The Song of the Forsaken

Christians of course read Psalm 22 and can’t help but think of the crucifixion of Jesus, and we’ll get there in a bit. But Psalm 22 should first be read on its own as it would have been sung by the people of God for generations before the coming of Christ, because it is a powerful lament for an innocent sufferer. David covers a whole spectrum of complaints, but he begins with the most painful suffering: his distance from God. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?” Of all the questions that the psalmists ask of God, this is one of the most painful and agonizing. One scholar comments, “It is not a lapse of faith, nor a broken relationship, but a cry of disorientation as God’s familiar, protective presence is withdrawn… and the enemy closes in.” David feels like he is utterly alone and forgotten, like the God who used to be close has stepped away and may never come back. Even the previous psalm drives the knife further into the heart. Psalm 21 praised God for answering the prayers of the king, but here in Psalm 22, the king’s cries appear to go unheard. In 21, God’s glory is through his salvation and deliverance, but in 22, David feels like salvation is nowhere to be found. And yet for all its anguish, this question is also a prayer. He says “my God, my God,” with a doubled, magnified possessive to show that David is still loyal and committed to the Lord, even when God’s ways perplex us. After this initial cry of being forsaken, the psalm suddenly switches from I/me to you (the Lord): “Yet you are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel. In you our fathers trusted; they trusted, and you delivered them.” All of the “yous” here are emphatic in the Hebrew, like David is forcing his attention away from himself and onto God, even for just a moment. Although he is presently suffering, David looks back at the long tradition of God’s trustworthy mercy to his ancestors, the family tree of faithfulness. God is holy, which means he is uniquely and intensely perfect. He never does wrong; he is always good. But because it comes right after the distressed plea, this statement of confidence has a bitter aftertaste and a tone of wondering: “God, I know what your word says. You are holy and ever loyal to your people. So why do I feel so alone?”

In the middle of the psalm, David continues to alternate between I/me sections and you/God sections, with both parts increasing in intensity as they go on. After looking back at God’s holiness in the past, the psalm jolts us back to the present in verse 6: “But I am a worm and not a man, scorned by mankind and despised by the people.” David’s enemies mock him for trusting in God even when his circumstances seemed to suggest that God doesn’t care. It’s as though the questions within have manifested in detractors who voice all of David’s doubts. But then we shift again in verse 9: “Yet you are he who took me from the womb; you made me trust you at my mother’s breasts.” God is like a midwife who assisted in David’s birth and laid him on his mother, an act of gentle care for a helpless newborn. This is one of the most tender metaphors for God in the entire Bible. A commentator summarizes it this way: “Not only did you show yourself faithful to our ancestors in Israel, but you have been faithful to me from the very beginning of my existence.” In that quiet moment of faith, David whispers, “Be not far from me.” But then we are suddenly plunged into the most haunting description of suffering in the whole psalm. There is pain as David’s body falls apart and his emotional wellbeing melts away. There is persecution from enemies who are compared to wild bulls, ravenous lions, and packs of dogs. At its most extreme, the psalm describes an execution with disturbing, graphic language: “they have pierced my hands and feet… I can count all my bones… they stare and gloat over me.” As was common in the ancient world, the enemies divide the psalmist’s clothing because he’s dead and has no use for it anymore. But with his last breath, David suddenly shouts out a series of short pleas to God: “But you, O LORD, do not be far off! O you my help, come quickly to my aid!” He then mentions the animals of the previous verses, but in reverse order: “Deliver my soul from the sword, my precious life from the power of the dog! Save me from the mouth of the lion! You have rescued me from the horns of the wild oxen!” God is taking each of these threats and systematically eliminating them. This is the turning point of the psalm, specifically the last line: “You have rescued me.” “Rescue” is the same Hebrew word that in verse 2 was translated “answer,” as in “you do not answer me.” The silence of God has been broken. The forsaken one has been rescued. Everything wrong is about to be made right because God is finally here.

The last part of Psalm 22 is unexpected, because it turns from a lament to a song of thanksgiving. Verse 22: “I will tell of your name to my brothers; in the midst of the congregation I will praise you.” The Mosaic law encourages those who have their prayers answered to sacrifice, feast, and tell the story of God’s goodness to your neighbor. This is exactly what David does as a reversal of his earlier questions of anguish: “You who fear the LORD, praise him! … For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden his face from him, but has heard, when he cried to him. From you comes my praise in the great congregation.” That last line makes it clear that the praise that God’s people offer originates with God himself; we’re just joining into the song that God is already singing of his glory and power and love. Surrounded by friends rather than enemies, still bearing the scars from his recent trials, David lifts up his voice and says to everyone, “I was lost and alone, but God did not forsake me.” But the celebration doesn’t end here, because the camera zooms out from David to encompass the whole earth: “All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the LORD, and all the families of the nations shall worship before you. For kingship belongs to the LORD, and he rules over the nations.” Notice the repetition of “all” as the song of David becomes a universal melody sung from the mouths of the rich and the poor, the living and the dead, the current generation and the generation yet to come. The psalm anticipates a day when everyone will sing praises to God, the true King and the King of Kings. This is the beauty of Psalm 22: we began with a lonely sufferer curled up in the dust, but we end with all the families of all the earth bowing down in worship. Our individual stories of pain and loss are set within the larger context of the capital-S Story. David envisions a day when God will answer every cry and every sorrow, because, as the last line announces, “he has done it.” It is finished.