Deserted. Forgotten.
Stood up. Let down.

“Forsaken, my God, by You. Why?”

A piercing cry from swollen lips
by one hung out to die.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

A shepherd king first complained these words while
being hunted,
being sure that God was on his side,
being sure he’d been anointed.
But confused and disappointed,
he hung his head.
He closed his eyes and prayed.

Drained of strength (too pained to sleep)
he smelled the scent of death. (His own).
He heard the sounds of enemies approaching:
the scoffing jeers,
the searing jokes of sneering folks.

The wounds of words were indistinguishable from
the agony of betrayal:
Betrayed by friends.
Betrayed by loyal subjects.
Betrayed by God?
Where was this God in whom the king had trusted?

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

This time the same cry is heard beneath a Roman cross.
Not from a shepherd who would be king,
but from a King who called Himself a Shepherd.

A Worker of wood.
A Worker of good.
A Worker of words.
A Worker of wonders.
A Worker who wonders,
“Where’s the One with Whom I’m one?”
Somehow, some way
the questioning cry of King David seemed appropriate
from his Son a thousand years thereafter.

A Man of Sorrows
acquainted with grief,
acquainted with alienation,
rejected by an innkeeper,
maligned by His own brothers,
misunderstood by “the righteous,”
forgotten by the five thousand miraculously fed,
framed by the fickle crowd
whose palms lay withered…dead.

In addition,
He was betrayed by one He had helped.
He was deserted by another who promised,
“Though all others flee, I always will stand true.”

Like David of old.
Like you and me.
He knew rejection’s pain.

But God forsaken?
Surely not!
Not One who came from heaven.
Not One who claimed God’s name.

All the same,
hear the words ascribed to Him
by those who heard Him speak.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Of all the pain inflicted…
the crown,
the whip,
the nails,
the loneliness of friendship failed,
the ridicule from those for whom He came.

Yet of all the pain inflicted,
the worst was when for one brief moment
God the Father turned away from His suffering Son
(agonizing for His Son)
He watched and wept for a while.

But a holy God could not allow Himself to gave upon
the cross,
the loss of innocence,
the sin of all people
of all places
of all time past, present and future
placed upon His perfect Son.

As in the day of David,
the crowd looked on
to watch and wag their heads.
But not the Father
who closed His eyes and turned His back
and heard His begotten pray…

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Yet forsaken not forever.
Amid the rumble of the thunder
and the darkness of the day,
the Son was heard to whisper words
which offered hope before He passed away…

“Father, into Your hands I commit my Spirit.”

He knew that God was there
strangely satisfied with what He’d seen
(and what He couldn’t see)
all present and accounted for.

The forsaken Son
(forsaken no longer)
with confidence looked up
and reached out
to you and me.

That lonely separation
(albeit all so brief
yet altogether all sufficient)
means that we never have to voice that ancient question

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”