Commentary - Psalm 22:1-11

Bird's-eye view

Psalm 22 is one of the great Messianic psalms, giving us a prophetic window into the very heart and mind of Christ on the cross. This is not simply David lamenting his own troubles, though he certainly had his share. This is the Holy Spirit speaking through David, providing the script for the central event in all of human history: the crucifixion of the Son of God. The psalm begins with the cry of dereliction, the most profound mystery of the atonement, and descends into the depths of human scorn and helplessness. Yet, this is not a cry of unbelief. It is a profound argument of faith, reasoned and prosecuted before the bar of Heaven. The psalmist, and ultimately Christ, argues from God's holy character, from His history of faithfulness to Israel, and from His personal, lifelong care for the sufferer. This is the logic of faith in the crucible of abandonment, a model for how the saints are to wrestle with God in their darkest hours, and a stunning preview of the agony that purchased our salvation.

The first eleven verses set the stage for the entire drama. They establish the problem: the feeling of being utterly forsaken by God while being viciously mocked by men. And they establish the basis for the appeal: God's unchanging nature and His covenant history. The psalm does not stay in the pit, for it ends in triumphant, worldwide praise. But you cannot get to the triumph of verse 31 without going through the agony of verse 1. This is the pattern of the Christian life, and it is the pattern of Christ Himself: through suffering to glory.

Outline

Context In The Psalter

Psalm 22 forms the central panel of a triptych of Messianic psalms. Psalm 21 is a psalm of the triumphant king, celebrating his victory and God's blessing. Psalm 23 is the beloved psalm of the Good Shepherd, leading and caring for his sheep. But sandwiched between the royal celebration and the pastoral peace is Psalm 22, the psalm of the suffering servant. You cannot have the crown of Psalm 21 or the comfort of Psalm 23 without the cross of Psalm 22. This psalm is quoted or alluded to in the New Testament passion narratives more than any other Old Testament chapter. When Jesus cried out from the cross, He began quoting this psalm, inviting all those who had ears to hear to understand His suffering in light of this inspired text. It is the anatomy of the cross, laid out a thousand years before the event.

Key Issues

The Logic of Faithful Despair

When we read the opening words of this psalm, we must be careful not to mistake them for a crisis of faith. This is not the cry of a man who is beginning to doubt God's existence. Quite the contrary, this is a cry of profound faith. Notice that it is addressed to God. "My God, my God..." This is not the language of atheism; it is the language of covenant. The psalmist, and Christ on the cross, is in a state we might call faithful despair. The despair is in the circumstances and the feelings; the faithfulness is in the address. He is taking his complaint to the only one who can do anything about it. He is lodging a formal, covenantal appeal. The entire prayer is a tightly reasoned argument. "God, you are my God. You are holy. You have a history of delivering your people. You have a personal history with me. My situation is desperate. Therefore, you must act." This is not whining; this is wrestling. This is what it looks like when a saint holds God to His promises in the teeth of all hell.

Verse by Verse Commentary

1 My God, my God, why have You forsaken me? Far from my salvation are the words of my groaning.

The psalm opens with the most agonizing question a man can ask. It is a cry from the epicenter of alienation. The repetition, "My God, my God," establishes the relationship, the covenant bond that makes the forsakenness so excruciating. It is one thing for an enemy to forsake you, but for your God to do so is the ultimate darkness. For the Lord Jesus, this was not just a feeling. On the cross, bearing the sin of the world, He was judicially abandoned by the Father. The Father, in His perfect holiness, turned His face away from the Son, who had become sin for us. This is the great mystery of the atonement. The second clause explains the distance. The groaning, the roaring, is loud, but salvation seems to be on the far horizon, completely out of reach. The help is not near.

2 O my God, I call by day, but You do not answer; And by night, but I have no rest.

The agony is relentless. This is not a momentary pang of doubt. The prayer is constant, "by day" and "by night." But the response from heaven is silence. For the believer, the silence of God is one of the most severe trials of faith. We pray, we plead, and we hear nothing. We are left with our trouble and a silent heaven. This is compounded by the lack of internal peace: "I have no rest." There is no relief, externally or internally. For Christ, this was the ultimate expression of His substitutionary work. He endured the divine silence so that our prayers would never ultimately go unheard.

