Psalm 22: Has God really forsaken us?

If you did not know the rest of the story, you would wonder why they call it “Good Friday”.  The Son of God is on a cross, and sin and death seem poised for the ultimate victory.  Even Jesus’ words on the cross seem to foreshadow defeat, “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  It begs the question, has God really forsaken us?

One of the beautiful things about the psalms is their ability to express multiple emotions, almost simultaneously.  After all, how many of us are entirely happy, or entirely sad.  I have been to a number of wakes in my time as a minister, and one thing I have found is even in those moments of deepest loss there is laughter to be heard.  That’s why the psalm that Jesus references while hanging on the cross, Psalm 22, is so appropriate.  It weaves together lament and praise in such a way to reflect the situation that Jesus is in. 

Psalm 22 is an accurate reflection of both intense sorrow and pain, and also praise.  The first, and largest, is lament.  There are actually more lament psalms than any other type.  James L. Mays would say that, “their abundance in the Psalter is an eloquent witness of the way in which Old Testament piety bound the tribulations of mortal life to faith in God as savior.”  Often, like us, they simply ask the question, “why?”  In asking that question, the lament psalms disclose our humanity.  The vulnerability, mortality, anguishes, and questioning of the laments is part of the universal human experience.  The laments take on a personal aspect, conveying the ways which our troubles affect us.  In this particular psalm, we read of tears building up inside of the psalmist until they spilled out, forming a strong connection between emotional and the physical distress.  There is also a social aspect to the laments.  Our troubles do not just affect ourselves; they affect our relationships with others.  Too often our problems become their problems, whether they ask for that burden or not.  Sometimes it’s not that our problems affect others, sometimes others are the problem.  In Psalm 22 we read of a metaphorical description using animals as predators.  Our enemies circle us sometimes, and we begin to feel an awful lot like prey.  Both the psalmist and those who watch him are expecting his death.  It forms another connection to Jesus on the cross, as he looks down at those who put him there knowing that they are just waiting for him to take his last breath.  Finally, there is a theological aspect to lament. How do our troubles affect the way we see God?  “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” is a question uttered not into a vacuum.  In his book The Trouble with Being Born, Emil Cioran writes that, “A cry means something only in a created universe.  If there is no creator, what is the good of calling attention to yourself?”  So then the problem is not the absence or non-existence of God, but the reconciling of the present experience of sorrow, grief, and pain to the existence of a loving God.  What are we to do when our present experience of pain comes into conflict with who we believe God to be?

I spoke earlier of the way the psalms in general, and Psalm 22 in particular, weave together lament and praise.  The smaller, and yet decidedly final words of Psalm 22 are words of praise.  The act of praise brings the psalmist from isolation to community.  The thanksgiving toward God we see (vv. 22-26) spills over into communal worship (vv. 27-31).  Deliverance, and even the hope for deliverance, is a motivating force for our acts of worship.  Those acts of worship are shown to be something universal, something that transcends time to include the living (v. 27), the dead (v. 29), and all future generations (vv. 30-31).  As we struggle to come to grips with this idea of praise so close on the heels of lament, the words of Mays are again helpful: 

“The psalm tells us that the resurrection does not cancel the cross; it validates and reveals it as the central moment of God’s reign.  The resurrected one is the crucified Jesus.  Faith is not relieved of mortality and suffering.  Anguish and death in faith are rather transfigured by their absorption into the coming reign of God.”

The existence of God does not alleviate suffering.  Rather, it insures that suffering can at most win the battle, but never win the war.  Consider the case of Jesus, our Lord.  If we truly follow him, then surely there will be times in our life where psalms of lament frame our existence.  The cry of Psalm 22:1, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” becomes Jesus cry on the cross (Mark 15:34; Matthew 27:46).  The social ostracism of Psalm 22:7, “All who see me mock me; they make mouths at me; they wag their heads;” is fulfilled in Jesus crucifixion (Matthew 27:39-40; Luke 23:35-36).  There are other connections between Psalm 22 and Jesus suffering, but I want to draw your attention to what I believe should be the defining link.  The psalmist would write in Psalm 22:22, “I will tell of your name to my brothers; in the midst of the congregation I will praise you.”  Notice how the author of Hebrews uses that part of the praise portion of the psalm to express Jesus triumph over death. 

“For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering. For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one source. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers, saying, ‘I will tell of your name to my brothers; in the midst of the congregation I will sing your praise.’” - Hebrews 2:10-12

Jesus identifies with those, before and after him, who speak the words of this psalm in their own moments of crisis.  Jesus engages God in dialogue at the lowest moment of his life not because he feels abandoned, but because through it all and despite it all, he knows God is there.   Because we know that Jesus experienced Psalm 22, suffering changes for us not empirically, but experientially.  We do not experience less suffering because of Jesus, we experience suffering differently.  Jesus suffering results in an invitation to the entire world, not to run from the cross, but to pick it up knowing that like the words of lament in Psalm 22, death will not have the final say.  I leave you with Paul’s words to the Romans, words which are underwritten by the hope we find in Jesus death, burial, and resurrection.

