The Cry of Faithful Despair: Psalm 22:1-11
Introduction: The Sound of the Cross
There are some passages of Scripture that function like a tuning fork for the entire Bible. Strike them, and the whole counsel of God begins to hum with a sympathetic vibration. Isaiah 53 is one such place. And Psalm 22 is another. This psalm is not simply a poetic lament from a distressed David. It is one of the most profound and explicit prophecies of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ in the entire Old Testament. So much so that the Lord Jesus Himself chose to make it the very soundtrack of His atoning work. When He cried out from the cross, "My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?" He was not uttering a spontaneous cry of desperation. He was quoting the first line of this psalm, and in so doing, He was directing our attention to the whole of it. He was telling us, "If you want to understand what is happening here, read Psalm 22."
This psalm is a journey from the abyss of dereliction to the heights of global triumph. It begins with the most agonizing cry of abandonment imaginable and ends with a declaration that the Lord has accomplished salvation for the ends of the earth. It is the gospel in miniature. The first half details the suffering of the Messiah with astonishing precision, and the second half details the glorious results of that suffering. We are looking today at the first eleven verses, which lay the foundation for this profound movement.
We must understand that this is not a cry of despairing faith, but rather a cry of faithful despair. There is a universe of difference between the two. Despairing faith gives up on God. Faithful despair cries out to God, even when He feels absent, even when the heavens are brass. This is the cry of a Son to a Father, a cry that maintains the relationship, "My God, my God," even in the face of the forsaking. This psalm teaches us how to navigate our own dark nights of the soul, but more than that, it pulls back the curtain on the central event of all history: the moment when the Son of God was made sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.
This is not just David's trouble with Saul. This is the Lamb of God, slain from the foundation of the world, speaking through His ancestor David, and inviting us to gaze upon the cost of our redemption. Let us approach this holy ground with reverence and awe.
The Text
My God, my God, why have You forsaken me? Far from my salvation are the words of my groaning. O my God, I call by day, but You do not answer; And by night, but I have no rest. Yet You are holy, Enthroned upon the praises of Israel. 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. But I am a worm and not a man, A reproach of men and despised by the people. 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.” 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. Be not far from me, for distress is near; For there is none to help.
(Psalm 22:1-11 LSB)
The Cry of Dereliction (v. 1-2)
The psalm opens with the raw agony of divine abandonment.
"My God, my God, why have You forsaken me? Far from my salvation are the words of my groaning. O my God, I call by day, but You do not answer; And by night, but I have no rest." (Psalm 22:1-2)
This is the cry from the cross. Matthew and Mark record it for us (Matt. 27:46; Mark 15:34). This is the central horror of the atonement. The physical pain was immense, but the true agony was spiritual. For the first and only time in all of eternity, the perfect, unbroken fellowship between the Father and the Son was ruptured. Why? Because on that cross, the Son bore our sin. "For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us" (2 Cor. 5:21). The Father, in His perfect holiness, cannot look upon sin, and so He turned His face away from His Son, who had become the very embodiment of our rebellion. This is not a theological abstraction. This was a real, experienced dereliction. The Father poured out upon the Son the full measure of the wrath that our sins deserved.
Notice the persistent faith even within the cry. He says, "My God, my God." The relationship is not repudiated. This is not the cry of an unbeliever who discovers there is no God. This is the cry of a believer who knows God is there but cannot feel His presence. It is a question, "Why?" but it is a question addressed to "My God." This is crucial. In our own sufferings, we are tempted to either deny the suffering ("I'm fine") or deny God ("He's not there"). The psalmist, and Christ on the cross, does neither. He holds the reality of his agony and the reality of his God in the same sentence.
The experience is one of unanswered prayer. He cries by day and by night, but there is only silence. The heavens are shut. This is a profound mystery. The one man whose prayers were always in perfect accord with the Father's will is met with divine silence. Why? Because He was praying from our position. He stood in our place as a sinner, and the wage of sin is not just death, but separation from God. He was experiencing the hell we deserve so that we could experience the acceptance He deserved.
The Argument of Faith (v. 3-5)
In the face of this silence, the psalmist does not surrender to his feelings. Instead, he argues with God on the basis of God's own character and history.
