The Groaning of Our Hearts

As we continue our journey through the Psalms this Lent, I felt moved to talk about the Lament Psalms.  I often tell people, if you don’t think God understands how you feel, then read through the book of Psalms.  You’ll get every emotion, from joyous elation to feelings of utter despair and helplessness.  Almost half of the Psalms are considered lament, either in part or in whole.  When modern hymn books and even our worship tends to be upbeat and praise-filled, the Hebrew praise book has some real downers!  Perhaps, we need these laments to better express our true feelings?  And perhaps we need these laments to better know God? 

Psalm 22 is perhaps the most desperate lament, for it begins with an expression of utter abandonment by God.  No wonder, Jesus quotes this Psalm when he is dying upon the cross.  The words still haunt me.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

            Why are you so far from helping me,

            from the words of my groaning?

O my God, I cry by day, but you

            do not answer;

            and by night, but find no rest. 

                          (Psalm 22:1-2, NRSV)

I remember watching Jesus of Nazareth as a kid and hearing Jesus say those words.  I wasn’t sure what “forsaken,” meant, but it certainly sounded like abandonment.  I didn’t want to believe it.  How could Jesus feel that way?

When I was still at Eden Seminary, in my class on Biblical Theology, our professor, Clint McCann, took us to the Holocaust Museum in St. Louis with a survivor to lead us.  We then had to write a reflection on the experience, commenting about why this could all take place with a loving God.  The fancy term for this is theodicy, and it is something I still wrestle with.  We want a God that makes it not so; that magically makes the evil go away.  Indeed, we wish for a God who doesn’t let evil happen in the first place.

Here are the words I wrote after my visit:

After visiting the museum, even these desperate words from the ancient psalmist cannot describe the all-encompassing anguish, hunger, pain, and death experienced by the victims of the holocaust.  Where is the God of justice, the God of mercy?  Has God truly abandoned Her people?  And what do we think of God when such an atrocity has happened?

When I look at the pictures of the people suffering, I try to look deep into their faces, into their eyes, perhaps even into their very souls.  Sometimes I see fear, sometimes I see a kind of sternness, which could only come from living within that hell for so long; yet, the most common image is one of deep perplexity.  For those living within this hell, their very image of God is questioned, and as the writer of the psalm indicates, they wonder why their God has abandoned them.

As I walk through the museum and listen to the speaker’s voice as she gives personal accounts of her experience, I too wonder about God.  Where is God?  Has God truly forsaken these people?  For many of us, our thoughts of God tend to envision an all powerful God, able to extend a saving hand to those in need.  But then why does God not intervene?  Does God choose not to intervene?  I cannot take this position because it envisions a God that does not conform to my central beliefs about the qualities of God: loving, compassionate, merciful.  I also cannot believe in a God that administers “tough love,” somehow teaching the people some kind of wisdom from suffering, nor can God be “testing” the people.  But at the same time, the God I know is merciful and compassionate and loving, so God must be helping somehow, or at least doing something (even reacting) about the problem.

First of all, I think God is forced to work through human beings.  Everything is tied to our relationships with God.  We are a communal people, capable of much love and compassion, but also capable of incredible evil.  Yet, I honor God’s creation of human beings, made in the image of God.  Now that means to me that even with all our faults and sinful ways, human beings are, in a sense, made perfect, capable of perfect relationships.  Within this model, the “fall” becomes a turning away from God, a breaking of relationship, showing that we screw up.  But at the same time, I think that this ultimately gives human beings (and God) more integrity.  It makes the times we “get it right” that much more powerful and meaningful.  Knowing we have a tendency to turn away from God, God continues to be faithful, welcoming us back.  In addition, it can be difficult working through a good relationship, for change can take a long time.  Because the power is shared, one is not always sure of the outcome.

Looking at our own relationships, one knows that when the person that you love is experiencing a pain, even when you are trying to help, you can’t help but empathize for your beloved.  Because you are still present with them, in a sense you also suffer.  In our case, the suffering is never quite as bad; yet, when I think of how much God loves us, I can only imagine that God experiences equal or even worse suffering.

I have a tendency to personify God, especially when it comes to suffering.  Because God cares for us so much and will not abandon us, I often place God within the horrible situation as fully human.  In this way, God experiences the terrible hunger of not eating food for weeks, God smells the burning flesh in the air, God feels the loss of dignity, and God suffers with the people.  One of the images I carry with me from the holocaust museum is the image of the rows of dead bodies, where the corpses are so malnourished that it looks as though the skin has been stretched taut over bones.  For me, God is right there.

I’m not sure if thinking of God literally being present with the people is a way of rationalizing the suffering human beings endure, but I do know that God works through suffering and vulnerability.  Fundamental to my faith is the belief that Jesus died on a cross.  Fully human, yet fully divine, Jesus suffered, which means God suffered.

But whenever we talk about the cross, we cannot forget the resurrection.  There is life after death.  At the end of the tour, we learn about the survivors and their great accomplishments.  Although so many voices were silenced, a few were saved, and those voices went on to tell incredible stories.  Those voices continue to cry out to the rest of the world, telling the story so that God’s will for justice and peace may one day be realized, so that those who follow will remember the evil we are capable of and try to stop it from happening again.

Psalm 22 does not end with verse 2.  Although the psalmist cries out to God, and feels abandoned, the writer knows that God has a history of listening to the oppressed.

For 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. (vs 24)

Ron Trimmer is pastor of Hope United, a new church in Georgetown, Texas.  Click here to visit Hope United’s website.