This is one of the most
emotionally powerful cries in all of Scripture—“My
God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?” (Matthew 27:46; Mark 15:34). The
anguished cry captures the mystery of Divine abandonment and human suffering,
and opens the door to profound truths about God's Presence in our pain.
Matthew 27:46
“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?”
Jesus cried out with a loud voice
On the cross, as the sky grew
dark and the earth trembled, Jesus—God in flesh—cried out with a voice that has
echoed through the ages: “My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?”
It is a haunting question. One
that shocks us. Confuses us. Even troubles us.
How could the Son of God feel
abandoned by His Father? How could Jesus—Who was sinless, perfect, and One with
the Father—experience forsakenness? He felt deserted, abandoned, completely left alone.
And yet, in this cry, we discover
not weakness, but incredible strength. Not hopelessness, but deep
identification with human suffering. Not despair, but the doorway to
redemption.
Today, I want to walk with you
into this sacred mystery. Because in this moment of Divine silence, there is a
message of hope for every one of us who has ever felt abandoned, unheard, or
forgotten.
The cry of humanity
Jesus was quoting the opening
line of Psalm 22: “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”
This is not just a cry of
Jesus—it is the cry of every human heart at some point in life.
Have you ever felt like God was
silent? Have you ever prayed and heard nothing in return?
Have you ever looked at your situation and thought, “Where is God in all
this?”
In this moment, Jesus enters into
our deepest pain. He does not just carry our sins—He carries our sorrow, our
confusion, our isolation.
Hebrews 4:15 says, “For we
do not have a High Priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses…”
On the cross, Jesus took on the
full weight of human suffering. Not just the physical agony, but the emotional
and spiritual torment of feeling forsaken. The agony of utter depression, in the valley of death.
The weight of sin and separation
Why would the Father turn His
face away?
Jesus was not forsaken because He
had sinned. He was forsaken because He became sin for us.
2 Corinthians 5:21 – “God made
Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, so that in Him we might become the
righteousness of God.”
In that moment, Jesus bore the
full weight of every sin, every shame, every failure—mine and yours. And the
holy Justice of God was poured out, not on sinners, but on the Saviour who stood
in our place.
This was not Divine rejection—it
was Divine substitution.
Jesus was momentarily separated
so we could be eternally accepted. He was forsaken so we could be forgiven. He
endured the silence of Heaven so that we would never have to.
Faith that endures the silence
Notice something powerful: even
in His cry of abandonment, Jesus still says, “My God, My God.”
It is the cry of one who
still believes.
It’s not, “God, if You exist.”
It’s not, “I’m done with You.” It’s “My God.”
This is a faith that holds
on—even when it hurts. Even when Heaven is silent. Especially when Heaven appears to be silent. Even when nothing makes
sense.
Sometimes, our greatest act of
faith is not shouting in victory—it is whispering, “My God,” through tears.
Job said, “Though He slay me,
yet will I trust Him.” (Job 13:15)
Jesus teaches us how to suffer
with faith. How to grieve with hope. How to cry out without letting go.
A psalm of victory in disguise
Remember—Psalm 22 begins with
abandonment, but it does not end there.
If you read through the rest of
the Psalm, you’ll find it turns into a song of victory, of deliverance, of
praise:
“You have answered Me.”
(Psalm 22:21) “All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the
Lord.” (Psalm 22:27)
Jesus was not just quoting a cry
of pain—He was declaring the fulfilment of prophecy. The Saviour was pointing
to the full picture. Yes, Jesus was suffering—but He knew it was not the end.
The cross is not the final word.
The empty tomb is. The journey carrying our cross is merely our path - the resurrection into Heaven is the final answer.
In your life, pain may speak harshly,
but does not have the last word. God always has a resurrection plan.
Because He was forsaken, we never will be
If you forget everything else,
remember this:
Jesus was forsaken for a
moment so you could be embraced forever.
Because of what Jesus did on the
cross, we are never alone—even when we feel like we are.
Hebrews 13:5 – “I will never
leave you nor forsake you.”
When you walk through fire, He is
with you. When you pass through the waters, He goes before you. When the world
walks out, Jesus stays.
You may feel forgotten—but you
are held. You may feel abandoned—but you are seen.
You may feel broken—but in Christ, you are being made whole.
What the Cross teaches us in
the dark night of the soul
Jesus’ cry reminds us that:
It’s important to question in the dark
Faith does not mean the absence of pain
God can handle your “why”
The darkness is not always the absence of light. It may be the path to light.
But it also teaches us:
Even in your lowest moment, God is still your God
What looks like abandonment may be the path to
resurrection
The silence of God is not the absence of God.
Call to action:
Are you in a season where God
feels silent? Do you feel like your prayers are going unanswered? Are you
wrestling with your own “Why, God?”
You’re not alone. Jesus walked
that road too—and He walked it for you.
Hold on to “My God.” Trust
in the dark what He showed you in the light. The same Jesus who cried from the
cross now speaks from the throne: “I am with you always.”
Closing prayer:
“Lord Jesus, Thank You for
entering into our pain, our questions, and our suffering. Thank You for not
turning away from the cross, but walking through the valley of abandonment so
we might never have to. Strengthen our hearts when we feel forsaken. Remind us
of Your unfailing presence, even in the silence. And help us to hold fast to
You with the same faith You showed on the cross.
