Sometimes, in the ordinary course of struggling along through life—of trying to believe—you might wake up to terrible news. Or be sitting on a pile of receipts and papers that show a balance of nothing. Or be lying in a hospital bed. Or be standing next to a grave. Or just find yourself completely alone. And in those moments you might look up into the vast expanse of the sky, and you might say these words of the psalmist or simply put your head down and weep them. You might come to a place of groaning forsakenness. And as you read the rest of these words in the psalm describing the physical devastation, the mental and emotional pain and grief, you might think, Yes, that’s where I am. Where is God? Why isn’t he listening? Why isn’t he doing anything? It can’t get any worse. I cannot any longer bear the circumstances of my life and the grief of my soul.
But lift your eyes and hear the words again—spoken by another far-off from you. Listen to the word cried out by a man naked, broken, bruised, and hanging out in the vast expanse of a cloudy, darkening sky. A man forsaken, who, when he cried these words, knew that his Father’s back was turned against him, and he was left alone to die.
Because he was forsaken, you will never be forsaken.
Anne Carlson Kennedy holds an MDiv from Virginia Theological Seminary and is the author of Nailed It: 365 Sarcastic Devotions for Angry or Worn-Out People (Kalos Press). She blogs at patheos.com/preventinggrace. Excerpted from Nailed It © Anne Carlson Kennedy, 2016. Used by permission.