"Yet You are holy, Enthroned upon the praises of Israel. 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." (Psalm 22:3-5)
This is a magnificent pivot. "My experience is abandonment, BUT YOU are holy." He moves from his subjective experience to objective truth. God's holiness is the bedrock. He is enthroned on the praises of His people. This means His very identity and reputation are bound up with the songs of deliverance He has given Israel. He is the God who saves. To not save now would seem to contradict His very nature. This is how you pray in the dark. You remind God of who He is.
He then brings up the historical record. "Our fathers trusted... and You rescued them." He is appealing to covenant history. He is saying, "Look at the testimony of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Look at the Exodus. Look at the judges. Your resume is one of consistent deliverance for those who trust in You. They cried, You heard. They trusted, You acted. They were not put to shame." This is a faith that reasons from God's past faithfulness to His present character. He is laying out the evidence before the silent judge. This is not an act of doubt; it is an act of profound, rugged faith. He is wrestling with God, like Jacob at Peniel, and he is using God's own promises as his leverage.
The Contempt of Man (v. 6-8)
The psalmist then contrasts God's historic faithfulness with his own current degradation.
"But I am a worm and not a man, A reproach of men and despised by the people. 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.'" (Psalm 22:6-8)
The contrast is stark. The fathers were delivered, "But I am a worm." This is a statement of utter debasement. A worm is crushed underfoot without a second thought. It is the lowest of creatures. This is how the Messiah was viewed. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows. He was treated as less than human.
The mockery described here is a chillingly precise prophecy of the scene at the foot of the cross. The gospels record the chief priests, scribes, and elders doing this very thing. "They wagged their heads," a gesture of supreme contempt, and said, "He trusts in God; let God deliver him now, if he desires him. For he said, 'I am the Son of God'" (Matt. 27:41-43). The taunt is diabolical. They are mocking His faith. They are using His relationship with the Father as a weapon against Him. "If God really delights in you, where is He now?" This is the ultimate temptation: to believe that your suffering is proof of God's displeasure. The enemies of Christ were unwittingly testifying to His divine Sonship by fulfilling this very prophecy. Their murdering malice was the instrument of our salvation.
The Personal History of Faith (v. 9-11)
Just as he appealed to God's corporate, covenant history, the psalmist now appeals to his own personal history with God.
"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. Be not far from me, for distress is near; For there is none to help." (Psalm 22:9-11)
This is another "Yet You." He counters the contempt of men with the faithfulness of God from his very beginning. "You were there at my birth. You sustained me as a helpless infant." This is a profound statement of God's providential care. Our trust in God is not something we invent; it is something He builds into us from our most vulnerable moments. For the Lord Jesus, this was uniquely true. His entire life, from the womb onward, was a perfect walk of faith. He is reminding the Father of this lifelong, unbroken trust. "I have been Yours from the very start."
This personal history forms the basis for the renewed plea in verse 11. "Be not far from me." He has laid out the case: God is holy and has a history of deliverance. He, the sufferer, is despised and mocked for his trust in that very God. And that trust is not a recent development but a lifelong reality initiated by God Himself. Therefore, the conclusion is a cry for proximity. "Distress is near; for there is none to help."
This is the human condition at its most raw. The trouble is immediate, and human help is nonexistent. This is precisely where God loves to display His power. When we are at the end of our resources, we are at the beginning of His. For Christ on the cross, this was the reality. His disciples had fled. The crowds mocked. The religious leaders gloated. There was "none to help." And in that moment of total human abandonment, He was accomplishing the salvation of the world.
Conclusion: The Foundation of Victory
These first eleven verses set the stage for the victory that is to come. They establish the depth of the suffering so that we can appreciate the height of the glory. The forsaking is real. The silence is real. The mockery is real. The helplessness is real. And in the midst of it all, faith is real. A rugged, argumentative, history-based, personal faith that cries out, "My God, my God."
This is the gospel. Christ entered into our godforsakenness so that we would never have to. He experienced the silence of God so that we could hear the Father's welcome. He became a worm so that we could be made sons. He endured the mockery so that we could receive the commendation, "Well done, good and faithful servant." He was surrounded by enemies with no one to help, so that we, surrounded by the great cloud of witnesses, would know that our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
When you find yourself in a place of darkness, when your prayers seem to hit the ceiling, when you are tempted to believe the taunts of the enemy that God has forgotten you, you must do what the Lord Jesus did. You must quote Psalm 22. You must argue from God's character. You must appeal to His covenant faithfulness in history. You must recount His personal faithfulness in your own life. And you must cry out to Him, holding fast to the truth that because He was forsaken, you never will be.