“For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” - Romans 8:38-39 

Mark 15:33-47: the cross as prophecy and purpose

It’s impossible to add to the story of love written by Jesus upon the cross.  All we can do as mere mortals is to use that story to encourage one another.   Part of the encouragement comes in recognizing the role of the cross in God’s plan.  By discerning the role of the cross in salvation history, we can come to a proper understanding of its ability to shape our lives as disciples of Jesus. 

The first thing to note is that Jesus’ suffers in a scriptural way, to fulfill a scriptural purpose.  In other words, Jesus’ suffering is not something we read of for the first time in the gospels, in fact it is foretold in scripture long before Jesus was born in Bethlehem.  Psalm 22, a rich text rooted in Jewish scripture, is quoted five times in the Passion narrative of Jesus.   We see it as prophecy when v. 18, “they divide my garments among them, and for my clothing they cast lots”, is fulfilled in Mark 15:24:

“And they crucified him and divided his garments among them, casting lots for them, to decide what each should take.”

And again when v. 7, “All who see me mock me; they make mouths at me; they wag their heads”, is fulfilled in Mark 15:29-30:

“And those who passed by derided him, wagging their heads and saying, “Aha! You who would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself, and come down from the cross!”

We also see Psalm 22 cast as prayer, when Jesus uses the language of Jewish faith to exclaim in Mark 15:34 “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

We see our Lord not only fulfilling the prophecy of scripture, but also using scripture to pray.  In doing so, Jesus teaches us something very real about genuine faith.  In the words of Eduard Schweizer, “it is a radical expression of devotion to God which endures in every adverse experience- a devotion which continues to claim God as ‘my’ God and will not let him go although he can be experienced only as the Absent One who has forsaken the petitioner.” 

Jesus suffers in a scriptural way, to fulfill a scriptural purpose, which is no less than the reconciliation of all humanity to God.  We see this symbolized in a few ways, the first of which is the rending of the veil in the temple.  The only other time when the word “rent” is used in the gospel of Mark, describing something being torn open, is in 1:10 at Jesus’ baptism.  There the heavens are “rent”, the Holy Spirit descends in the form of a dove, and the Father speaks words of affirmation.  Just as the heavens were rent at his baptism, now the curtain in the Holy of Holies is rent at his death, rent from the top to the bottom, symbolizing not only divine initiative, but a renewed access to God through the atoning death of Jesus Christ.   In Jesus’ baptism the Holy Spirit descends to earth and takes on flesh in the person of Jesus Christ.  In Jesus’ death, the Holy Spirit, God’s abiding presence leaves the temple, and is now capable of taking up residence in the human heart.  The other way we see this purpose symbolized, or announced, is through the proclamation of the centurion.  It is the centurion in charge of Jesus’ execution that proclaims him to be the Son of God.  Way back in the very first verse of the gospel, 1:1, Mark began with this declaration,” the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”   Now, on the cross, and through his sacrificial death, Jesus’ true identity is revealed to the world.  Not only is it revealed, but it is revealed through the lips of a Roman centurion, a soldier of the emperor who competes with Jesus for the world’s worship and adoration.  Imagine what it would mean for a Roman Christian to see in the story of the gospel, that even a soldier of Rome could come to knowledge of who Jesus is, and make the good confession that he is the Son of God.  We should not let the cross obscure our ability to recognize Jesus as the Son of God.  Jesus reigns, not despite his crucifixion, but because of it.  Perhaps Venatius Fortunatus put it best in his Passion Hymn when he declared, “God has reigned from a tree.” 

I probably haven’t told you anything you didn’t know, in pointing out that Jesus crucifixion was the fulfillment of prophecy found in scripture.  You probably also knew that Jesus crucifixion was for the purpose of our redemption.  While I haven’t told you anything new, I hope that I can at least encourage you to think about it in a new way.  You see, as I pointed out in the last blog post, the cross is as much about formation as it is forgiveness.  God forgives us of our past, because he has plans for our future, big plans.  Sadly though, the cross too often moves us to gratitude…but not discipleship.  As Thomas a Kempis would say in his book The Imitation of Christ, “Jesus hath now many lovers of his heavenly kingdom, but few bearers of his cross.”  Or, in words perhaps a little more relatable to our generation, Ben Witherington III would simply observe that, “some are more willing to wear the cross than bear the cross.”  We cannot love what the cross represents, while at the same time shying away from what it requires of us.  Don’t just give thanks for Jesus’ cross, take up your own.   

