Few things are worse than needing someone and having them not show up.
Most of us know the feeling on a small scale. The kids who disappear when groceries need to come in. Moving day, when everyone who said “anything you need” is conveniently under the weather. The 3 a.m. diaper change and a spouse with the spiritual gift of slumbering through anything.
We tend to be independent. But every now and then, we need help. We need our friends when life gets hard, our church when our faith is tested, our family when we’re grieving.
The deeper question is what happens when God doesn’t show up. When you need Him to say something, do something, heal someone, and He’s silent. That’s when the mind games get loud. God must be mad at me. Maybe God isn’t there at all.
One of the last things you want to do in that season is pray. Prayer becomes almost impossible when you suspect there’s nobody on the other end of the line. Most people who follow Jesus, if they’re honest, have walked through this. The bottom feels like it’s falling out, and the One you thought would catch you is the One who isn’t there.
What do you do when God doesn’t show up? Jesus shows us.
Of all the prayers in Scripture, the most mysterious and disturbing comes from the cross. It might be the most important prayer ever prayed.
“From noon until three in the afternoon darkness came over all the land. About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ‘Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?’ (which means ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’). When some of those standing there heard this, they said, ‘He’s calling Elijah.’ Immediately one of them ran and got a sponge. He filled it with wine vinegar, put it on a staff, and offered it to Jesus to drink. The rest said, ‘Now leave him alone. Let’s see if Elijah comes to save him.’ And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit.” (Matthew 27:45–50)
For three hours in the middle of the day, the sky goes dark. A light pierced the night to announce Jesus’ birth; now darkness pierces the day to announce His death. Amos foretold it (Amos 8:9). In Scripture, darkness represents God’s judgment and the removal of His presence. The dark sky mirrored the agony inside Jesus.
The text says Jesus “cried out in a loud voice.” The Greek literally means to scream. So what is Jesus screaming about?
The first guess is physical pain. He has a crown of thorns pressed into His scalp and nails through His hands. But Tim Keller points out that we have to listen carefully to what Jesus says. He doesn’t cry, “My head, my head” or “My hands, my hands.” He’s suffering as a real human, but the source of this scream isn’t physical. It isn’t psychological either. He doesn’t cry, “My friends, my friends,” though He’s just been betrayed and abandoned. He cries, “My God, my God.” This is spiritual.
Isaiah saw it centuries earlier: “We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all” (Isaiah 53:6).
Sin is real, and it has real consequences. Sin is the outworking of refusing to trust God as King. You become your own law, do what you think is right, and end up doing wrong.
Virtually every world religion answers the sin problem the same way: behave better. The Christian faith stands alone in saying that won’t work. Imagine an unfaithful husband trying to repair the marriage by doing the dishes. Until the root is dealt with, no amount of housework heals it.
It would be fair for each of us to pay for our own sin. You do the crime; you do the time. The problem is the price tag: “For the wages of sin is death” (Romans 6:23). Cutting yourself off from the source of life leaves spiritual death: emptiness, brokenness, separation.
But, and here’s the gospel, the LORD laid on Him the iniquity of us all. Jesus took our place. The full verse is, “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 6:23). Someone received what they didn’t pay for, but somebody had to pay for it. Jesus paid it all. The sin laid on Him didn’t evaporate; He bore it. And because sin separates, Jesus, for the first time, is separated from the Father.
That is the source of the scream. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
The clue to what Jesus is doing is that He is quoting Psalm 22, a psalm written a thousand years earlier. Not loosely referencing it. Quoting it word for word.
It was common rabbinical practice to cite the first few words of a passage to point to the entire text. Jesus had the whole psalm in mind, all 31 verses.
Listen to portions of it written 1,000 years before Jesus’ crucifixion:
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? … All who see me mock me … ‘let the LORD rescue him.’ … I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint … they pierce my hands and my feet. All my bones are on display; people stare and gloat over me. They divide my clothes among them and cast lots for my garment.” (Psalm 22:1, 7–8, 14, 16–18)
David, through the Holy Spirit, described Jesus’ crucifixion with astonishing accuracy centuries before it happened. By quoting this Messianic psalm, Jesus is showing us the whole story is about Him.
And in the middle of it, He shows us how to pray when God seems silent.
1. Don’t hide from God.
The first eighteen verses of Psalm 22 describe nothing but despair. But verse 19 turns: “But you, LORD, do not be far from me. You are my strength; come quickly to help me” (Psalm 22:19). The psalmist isn’t denying the desperation, and neither is Jesus. It’s not faith to pretend everything is fine when it isn’t. But it is faith to declare, You are my strength, in the middle of it.
Faith is most necessary when God’s hand is least visible. Psalm 22 keeps going: “I will declare your name to my people; in the assembly I will praise you” (Psalm 22:22). Even though I don’t see your hand, I will still praise you. I won’t hide.
Crisis seasons have one of two effects on a life with God. We grow cold, or we grow close. Never neutral. If you’ve hidden your heartache from God, the road back starts with bringing it back to Him.
2. God’s silence doesn’t mean He’s absent.
Listen to where Psalm 22 ends up:
“He has not despised or scorned the suffering of the afflicted one … but has listened to his cry for help… All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the LORD … future generations will be told about the Lord.” (Psalm 22:24, 27, 30)
The psalm is saying that one man is going to be executed, and for the rest of human history, people will turn to God in joy because of it.
That is exactly what Jesus has done.
God seemed silent on the cross, but He was never more at work. Silence doesn’t mean absence. A teacher doesn’t speak during a test, but the teacher is still in the room.
Jesus’ suffering had purpose. The same is true in seasons when nothing seems to be happening in your prayers. Can He hear me? Can He see me? Is He even there? Yes. Romans 8:28 says, “We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him.” All things, including the silent ones.
3. Anchor yourself in Scripture.
The last line of Psalm 22 is fascinating: “They will proclaim his righteousness, declaring to a people yet unborn: He has done it!” (Psalm 22:31).
Derek Kidner pointed out that “He has done it” is the Hebrew equivalent of It is finished, the final words Jesus spoke from the cross. Jesus was likely meditating on Psalm 22 from beginning to end while He hung there.
In the moment of greatest torment, Jesus clung to God’s Word. He anchored Himself in what He knew to be true. That’s the way to persevere.
This wasn’t only a cross-moment habit. Jesus’ whole life was anchored in Scripture. When Satan tempted Him in the desert, Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God’” (Matthew 4:4). The Bible is our primary defensive weapon, “alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword” (Hebrews 4:12).
The way to see through the cloud of desperation is to wield Scripture.
Whatever season you’re in, the answer is the same as Jesus’ answer. Don’t hide from God. Don’t mistake His silence for His absence. Anchor your life to His Word.