3 Yet You are holy, Enthroned upon the praises of Israel.

Here is the first great pivot of faith. The word "Yet" or "But" is a massive hinge. The psalmist moves from his subjective experience of abandonment to the objective reality of God's character. "My feelings tell me I am forsaken, yet I know who You are." You are holy. Your nature is utterly pure and separate from sin. And You are "enthroned upon the praises of Israel." This is a crucial statement. God's throne, His rule and reputation, is built upon the worship of His covenant people. And that worship is a response to His acts of salvation. The psalmist is essentially saying, "God, Your very identity is that of a deliverer. The praises that form Your throne are songs about how you rescue Your people. How can you remain silent now without undermining Your own throne?"

4-5 In You our fathers trusted; They trusted and You rescued them. To You they cried out and were granted escape; In You they trusted and were not disappointed.

From the argument based on God's character, he moves to the argument from history. This is how covenantal prayer works. He appeals to God's track record. "Our fathers", Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, the people in Egypt, and so on, faced impossible situations. They did two things: they trusted and they cried out. And God did two things: He rescued them and granted them escape. The result was that they "were not disappointed" or, put another way, they were not put to shame. Their faith was vindicated. This builds the tension of the psalmist's own predicament. If God has always been faithful to His trusting people, what is happening now? Is God going to let His perfect record be tarnished with me?

6 But I am a worm and not a man, A reproach of men and despised by the people.

The contrast is stark. The fathers were honored and delivered. "But I..." The psalmist's self-assessment is one of utter degradation. To be a "worm" is to be subhuman, crushed, powerless, and disgusting. This is not just low self-esteem; it is an objective description of how he is being treated. He is a "reproach," a thing of scorn, and is "despised by the people." For Christ, this was literally true. He was stripped, beaten, and hung up to be mocked. He bore the ultimate reproach of our sin and was treated as the lowest of the low, a worm to be trodden underfoot.

7-8 All who see me mock me; They smack their lip, they wag their head, saying, “Commit yourself to Yahweh; let Him rescue him; Let Him deliver him, because He delights in him.”

The reproach is now given voice. The mockery is not random name-calling; it is deeply theological. The enemies see his suffering and interpret it as proof that God has rejected him. They take his own language of faith, "He trusted in Yahweh," "He delights in him", and turn it into a sarcastic taunt. This is precisely what the chief priests and scribes did at the cross (Matt 27:43). Their logic is the devil's logic: if you are really God's chosen, you wouldn't be suffering like this. They are attacking the very foundation of his relationship with God. The wagging of the head is a gesture of profound contempt and rejection.

9-10 Yet You are He who brought me out of the womb; You made me trust when upon my mother’s breasts. Upon You I was cast from birth; You have been my God from my mother’s womb.

Here is the second great pivot of faith. Having recounted the corporate history of Israel's deliverance, he now turns to his own personal history with God. The "Yet" again stands against the tide of mockery and despair. He argues from the doctrine of providence. "You were there at my beginning. You oversaw my birth. You sustained me as a helpless infant." The phrase "You made me trust" is remarkable. Even the infantile dependence of a nursing baby is seen as a gift from God. From the moment of birth ("cast from birth"), his life has been one of dependence on God. This is an intensely personal and intimate appeal. "We have a lifelong history together. You have been my God from the very start. You can't abandon me now."

11 Be not far from me, for distress is near; For there is none to help.

The opening argument concludes with a direct and urgent plea. The logic is simple and compelling. God feels far away, but the trouble is right here, "distress is near." And the situation is humanly hopeless: "there is none to help." There is no plan B. God is the only hope. Therefore, the distance must be closed. The plea is for God's presence, because His presence is salvation. This is the cry of every believer who finds himself at the end of his rope, and it is the cry of the Son of Man, who went to the end of all ropes for us.

Application

This psalm is a gift to the church for our darkest hours. It teaches us that honest, gut-wrenching lament is not contrary to faith; it is an expression of it. When God feels a million miles away, we are not to pretend otherwise. We are to cry out to Him, "My God, my God," and state the case as it feels. But we are not to stop there. This psalm teaches us to argue with God on the basis of who He is and what He has done. We must preach to our own souls about His holiness, His covenant faithfulness in Scripture, and His personal faithfulness in our own lives. Our feelings of forsakenness do not get the last word. God's character does.

But the ultimate application is to look away from ourselves and to Christ. He drank the cup of God's forsakenness to the dregs so that we would never have to. He became a worm so that we might become sons of God. He endured the mockery so that we might receive the commendation, "Well done, good and faithful servant." When we suffer, we know that our High Priest has gone before us into the deepest darkness and has come out the other side in triumphant resurrection. Because He quoted Psalm 22 on the cross, we can now sing Psalm 23 in the valley of the shadow of death. He was forsaken for a moment so that we might be accepted forever.