I shall not see happiness again.”

I have heard people phrase the same question in different ways but with the same intensity, desperation, and gnawing doubt. Does God really care for me, especially when I am in pain? Is there really a God who watches over us in love?

One time, a widow approached me after a funeral mass and, with eyes brimming with tears, asked me: “Why did God allow my husband to be killed by hold-uppers? We have three young children? Who will take care of us?”

Instinctively, I wanted to explain to her everything I learned from theology about undeserved suffering.  But I restrained myself. I just said: “Forgive me, I do not know the answer.” Then I embraced her and her children.

After almost 30 years in the priesthood, I felt no more need to apologize to people for God’s deafening silence, for his seeming lack of concern for people who suffer needlessly. I am convinced He can defend Himself before them better.

How could I be an apologist for God’s silence when I myself have not learned how to deal with it? I sometimes feel that I am always waiting for a God who never arrives.

Perhaps he does not come because I am waiting for a God who fits my idea of justice, fair play, and love. I am waiting for a God whom I want, not the God who is.