Sermon for MHBC (6 February 2022). You can watch or listen on Facebook, YouTube, Vimeo, or our website. Live at 11:00am on Sundays. Also available as a podcast here or by searching “Monument Heights Baptist Church” in your favorite podcast app.
The annual memorial service is always difficult. This is always a difficult Sunday to preach because mere platitudes won’t cut it. I can’t simply say, “Trust God,” when a few minutes later we are faced with how difficult it is to trust God. So, instead I have a question this morning: Has God forsaken us?
It’s not a ridiculous question. In fact, it’s a question asked by Psalm 22. The psalm begins with these words, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” You may recall that these words are spoken by Jesus on the cross. Remember: the psalms point to Jesus. But what we need to notice for now is that these words don’t necessarily mean God has forsaken. Rather, these words reflect the psalmist’s perception. This is perceived reality not actual reality. It’s a bit like driving home from vacation. It doesn’t usually take longer in reality to get home, but we always perceive that it takes longer. So the psalmist feels God has forsaken him, but this says nothing about actually being forsaken. This seems clear enough from the fact that the psalmist continues to cry my God, my God. Now in a real sense, Jesus was uniquely forsaken since he bore the sins of the world, but more on that in a few minutes.
From these words—my God, my God, why have you forsaken me—the psalm goes back and forth for a while between God’s past faithfulness and the present circumstances of the psalmist.
VV. 2–5 describe God’s past faithfulness.
VV. 6–8 describe the psalmist’s present troubles.
VV. 9–11 describe God’s faithfulness.
VV. 12–18 describe the psalmist’s troubles.
Verse 19 marks a significant shift.
Notice the images for the present circumstances. Verse 2: I cry out by day and hear no answer; by night and find no rest. Verse 6: I am a worm and not a human, despised, rejected, lonely. Verse 7: I’m mocked and ridiculed. Verse 8: I’m considered a religious nut. Verse 12: Bulls surround me. Bulls were symbols of strength, especially bulls from Bashan—a region known for fine cattle. Verse 13: I feel that I will be devoured by savage lions. Verses 14–15: Poured out like water. My strength is sapped. I can’t get out of bed. Verse 16: Encircled by dogs, threatening to tear me a part. Verse 17: I can count all my bones, probably a reference to being so emaciated that the bones stick through the skin. They stare and gloat. Verse 18: They divide my garments for their pleasure.
The psalmist knows what it means to be forsaken. Do these images strike you as your own experience? Doesn’t it sometimes feel you’ve been forsaken by God? Cancer; losing a spouse, child, parents; bills you can’t pay; relationships that don’t work; loneliness you can’t fix. Has God forsaken us?
The world is a dark place isn’t it? Since I began pastoring eight years ago, I’ve heard some of the worst stories I could imagine—stories that have made me sick to be in the world. We really don’t have to go that far for those do we? There are stories of incredible abuse and torture and inexpressible evils. Has God forsaken us?
Then there’s the drug epidemic that is absolutely wrecking lives, probably touching every family here in some way. And let’s not be naive. Every time someone ODs, it affects multiple people—parents, children, friends. At this point I’ve lost count of the number of people I know who are no longer here—dozens of people in their 20s who struggled. And sure we can blame it on bad choices, but once we’ve done that, then what will we say? What hope is there? What do we say to that grieving mother? What do we say to friends who bear the regret of not doing more? Has God forsaken us?
We can say things like, “There’s a reason for everything,” but tell me how there’s a reason behind child abuse or losing a spouse. We can put forward Hallmark Jesus who just exists to make us happy while we ignore the suffering in the world. We can think positive, empowered thoughts and try to block out all the darkness with our manufactured sunshine. But it won’t work. Hallmark Jesus can’t hold back the darkness. Positive thinking ends up being the ostrich with his head in the sand. Give me something that can stand up to the darkness, that can answer the gut-wrenching horrors of this world. A God to add to the top of an already decent life doesn’t really cut it. Give me a God who can speak to absolute evil or give me no god at all.
So what is the answer? The God of Scripture is the answer. Why? Because this is not a god who stops every bad thing from happening or who keeps bad things from happening to me or who punishes my enemies. The God of Scripture is a God who comes right down into the middle of this messy world and lets people abuse, torture, and kill him. The God of Scripture is a God who with each pounding hammer blow cries out with us “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He says this because the full weight of the sorrow fell on him. The newspaper headlines, the weeping at funerals and alone in the bedroom, the kid OD-ing in the motel room, the loneliness and nasty things people say, the prideful and smug condescension of the well-to-do, on the cross, the collective weight of that brokenness falls on the living God and it crushes him. And for three days, Hell celebrates because God has been swallowed up by the evil of his creation.
But on the third day, hungover demons are awakened by rumbling. The powers of Hell devolve into total chaos because the grave itself is quaking. Bursting forth is the living God who drank the last drops of sorrow in the world but rose having put death itself to death.
Look at the rest of this psalm. The psalmist cries out in vv. 19–21 for deliverance, but then there is utter confidence in vv. 22ff. VV. 22–31 show us that we will be able to face the future with confidence because God will continue to prove himself faithful (Motyer). How does such a dark psalm turn to such confidence? The only explanation is that something happened in the moment of great distress. That something is the resurrection of Jesus. Notice v. 24, it’s one of my favorites.* Yes, in this world, it appears that God will hide his face, but let’s remember that when God doesn’t act, it’s because he has already acted. Look at v. 26: “The afflicted shall eat and be satisfied; those who seek him shall praise the Lord!” Every time we take the communion meal, we are reminding ourselves that we will all eat around the table with the risen Lord and we will be satisfied despite the utter darkness of this world. And in the end, the whole world will be his kingdom according to vv. 27–28.*And for all eternity, we will tell the story of how the evil in this world was swallowed up on the cross and left in the grave at Jesus’s resurrection. And we will do exactly what v. 31 says, “We will proclaim his righteousness to a people yet unborn, because he has done it.” The Lord has done it.
So what do we say today? Let’s quit saying things like “God needed another angel” or “Everything happens for a reason” or “God won’t put anything more on you than you can bear.” Instead, let’s learn from the psalms and Jesus, and say this, “Yes, it seems that God has forsaken and yes, it looks absolutely hopeless and yes, it’s so incredibly painful, but God has been faithful, and he will have the last word.” Such perspective will only come from swimming deeply in the story of Scripture, from praying through the psalms. You won’t get the perspective from feel-good devotionals or positive thinking.
Anyone who came to dinner at the house of Father Richard John Neuhaus knew to arrive a little before 7 in order to sing the psalms for evening prayer. It was part of the daily rhythm. One evening after his cancer diagnosis, only Richard and his friend Robert were present for dinner. Richard insisted that they sing the psalms prior to dinner as usual. Richard struggled to sing but sing he did. The psalms sustained him in life and death. Robert tells the following episode:
A few days before his death, in his hospital room, when the time for evening prayer arrived, our little group reached for our prayer books. We were inclined to say the office, but decided to sing the words of the Mary’s song; “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,” resounded through the halls of the hospital. Richard was not fully coherent, but I was standing next to him holding the book so he could see the words. When we came to the Gloria Patri at the end of each psalm I noticed that he joined in, his faltering voice merging with ours. That was the last time I prayed with him.
In our moments of greatest distress, let’s turn to the psalms to pray. Let’s learn to lament with Scripture. Has God forsaken us? The only way we can answer that question is if we know the whole story.