“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
These words are among the most haunting in Scripture—and not because they come from David, but because Jesus himself takes them up on the cross. This psalm is both ancient lament and prophetic fulfillment.
David cries out from the depths of abandonment. God feels distant. Silent. Absent. “Why are you so far from saving me?” he asks. He remembers past deliverance, even praises it, but can’t reconcile it with his present despair.
That’s how suffering feels sometimes. We remember God’s faithfulness in the past. We even believe He’s good. But right now? He seems gone.
This psalm gives voice to that reality. It tells us that faith doesn’t mean pretending. It means crying out—even when the heavens are silent. Lament is not weakness. It’s a form of worship.
Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann writes that lament “refuses to settle for a world where God is absent.” That’s what Psalm 22 does. It wrestles with God. It demands presence. It won’t let go.
And then—somewhere near verse 21—the tone shifts. “You have rescued me.” David doesn’t explain the transition. He just declares it. God has heard. The silence breaks. And praise returns.
This is the journey of lament. It begins in despair but moves toward hope. Not because circumstances change quickly, but because God meets us in our grief.
And when Jesus quotes this psalm on the cross, He takes our forsakenness into himself. He enters our loneliness. He doesn’t just sympathize—he suffers with us and for us.
Practically, this psalm gives us permission to speak honestly to God. To cry. To question. To shout. And to believe that even in the silence, he hears.
You are not alone in your abandonment. Jesus prayed this prayer too. And the Father who raised him from the grave will not leave you in the dark forever.