Wednesday, September 16, 2026

For the season when remembered faith survives beneath the feeling of being forsaken.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, and from the words of my groaning? My God, I cry in the daytime, but you don’t answer; in the night season, and am not silent. But you are holy, you who inhabit the praises of Israel. Our fathers trusted in you. They trusted, and you delivered them. They cried to you, and were delivered. They trusted in you, and were not disappointed.
Psalm 22:1–5

“Why have you forsaken me?” is not a polished question. It rises in daytime and returns at night, while help seems far away. Yet the same mouth names God’s holiness. Your faith may sound like this: an accusation shaped by pain, followed by a memory that refuses to erase God. That tension is not theatrical. It is the actual speech of a suffering believer.

The danger is not that you remember too little. It is that you use memory as a lever against the present, demanding an explanation before you will call God holy. That is a false refuge: control disguised as theology. You cannot make today’s silence answer by arranging yesterday’s deliverances. Memory can testify, but it cannot become your savior.

Christ does more than offer an example of endurance. In his crucifixion, he entered the cry of forsakenness; in his resurrection, the Father vindicated the Son beyond the silence. He is not far from your groaning. He intercedes for you as the risen Christ, while your remembered faith remains a frail but real turning toward him. Remembered faith can carry a forsaken cry to Christ without pretending the silence is small. Will you bring both the question and the memory to him today?

Remembered faith can carry a forsaken cry to Christ without pretending the silence is small.
Prayer

Risen Lord Jesus, keep my cry near your cross and my memory anchored in your resurrection. Amen.