Mark 15:16-32: the cross as forgiveness and formation

It might be the best known story in the world and because of that, it is possible to become desensitized to the meaning of Jesus crucifixion.  Obviously, as Christians we see it as the turning point in the war God wages for our souls.  Jesus’ actions speak for themselves.  His cross defines the character of God, and the hope of humanity.  However, in addition to asking what the cross does for us, perhaps we should also ask how it instructs us.  Maybe, just maybe, the cross is as much about formation as it is about forgiveness. 

The cross illustrates for Christians the reality that through defeat we achieve victory.  The soldiers mock Jesus because he seems to be a defeated man.   Jesus had earlier predicted that they would see him at the right hand of God, by quoting the first verse of Psalm 110: “The Lord says to my Lord: Sit at my right hand, until I make your enemies your footstool”, but to human eyes things don’t seem to be going well.  How can the road to heavenly exaltation run through the suffering and death of the cross?  Even if we consider the second verse of the psalm, “The Lord sends forth from Zion your mighty scepter.  Rule in the midst of your enemies!” we rightfully ask ourselves, how can the beaten and bloodied Jesus be seen as ruling in any meaningful sense?   Little did they know that even in his weakness, Jesus is ruling in the midst of his enemies.  They beat Jesus with a reed, meant to symbolize a scepter, in an effort to mock his kingship.  And yet, Jesus is reigning in a way more miraculous than we, or anyone else at the time, could realize.  By refusing to retaliate, by refusing to call upon the “ten thousand angels” we have sung about so often, Jesus is transforming suffering into atonement.  He is transfiguring the hatred of his enemies, into a love than conquers all.  We read in that famous passage of Paul’s letter to the Philippians that “being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2:8)  Jesus understood, and in the process teaches us to understand, that victory comes not through the absence of suffering and death, but in the presence of obedience.  When we place our lives in the hands of a loving God, despite what it may cost us, we are displaying our trust in the one who has power even over death itself. 

The cross illustrates for us that God’s love greater than we can imagine.  Sounds like a pretty obvious statement, but consider for a moment that the amazing act of love we see take place on the cross, was part of a plan.  It was not a spur-of-the-moment, adrenaline induced act of bravery on Jesus’ part.  It was a decision he made well in advance (to say the least), having considered the consequences.   Jesus came to this earth knowing his fate, knowing that the cross lay before him.  The word “excruciating” actually comes from the word crucify, so that it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Jesus lived his entire life aware of the excruciating future that lay in store for him.  Imagine living your life knowing that you would die a tortuous death.  He knew that he was living the words of Isaiah:

“I gave my back to those who strike, and my cheeks to those who pull out the beard; I hid not my face from disgrace and spitting.” (Isaiah 50:6)

And the words of the psalm were possibly running through his mind as they took the clothes off of his back:

“They divide my garments among them, and for my clothing they cast lots.” (Psalm 22:18)

Jesus actions demonstrate love combined with grace.  Love because of the tremendous amount he sacrificed, grace because he did it when we were still in rebellion against God.  In writing to the Romans, Paul would sum it up in perhaps the best way possible:

“For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.  For one will scarcely die for a righteous person- though perhaps for a good person one would dare to die- but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:6-8

Jesus suffering demonstrates his love for us, God’s love for us, but it is not the final word.  The prophet Isaiah, when foretelling all the Suffering Servant of God must endure, also knew that the suffering was only temporary:

“Therefore I will divide him a portion with the many, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong, because he poured out his soul to death and was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many, and makes intercession for the transgressors.” – Isaiah 53:12

It is clear that God’s love for us is greater than we can imagine, especially in light of what our forgiveness cost.  However, how does the grace we receive through God’s forgiveness affect our formation? 

God’s forgiveness shapes our formation in the fact that we are called to live grace-filled lives.  In the same letter to the Romans I mentioned earlier, Paul plainly states that this is an expectation of those who have received God’s mercy:

“I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” – Romans 12:1

Because of Christ’s sacrificial death, we are free to live sacrificial live.  If you go back to Philippians, the passage I alluded to earlier actually begins, “have this mind in yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus…”  (Philippians 2:5)  In other words, we are called not just to be thankful for Jesus’ attitude; we are called to emulate it.  That’s a challenging charge for those who would follow Christ.   What it comes down to is this; we can only truly call ourselves Christian if we are willing to live as Christ did.  In many trades and fields, people are referred to in certain ways because their thoughts or practices conform to a well-noted theorist.  Hence, some psychologists are referred to as Freudians, or Jungians, because their philosophical approach to psychology conforms to the thinking of Sigmund Freud, or Carl Jung.   They call themselves these things because they adhere to the philosophies of these men.  I wonder, do we adhere to the attitude and philosophy of Jesus Christ in such a way that calling us Christian would be accurate? 

