why have you forsaken me?

Remember when Jesus was in the garden, talking to his Father about the upcoming crucifixion?  

Luke 22:42 (King James Version)  "Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done."

God didn't take the cup of suffering from Jesus.  He had to suffer.

During the suffering there was a time when Jesus bore the pain of punishment for all the sins of humanity.  This is a metaphysical suffering not described in the Gospels.  The theology is there though, in the Old Testament--specifically in Isaiah.

Source for these blue paragraphs:  gotquestions.org

“And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46). This cry is a fulfillment of Psalm 22:1, one of many parallels between that psalm and the specific events of the crucifixion. It has been difficult to understand in what sense Jesus was “forsaken” by God. It is certain that God approved His work. It is certain that He was innocent. He had done nothing to forfeit the favor of God. As His own Son - holy, harmless, undefiled, and obedient - God still loved Him. In none of these senses could God have forsaken Him.


However, Isaiah tells us that “he bore our griefs and carried our sorrows; that he was wounded for our transgressions, and bruised for our iniquities; that the chastisement of our peace was laid upon him; that by his stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:4-5). He redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us (Galatians 3:13). He was made a sin-offering, and He died in our place, on our account, that He might bring us near to God. It was this, doubtless, which caused His intense sufferings. It was the manifestation of God’s hatred of sin, in some way which He has not explained, that Jesus experienced in that terrible hour. It was suffering endured by Him that was due to us, and suffering by which, and by which alone, we can be saved from eternal death.


In those awful moments, Jesus was expressing His feelings of abandonment as God placed the sins of the world on Him – and because of that had to “turn away” from Jesus. As Jesus was feeling that weight of sin, He was experiencing separation from God for the only time in all of eternity. It was at this time that 2 Corinthians 5:21 occurred, “God made Him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.” Jesus became sin for us, so He felt the loneliness and abandonment that sin always produces, except that in His case, it was not His sin – it was ours.

Have you ever suffered and wondered in the midst of it why God wasn't more merciful to you?  Why you just couldn't feel him at times?

I have.

Just before Thanksgiving 2000, I lay in a labor-ward hospital bed.  Women filled many rooms, ready to give birth.  Loud fetal heartbeat monitors dutifully advertised life sounds.   

I was there to deliver a baby boy who passed away sometime between pregnancy weeks 19 and 21.  They induced and I waited, listening--the sound of heartbeats overwhelming me.


A kind Christian nurse said to me, upon learning we were people of faith:

"I'm sure your faith helps you with this, doesn't it?"

"Well, you would think so.  But it isn't.   I just want to die, to tell you the truth.  The horror seems overwhelming."

I didn't speak out of contrariness or melodrama.  I spoke the truth.  God seemed absent, in the midst of searing pain.

Fast forward a few years. 

Healing occurred.   We arrived at the "other" side.

Recent events illuminated again for me why we suffer so intensely. Back in December I heard that my California school principal's daughter-in-law suffered a long, scary pregnancy.  Many specialists came together, discussing devastating scenarios. 

A plan came together.  A C section would occur on January 29, and the baby would reside in NICU indefinitely in Los Angeles--two hours from their home. They would stay at a Ronald McDonald house across from the hospital.

As soon as I heard about the difficulty, I prayed.  And kept praying.  I never got so busy that I forgot.  I knew God might heal the baby.  The whole scary pregnancy might have a miraculous outcome--a perfect baby with a perfect little heart.

Or maybe not. 

I waited until January 30th and then e-mailed my contact person to see how the birth went.

The baby, a beautiful girl named Hope, did not make it.  Her enlarged heart didn't allow her lungs to work properly.  I don't know all the details.

What I do know is this.  A post-operative mother lies in a hospital bed--her milk probably in by now--and she has no. baby. to. suckle.  Absolutely devastated, she marvels at the uselessness of her faith.  She feels like dying.  She just can't believe the intensity of sorrow.  The groaning of her soul.

Each time her breasts hurt from the overflow of milk, she feels the cruelty of her situation.

Now on a different note:  Several weeks ago I read a blog post about a young mother of three diagnosed with advanced breast cancer--her latest infant not even a year old.  This mother would undergo surgery and a year of chemo.  The post was very upsetting, and I've prayed for her since reading it. 

But I've forgotten on some days.  How could I forget a need so urgent, I wondered sometimes. 

Because I know nothing of her suffering.  I haven't lived it. 

Yet, I do know of this other mother's suffering, and believe me, I won't be forgetting to pray for her in this next year.  My mind will turn to her and to her suffering often.

God doesn't take the cup from us.  We feel all of it.  And it's intense...terrible.  Surprisingly terrible.

Why? 

God says I will never leave you or forsake you.  So why the intensity of pain?  Isn't the intensity itself, a forsaking of us?

It is in a sense, for a short season.  The intensity helps us to remember.  It equips us to comfort another fellow sufferer, in their hour of need.  To bare some of their pain.  To pray.  To offer ourselves.  To be the face of mercy--the face of God the Comforter.  To know.  To really know the pain.

God doesn't come down in the flesh every time our souls groan.  But he does come down....

...through the faithful.