My God My God Why Have You Forsaken Me Psalms
Okay, let's talk about a phrase. A really famous one. You've probably heard it. It's got a certain dramatic flair, right? Like when you stub your toe in the dark and let out a little yelp. Or maybe when your Wi-Fi cuts out right before you're about to win that epic game. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
Yeah, that one. It’s from the Book of Psalms. Specifically, Psalm 22. It’s this whole heartfelt cry from someone feeling totally abandoned. And it’s usually linked to someone pretty important in the grand scheme of things. You know, the big guy. Jesus. The New Testament quotes it. Big moment. Big emotions.
But here's my totally unpopular, slightly weird, and probably unspiritual opinion. Sometimes, when I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed, or when things just aren't going my way, that phrase pops into my head. Not in a super theological way, mind you. More like a, "Really? This again?" kind of way. Like when you’ve done your laundry, folded it all perfectly, and then, BAM, you spill coffee on your favorite shirt. You don't exactly call on the heavens, but that feeling? That slight existential sigh? It’s there.
Think about it. We've all had those days, haven't we? The ones where your alarm clock decides to go rogue. The ones where you can’t find matching socks. The ones where your toast lands butter-side down. It’s not exactly the crucifixion, I grant you. But in the small universe of your own day, it can feel pretty bleak.
And that’s where Psalm 22 gets interesting for me. It starts with this huge, dramatic plea. It’s raw. It’s honest. It doesn’t shy away from the feeling of being utterly alone. But then, if you keep reading, things shift. They really shift.
After all that angst, the psalmist starts talking about hope. About God’s faithfulness. About things getting better. It’s like, "Okay, I've had my moment. I’ve screamed into the void. Now, let’s see what’s next, shall we?"
“But you, O LORD, do not be far from me. O my God, come quickly to my aid!”
See? It's not just one long complaint. It's a journey. From despair to, dare I say, eventual deliverance. It’s the spiritual equivalent of your phone battery dying at 1% and then suddenly finding a charger.
So, when I hear or think of “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” I don’t just picture someone in deep theological crisis. I picture someone in a very human crisis. The kind of crisis that involves a lost TV remote or a misfired text message. The kind of crisis that makes you want to throw your hands up and ask the universe, "Seriously?"
And that’s okay, right? I mean, if the great thinkers and holy people of history felt this way, surely it’s acceptable for us mere mortals to feel it too. Especially when we’re dealing with the minor inconveniences of life. The "forsakenness" of a closed ice cream shop on a hot day. The "forsakenness" of a traffic jam when you're already late.
It’s a reminder that even in the midst of what feels like utter abandonment, there’s often a thread of hope woven in. You just have to keep reading. Or, you know, keep searching for that charger. Or that matching sock. Or that perfectly good coffee-free shirt.
The beauty of that ancient cry is that it acknowledges the depths of human suffering, the moments when we feel completely adrift. But it doesn't end there. It’s a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, and perhaps, a whisper of divine reassurance that even in the darkest moments, we are not truly alone. Even if it feels like it, when the Wi-Fi goes out mid-game. That's a special kind of forsakenness, isn't it? A modern tragedy, perhaps.
So, the next time you’re wrestling with a stubborn jar lid, or trying to assemble IKEA furniture without the instructions, and you feel that familiar pang of despair, maybe, just maybe, you can whisper your own version of Psalm 22. Not as a sign of lost faith, but as a sign of being wonderfully, hilariously, and very humanly alive. And maybe, just maybe, the answer will be finding that missing piece, or realizing you actually own a can opener. Small victories, but victories nonetheless. And that’s pretty divine, in its own way. Definitely worth a little smile, and maybe a nod to the psalmist who got it.