Crystal’s honesty deserves our compassion before it receives our correction
When headlines suggested he had abandoned his faith, Crystal told the Palisadian-Post that it was not abandonment but an evolving relationship with God: “I don’t trust Him right now. And I said ‘right now’” (Schneider, 2026). In “700 Sundays,” his arguments with God ended in a card game in which God folds. Today, he says, the uncertainty of this season has left him unable to trust. His new Broadway show, “860,” is named for the street number of the house he lost. The stage holds a replica of his old home office, and he invites the audience to ask where they stand themselves (Schneider, 2026).
Crystal’s honesty deserves our compassion before it receives our correction. Notice the word he chose. He did not say God was absent; he said he does not trust Him. Trust is the language of a wounded relationship, not one that never existed. And he is hardly the first to speak this way. The psalmist asked, “How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever?” (Psalm 13:1). Jesus wept at the tomb of a friend, even knowing what He was about to do (John 11:35). Scripture does not rebuke honest lament; it preserves it. The danger is not in asking God hard questions, but in walking away before we hear His answer.
Crystal also looked beyond his own losses, pointing to floods, wildfires, and wars around the world, and asking what is going on (Schneider, 2026). That is the oldest question in the human story, and the Bible does not dodge it. It is not God who prompts people to wickedness or murder (James 1:13). Scripture describes the human heart as deceitful above all things (Jeremiah 17:9), and left to ourselves we pursue self-interest at others’ expense (Genesis 6:5). Job, who knew suffering as few have, said that man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward (Job 5:7). The earth itself groans under the weight of a fallen world (Romans 8:20-22). Yet nothing escapes God’s rule; what people meant for evil, God can mean for good (Genesis 50:20).