The asphalt stretches empty underfoot, three lanes wide yet devoid of life. Isolation amplifies the ache of divine silence. Like David’s raw cry in Psalm 22, unanswered prayers echo in hollow spaces—college towns emptied by pandemic, solitary walks with only squirrels as witnesses. Yet even here, the practice begins: naming the absence while clinging to the character of God. Lament isn’t denial but defiant honesty that keeps showing up. [26:34]
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest. (Psalm 22:1-2, ESV)
Reflection: Where does your life feel most like an empty street? How might you speak that loneliness to God while still declaring “you are my God”?
Bones out of joint. Tongue stuck to parched mouth. David’s physical metaphors ground spiritual agony in the body’s reality. Yet the turn comes: “But you…” Not resolution, but remembrance. Like coffee rituals transforming mundane moments into altars, lament marries pain with praise. Even Christ’s “Why have you forsaken me?” becomes “Into your hands I commit.” The pattern holds: ache first, then the stubborn “yet.” [40:39]
Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One. You are the one Israel praises. In you our ancestors put their trust. They trusted and you delivered them. To you they cried out and were saved. In you they trusted and were not put to shame. (Psalm 22:3-5, ESV)
Reflection: What bodily sensation (tight chest, restless legs) might become your prayer starter today? How can you pair that ache with one truth about God’s character?
Pierced hands. Divided garments. Roaring mockery. David’s words become Christ’s reality on the cross—not metaphor, but prophecy fulfilled. Jesus drinks abandonment to the dregs so believers never taste it. Emmanuel means God enters the godforsaken places. The paradox remains: feeling forsaken doesn’t mean being forsaken. Christ’s dereliction secures our adoption. [44:19]
About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”). (Matthew 27:45-46, ESV)
Reflection: When have you mistaken feeling abandoned for actual abandonment? How does Christ’s cry on the cross reshape that narrative?
Stones of help anchor memory when faith feels theoretical. A coffee ritual becomes communion. A kitchen floor becomes sanctuary. Like David recounting God’s faithfulness to ancestors, physical reminders—a rock by the door, a journal entry—bridge the gap between head knowledge and gut despair. Worship isn’t resolution but repetition: “This is who you’ve been; be who you are.” [52:53]
Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, “Thus far the Lord has helped us.” (1 Samuel 7:12, ESV)
Reflection: What tangible object or daily habit could become your Ebenezer stone? What specific past deliverance does it commemorate?
Thirty days without human contact. Then children’s shrill panic at a park. Lament flourishes in community—both the Creator’s presence with the lonely and the church’s call to “mourn with those who mourn.” Like Penny the dog nuzzling post-tears, we become Christ’s comfort to each other. Shared ache becomes shared altar. [58:17]
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4, ESV)
Reflection: Who in your circle needs the comfort of presence more than answers? How can you create space to lament alongside them this week?
Psalm 22 opens with David’s cry, My God, my God, why have you forsaken me, and the text lets anguish speak without editing. David’s pursuit of God is not in question, yet the silence of heaven feels crushing. The psalm names public shame, mockery, and bodily pain in vivid images, then turns with that small hinge word, yet. The text sets grief alongside confession: yet you are enthroned as the Holy One, yet you brought me out of the womb. Lament here is not complaint in a vacuum. Lament is grief paired with praise, an honest report of where the sufferer is and an honest confession of who God is.
Psalm 22 also stretches beyond David. Its scenes of insults, pierced hands and feet, exposed bones, and divided garments anticipate the crucifixion. Jesus takes the first line on his lips at the cross and then finishes the pattern with, Father, into your hands I commit my spirit. Christ voices the psalm’s descent and its trust. Isaiah 53 fills in the why. He was pierced for our transgressions and crushed for our iniquities, so the abandoned One secures a people who are never finally abandoned. Paul’s word lands the same way. Persecuted but not abandoned. Struck down but not destroyed. Because of Christ, the forsakenness believers feel is never the forsakenness he bore.
The psalm then tutors practice. Prayer must be honest. When words run out, the Psalms lend language strong enough to carry sorrow and faith at the same time. Remembering becomes a discipline. The yet remembers God’s past faithfulness, and Ebenezer stones become concrete markers of his help. Worship needs spaces where honesty is possible, even if that is a quiet kitchen floor with a single light, tears, and a psalm. Declaration belongs in the middle of pain, not only after resolution. David praises in the dark, and Jesus entrusts his spirit while still on the cross. The church, shaped by Emmanuel, learns to mourn with those who mourn and to be present as a sign that Christ is with his people.
I think what's incredible in the Psalms, throughout the Psalms, not just Psalm 22, But David praises God while he is still in his pain. It wasn't taken away and he's not only praising God from a place of resolution. He is declaring God's goodness and righteousness, his greatness and kindness, his faithfulness. He's declaring it from a place of pain and despair, not from a place of triumph. And sometimes I think we don't praise God until we get what we want or until he answers our prayers. I certainly know that's true of me sometimes. David praises God and thanks him without resolution. What's more incredible is that Jesus committed his spirit into God's hand not after the cross but while he was on the cross.
[00:55:30]
(63 seconds)
Well, this is this is a Psalm that Christ himself leads us through. Christ who was truly abandoned by God on the cross. wanna be clear about something today. Because of Christ, you are not abandoned, you are not forsaken, and you never will be. Now does that mean that you won't feel like you are? That it won't, you won't be apparently forsaken? Scripture gives us plenty of examples of people who are honest with God and cry out saying, where are you? Why are you so far away?
[00:45:43]
(45 seconds)
Now, what's fascinating is we believe that the bible is the divinely inspired word of God. So this Psalms is God's hymnal. It's his songbook for his people and 70% of it is lament. So it seems that lamenting is something we ought to pay attention to, something the Lord wants to prepare our hearts to partake in and and to do. Psalm 22 itself is split into two neat sections, a section of grief and a section of proclamation which is how laments are usually formatted in the bible, grief and proclamation.
[00:36:19]
(43 seconds)
And what I don't want us to miss here is David's honesty. He is being honest about where he's at and he's being honest also about who God is. And that's the key to lamenting right there. It's not just about complaining to God and raging against your situation, it's pairing that outpouring of grief with an outpouring of praise. Lamenting is grief plus praise, an outpouring of grief paired with an outpouring of praise.
[00:40:53]
(37 seconds)
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