Kingdom Seekers Circle

Emotional Meditation—By Micah Siemens

There are some psalms you read; others you enter. Psalm 22 is one you fall into like a chasm—the echo of a soul calling out into silence.

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

Those words shake the air.

They’re the same ones Jesus would later breathe out on the cross, but before they belonged to Him, they belonged to David—a man who knew what it was to feel like heaven closed its doors. It’s startling how honest it is. There’s no pretense, no performance—just raw ache. David isn’t questioning God’s existence; he’s questioning His nearness. And who hasn’t been there? When prayers hit the ceiling and faith feels like dry dust in the mouth.

“I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest.”

This is the insomnia of the soul. When even sleep refuses to comfort you because your thoughts keep replaying the absence. And yet—right in the middle of his lament—David’s memory reaches for something ancient:

“Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One; you are the one Israel praises.”

That yet changes everything. It’s the bridge between despair and worship—that stubborn belief that God is still who He said He was, even when He feels gone.

David recalls the stories:

“In you our ancestors put their trust… and you delivered them.”

It’s as though he’s saying, ‘I know what You’ve done before—so why not now?’ But the more he remembers, the smaller he feels:

“I am a worm and not a man, scorned by everyone, despised by the people.”

The weight of rejection presses in—mocked, misunderstood, surrounded by sneers. The crowd’s laughter becomes its own kind of crucifixion. Then comes the chilling foreshadow:

“They divide my clothes among them and cast lots for my garment.”

Centuries before the cross, David describes the very scene that will one day unfold at Calvary. It’s almost unbearable—the prophetic pain of a king who unknowingly mirrors the suffering of the coming Savior. And yet, amid all this, the heart keeps reaching:

“But you, Lord, do not be far from me. You are my strength; come quickly to help me.”

That line feels like the pulse of faith itself—not the confidence that everything is okay, but the refusal to let go of the One who seems far.

Psalm 22 Part 1 is the sound of holy desperation—the honesty of someone who doesn’t hide their hurt from God but drags it into His presence. It reminds me that our greatest moments of doubt can still be acts of devotion. Because faith doesn’t always look like triumph—sometimes it looks like still praying in the dark.

• 🌱 Roots or Dust? A Column on Psalm 1
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