On Monday morning, I saw the story come across my Facebook page. Yet another school shooting, this one in a suburb of Cleveland. I’m slowly learning my Ohio geography, but hadn’t yet heard of Chardon. A quick Google map search showed it to be a little over an hour away. Now, a few days later, it has become a familiar place-name in the news. Demetrius Hewlin, Russel King, Jr., and Daniel Parmertor are dead, two others injured, T.J. Lane’s life has changed forever. As I watched the local news on Monday night, I was sick to my stomach and sad beyond belief. I prayed for the students who witnessed this horror and the families of those who were killed, for TJ and his family, for all of the people of Chardon. And the psalms echoed in my head-- “My God, my God, why have you abandoned us?” and “How long, oh Lord, will you hide your face from us?” Though the psalmist wrote “me,” on Monday night, “us” was more appropriate. On Monday night in Ohio, the psalms of lament were lifted in prayer.
If we read the whole thing, Psalm 22 is a familiar psalm. “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” It’s a psalm we’ll hear again in a few weeks, on Good Friday, recalling the words that Jesus spoke on the cross. It’s a psalm that reminds us that in our moments of despair and grief and questioning, we are not alone. Even Jesus felt that way. No wonder we feel that we sometimes.
Though we’ll hear the whole thing on Good Friday, today we hear only the end. The part of the psalm where the psalmist has begun to come out of the place of darkness and has begun to see the light. In this psalm, and in many others like it, such as Psalm 13, I sometimes wonder how long it took for the writer to write these lasts words. Maybe the whole psalm was written from the perspective of hindsight, looking back over some hard times, yet realizing that he was never alone. Or maybe it was written in chunks, a kind of journal of the ups and downs in this period of the psalmist’s life. I tend to think this might be the case. We don’t really know who wrote the psalms, but we do know that they capture so much of the reality of human life--complaints, fears, hopes, joys; feeling lost, forsaken, and abandoned; recognizing the beauty in God’s creation. Whoever it was who wrote this beautiful psalm was going through some kind of ordeal. She wrote about these ups and downs in her journey of life and faith, realizing that even in the midst of her despair, she might also remember her trust in her God. Recognizing that she could talk to God about anything and everything and lay it all out there. That God could handle it. And then, maybe days or weeks or months later, when things were brighter in her world, going back and recording the praises she had for her Creator and putting it out there that there is goodness in the world and that there is reason to share it.
I love the line “all the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the LORD.” What a powerful witness and reminder of our need to turn back to God. It’s one of the big parts of Lent--repenting, literally turning back/around to God. How do we turn to God in every part of our lives? The psalmist complained and petitioned and praised God. Often, as in Psalm 22, within the confines of one poem. And the beauty of a life of faith is that we can do it, too. We can give everything to God. God can handle it. God is willing and able to hear our cries and complaints. God hears our praise.
One commentary I read this week suggests that perhaps when Jesus cried from the cross “My God, my God why have you abandoned me,” he did so with the intention that those who heard would remember not just the beginning of the psalm, but the whole thing. That they would hear those words and remember “he did not despise or abhor the affliction of the afflicted; he did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him.” That they would realize, even as they lived through their own horrors, that they were not forgotten. That we would remember, in the depths of depression and despair and grief and confusion, that we are not forgotten. Because we’re not. Not for one second. Even when we cannot find it in ourselves to remember God or look to God, God knows us and loves us. God journeys with us through life--all of it. Not just the good parts. Not just the parts when we feel closest or most aware of God’s presence. All of it. Every moment of every day. The glorious moments and the most painful. Joys and sorrows. From his darkest place, Christ reminds us that we can indeed turn to God and that our cries will be heard. And our praises. So we worship and praise, cry and pray. And we are heard. All of us. It doesn’t cease to amaze me.
So bring it on. Give God your complaints, your praises, your petitions, your adoration. Give it all up to God. And remember that, in Christ, God has given it all. For you. And me. And all of us.
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