Psalm 22 (King James Version)
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring? O my God, I cry in the day time, but thou hearest not; and in the night season, and am not silent. But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel.
Our fathers trusted in thee: they trusted, and thou didst deliver them.
They cried unto thee, and were delivered: they trusted in thee, and were not confounded. But I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men, and despised of the people.All they that see me laugh me to scorn: they shoot out the lip, they shake the head, saying, He trusted on the LORD that he would deliver him: let him deliver him, seeing he delighted in him. I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels. My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death.
They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture. But be not thou far from me, O LORD: O my strength, haste thee to help me. …I will declare thy name unto my brethren: in the midst of the congregation will I praise thee. All the ends of the world shall remember and turn unto the LORD: and all the kindreds of the nations shall worship before thee. For the kingdom is the LORD’S: and he is the governor among the nations.
A Cry That Is Not Softened
There are words that do not resolve when spoken. They remain in the air long after the voice that uttered them has fallen silent. This psalm begins with such words. Not a question asked politely, but a cry thrown out into what feels like emptiness. Why hast thou forsaken me?
It is important that the psalm does not soften that opening. It does not rush past it. The cry is allowed to stand as it is, raw and unanswered. Faith here does not begin with confidence. It begins with distance honestly named.
I have learned that some questions cannot be solved by explanation. They can only be endured. This psalm gives permission for that endurance without disguise.
Prayer That Meets Silence
The voice speaks of prayer offered day and night without reply. Silence is not momentary. It stretches across time. And yet, the psalm does not abandon address. Even in complaint, God is still named. My God. The relationship is strained, but not severed.
That distinction matters. To speak at all in such moments is already an act of trust, however fragile it feels.
The psalmist remembers the faith of those who came before. Fathers trusted. Fathers were delivered. The contrast is painful. What was reliable then feels absent now. Tradition offers no comfort when lived experience contradicts it.
Memory That Both Sustains and Wounds
In Freemasonry, memory plays a similar role. We inherit stories of strength and endurance, examples of men who stood firm. When our own footing falters, those memories can feel like reproach rather than encouragement. Psalm 22 does not deny that tension. It lets it breathe.
The language grows more bodily as the psalm continues. Bones out of joint. Strength dried like broken pottery. This is not metaphor chosen for effect. It is the vocabulary of exhaustion. Of a man reduced to his limits.
Mockery enters the scene. Those who watch interpret suffering as failure. He trusted on the LORD. Trust, they imply, has not paid off.
Faith Under Misinterpretation
I have felt the weight of that judgment, even when unspoken. The sense that patience is foolish, that restraint is weakness, that endurance is merely delay. Psalm 22 acknowledges how corrosive such judgments can be when one is already near breaking.
And yet, even here, the psalm refuses to collapse entirely. Petition returns. Be not thou far from me. The request is simple. Presence, not explanation. Nearness, not solution.
This is one of the quiet lessons of the psalm. Faithfulness does not require emotional stability. It requires honesty held open long enough for God to meet it as it is.
Honesty That Holds the Work Together
In the lodge, this honesty is understood. A man is not asked to pretend strength he does not possess. He is asked to stand where he is, truthfully. Pretence weakens the work. Truth, even painful truth, steadies it.
The turning point of the psalm does not come with a change in circumstances. It comes with a change in address. The voice that cried alone now speaks of brethren, of congregation. Isolation gives way to connection.
This shift does not erase what came before it. The cry remains part of the song. But it is no longer solitary.
From Isolation to Shared Voice
That matters deeply to me. I have known moments when suffering narrowed my vision until only my own pain seemed real. Psalm 22 reminds me that faith, at its most durable, is not private. It is sustained in company, even when the words spoken are words of distress.
The final movement of the psalm widens its horizon beyond anything suggested at the beginning. Nations are remembered. Worship spreads outward. The kingdom is affirmed.
Praise That Does Not Erase Lament
This expansion does not feel forced. It feels earned. The voice that has passed through abandonment speaks now with authority born of endurance. Not triumph, but credibility.
Lament is not the opposite of faith; it is faith spoken under strain.
There is a line here that stays with me. The cry was not erased in order for praise to emerge. Both remain true. Faith holds them together without resolving the tension between them.
In my own life, I have been tempted to move too quickly from lament to reassurance. To tidy the story so it ends well. Psalm 22 refuses that impulse. It insists that praise born without lament is thin.
Remaining Within the Cry
The psalm ends not with explanation, but with recognition. God governs. The kingdom remains. These truths are stated, not argued. They are not conclusions drawn from improved circumstances, but confessions spoken in their absence.
The cry that opens this psalm is not a failure of faith. It is one of its deepest expressions. It names the cost of trust when trust feels unanswered. I return to this psalm when prayer feels heavy and language fails. It reminds me that silence does not equal abandonment, and that unanswered cries are still heard, even when no reply comes at once.
The work, in such moments, is simply to keep speaking. To keep standing. To remain within the relationship, even when it feels stretched thin. The cry remains. And so does the trust that dares to utter it.