My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? (Psalm 22:1).
Before Jesus spoke these words from the cross, they were spoken by a shepherd boy turned King. When I hear David cry out in anguish these words strike home. While I can’t relate to him as a King and all the strange events in his life, I can empathize with his anguish. At least three of his children have died. Another was raped by her stepbrother.
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? (Psalm 22:1).
Four years of fighting cancer. Numerous treatment options tried with limited success. Getting ready for the end. Wait, one more option. Ok, let’s try it. That means most of the last six months were spent either in the hospital or away from home with limited visitors during the worst of Covid. After 90 days in the hospital, he was preparing to leave. Then his family arrived with not one, but three family members. “Dad, I have some bad news. Kevin (his son) had an accident last night. He didn’t make it. He’s dead.” All the air was sucked out of the room. “It’s not right. It’s unfair. What else God? What else?”
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? (Psalm 22:1).
In that moment, there were no words that would make it right. In that moment, nothing could staunch the flow of tears. The grief needed to flow out and spill all over the floor. I pointed him to his family and encouraged them to draw together in their grief. He agreed and asked me to leave so they could have some privacy. Sometimes we don’t get to say the words we think will bring comfort. Maybe we shouldn’t try.
In that moment, just being present with them can be a comfort.
As I left, I silently prayed: “Lord, have mercy on this man and his family. Give them strength for the days ahead.”