This is a powerful and deeply
moving moment in the Gospel of John (John 19:26–27). When Jesus says, “Woman,
behold thy son... Son, behold thy mother,” the Saviour is not only
addressing Mary and John—He is making a profound statement about love,
spiritual family, and responsibility even in the midst of suffering.
Scripture: John 19:26–27
“When Jesus saw His mother there, and the disciple whom He
loved standing nearby, He said to her, ‘Woman, here is your son,’ and to the
disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ From that time on, this disciple took her into
his home.”
Jesus forms a family
We often come to the cross to see
the suffering Saviour, the Lamb slain for the sins of the world. And rightly so.
But if we look closely—very closely—we also see something deeply human and
heartbreakingly tender: Jesus, in His final moments, not just saving souls, but
forming a family.
In the middle of His agony, with
blood pouring from His wounds and every breath a struggle, Jesus pauses to
speak—not a word of wrath, not a theological treatise, but a word of love and
care: “Woman, behold your son. Son, behold your mother.”
This moment is more than a
touching farewell. It is a holy commissioning. It’s a glimpse into the heart of
God—a heart that creates family not just by blood, but by faith and love.
Compassion in the Midst of Suffering
Imagine the scene: the sky is
darkening, the earth trembling, the crowd mocking, soldiers gambling. Jesus,
hanging on the cross, is bearing the full weight of sin. Yet His eyes find
Mary, His mother, standing there in sorrow. And beside her stands John, the
disciple whom He loved.
Jesus does not turn inward in His
pain. He looks outward in love. He sees her grief, her vulnerability. And He
cares.
This is Who Jesus is. He
is never too burdened to care. He is never too wounded to love. In the most
painful moment of His life, He tends to the needs of another.
“Cast all your cares on Him,
for He cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:7)
If Jesus could care for Mary from
the cross, He can surely care for us in our darkest hour. When we feel
forgotten or overwhelmed, remember this moment: Jesus sees you, even in the
crowd, even in the difficulties.
A New Family is Born at the Cross
What Jesus does next is not just
personal—it is profoundly theological.
He turns to Mary and says,
“Woman, behold your son.” He turns to John and says, “Behold your mother.”
In doing this, Jesus is not
simply ensuring Mary is cared for. He is establishing a new kind of family—a
spiritual family, birthed not from biology, but from the shared bond of Christ.
This is the beginning of the
church. At the foot of the cross, strangers become family. The old
boundaries—tribe, bloodline, status—are replaced by something deeper: love born
of sacrifice.
Jesus had once said, “Whoever
does the Will of My Father in Heaven is my brother and sister and mother.”
(Matthew 12:50)
Now, in His final hours, Christ lives
out that truth.
John, the beloved disciple,
becomes a son to Mary. Mary, the mother of Jesus, becomes a mother to John. Through them, we learn that the cross doesn’t just reconcile us to God—it
reconciles us to each other.
A call to love and responsibility
There is a very practical lesson
here. Jesus did not ignore His responsibilities. He did not consider Himself
above them. Jesus honoured His mother, even in death.
In a world that often praises
independence and self-preservation, Jesus shows us the holiness of
responsibility. He shows us that true discipleship is not only about how we
pray, but how we care for those God has placed in our lives.
John responds with quiet
obedience. “From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.” No
debate. No delay. Just faithful response.
What about us?
Are
we honouring the relationships God has given us?
Are
we caring for the hurting, the lonely, the forgotten in our midst?
Are
we willing to step into family roles that God calls us to, even if they
are not comfortable or conventional? Especially if they are not comfortable or conventional?
Mary’s Silent Strength and John’s Quiet Obedience
Mary stands by the cross - not fleeing, but standing. She simply stays. This
is a mother’s strength. Silent, steady, suffering.
And John—young, once brash and
ambitious—now is the only disciple left. He has grown. He has stayed. He is
ready to receive this sacred commission.
Their presence at the cross
mattered. Love shows up. Love stays. Love takes responsibility.
What we learn from Mary and John
is that the cross not only redeems, it assigns. It gives us new roles. New
people to love. New commitments to honour.
What the Cross still teaches us today
“Woman, behold your son. Son,
behold your mother.” These words echo through time, inviting us to be more than
believers—to be family.
In Christ, we are called into a new way of living. A way
that sees the hurting, that embraces the lonely, that builds bridges between
the unlikely.
At the cross, Jesus didn’t just say, “It is finished.”
He also said, “It begins.”
A new kind of family. A love that endures suffering. A
responsibility born of grace.
Call to Action:
Today, let us ask ourselves:
Who
is God asking us to “behold” with new eyes?
Who
needs to be brought into the warmth of family?
How
can we honour Christ by honouring one another?
May we leave the foot of the cross not only forgiven, but
transformed.
Closing Prayer:
"Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the cross—where justice met mercy, and where love formed a new
family. Help us to live in that love. Give us eyes to see the hurting, hands
willing to serve, and hearts open to embrace those You place in our lives. May
we, like John, receive Your call with quiet obedience. May we, like Mary, stand
with strength even in sorrow. And may we, like Jesus, love until the very end.