I was reading not too long ago about a man named Patrick Greene.  Patrick lives in Texas, and is an atheist who sued the county to have a nativity scene removed from the courthouse grounds.  Because of a detached retina, he was at risk of going blind in one eye.  He was flabbergasted when he received a check from local Christians to help cover his medical bills.  When speaking of the unsolicited, and in many ways shocking act of generosity Greene simply stated, “They said they wanted to do what real Christians are supposed to do- love you- and they wanted to help.”  This group of Christians understood that the cross is about more than forgiveness, it’s also about formation.  They took to heart the words, “have this mind in yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus.”  May that mind, which is ours in Christ Jesus, lead us to perform acts that reflect who Christ is, and who he wants us to be.        

Luke 24:13-35: when Jesus is hard to recognize

I must admit that I struggled for some time trying to pick the right text for this past Sunday.  It is true that Easter helps narrow it down a little bit- something about the resurrection would be good.  But as ministers we are faced with a unique challenge when it comes to Easter and Christmas.  How do we bring an expected story in unexpected ways?  It was this struggle that led me to choose Luke 24:13-35 as the basis of my sermon.  It's a text about resurrection to be sure, but probably not the usual suspect when it comes to what the people are expecting to hear.  No empty tombs or angels arrayed in white here; simply a journey on a road leaving Jerusalem, with nothing but disappointment and disheartening experiences over our shoulders.
As I discussed my passage selection with another friend of mine in the ministry, he said something that confirmed my suspicion that perhaps there is something in this text that we as Christians need to hear, especially at Easter.  He said "most of us who have grown up in the church have had road to Emmaus experiences instead of road to Damascus experiences.  When we look back we see the Lord."  I think he's right.  There is something about this text that speaks to us because it reminds us that after the resurrection there is life to be lived, and work to be done. 
As the story goes, a pair of disciples are leaving Jerusalem after the events of the crucifixion and "rumored" resurrection.  During their journey to Emmaus the disciples fall in with a stranger, who unbeknownest to them, is actually Jesus.  In a bit of irony, the disciples express amazement at this strangers apparent ignorance of the recent days events, and they begin to actually recount to the risen Jesus all the things that have taken place in Jerusalem over the past week.  Their story is riddled with dejection, as they describe the high hopes that they had for their crucified master, even suggesting that he was the prophet like Moses that Israel had been waiting for, that he was the one who was to "redeem" Israel.  It seems to me that the disciples failure to understand God's working in the events that they describe is twofold.  First, they embrace the promise but not the pain of God's plan.  A brief glance at the career of Israel's prophets would show that while they brought words of hope (and sometimes judgment), they also paid a steep price to do so.  While it's easy for us to see their mistake, and perhaps even ask how they could be so blind, it isn't as easy to ask ourselves honestly whether we are guilty of making the same mistake ourselves.  Do we, like the disciples, embrace all of the promise but none of the pain that comes with following Christ?  The popularity of the "prosperity gospel" with so many Americans tells me that we do.  When we do embrace the blessings, all the while completely ignoring the pain that comes with discipleship, we only set ourselves up for crisis' of faith that loom on the horizon.  Make no mistake, ignoring pain does not abolish its existence as a reality in our world.  For that reason, we are better off to always remember that Jesus' call to take up our cross and follow him is a call composed of both promise and pain.  The difference, and this is the thing that makes the gospel the gospel, is that the promise will always outlive the pain. 
When I was a runner in high school, there was a saying that was popular in cross country circles.  The saying was "pain is temporary, pride is forever."  In other words, while it may hurt to push that extra little bit in practice, that pain will never outlast the pride of running faster than you have before (and hopefully faster than whoever you're racing that day).  I mention this because it leads us into the second mistake that the disciples made.  They associated Christ' crucifixion with permanent defeat, even seeming to give His death on the cross as the reason why he in fact would not be the one to redeem Israel.  There's that irony again.  The very thing that has led to the disciples deep depression over Jesus seeming failure to redeem Israel is in fact the very method by which Jesus would do just that.  Perhaps if I could borrow and edit the old phrase that was so popular when I was a runner, we could say that "the cross is temporary, but resurrection is forever."  Jesus sacrifice on the cross was an event fixed in time, and yet its salvific effects that find their expression in the resurrection are eternal.  We should note that the cross did have a major role to play in God's plan, and our instruction to take up our crosses and follow Christ ensures us that at some point we to will be made to suffer for our faith.  And yet, our pain will always be swallowed up in the victory that is Christ's resurrection. 
I can't really blame the disciples for not recognizing Jesus.  Never in their wildest dreams did they imagine that they would be following a crucificed Lord.  The question for contempory Christians is do others recognize in us their crucified Lord?  Do they see through our actions a God whose love is demonstrated in sacrifice?  Like the disciples who came before them it might not be what they are expecting, but I guarantee you it's what they need.