Living Thoughts of a Dying God

As you and I both know, I'm no theologian.

I'm sure some human (four times smarter than my own kind, twice as tasty) out there has pointed this out, but I find it worth noting that Psalms 22 and 23 are not only to be located back-to-back but 23 really seems to be a coda to 22. Am I nuts? Is this a well-worn path?

I'm picturing my brother, naked and hanging to death in a tree, sputtering out this:

"My God! My God, why have you forsaken me?"

But thinking this:

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why so far from my call for help, from my cries of anguish?

My God, I call by day, but you do not answer; by night, but I have no relief.
Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One; you are the glory of Israel.
In you our ancestors trusted; they trusted and you rescued them.
To you they cried out and they escaped; in you they trusted and were not disappointed.

But I am a worm, hardly human, scorned by everyone, despised by the people.
All who see me mock me; they curl their lips and jeer; they shake their heads at me:
"You relied on the LORD--let him deliver you; if he loves you, let him rescue you."
Yet you drew me forth from the womb, made me safe at my mother's breast.
Upon you I was thrust from the womb; since birth you are my God.
Do not stay far from me, for trouble is near, and there is no one to help.

Many bulls surround me; fierce bulls of Bashan encircle me.
They open their mouths against me, lions that rend and roar.
Like water my life drains away; all my bones grow soft.
My heart has become like wax, it melts away within me.
As dry as a potsherd is my throat.
My tongue sticks to my palate.
You lay me in the dust of death.

Many dogs surround me; a pack of evildoers closes in on me. So wasted are my hands and feet
that I can count all my bones. They stare at me and gloat;
they divide my garments among them; for my clothing they cast lots.

But you, LORD, do not stay far off; my strength, come quickly to help me.
Deliver me from the sword, my forlorn life from the teeth of the dog.
Save me from the lion's mouth, my poor life from the horns of wild bulls.

Then I will proclaim your name to the assembly; in the community I will praise you:
"You who fear the LORD, give praise! All descendants of Jacob, give honor; show reverence, all descendants of Israel!

For God has not spurned or disdained the misery of this poor wretch, Did not turn away from me, but heard me when I cried out.

I will offer praise in the great assembly; my vows I will fulfill before those who fear him.
The poor will eat their fill.
Those who seek the LORD will offer praise. May your hearts enjoy life forever!

All the ends of the earth will worship and turn to the LORD; All the families of nations will bow low before you.
For kingship belongs to the LORD, the ruler over the nations.
All who sleep in the earth will bow low before God; All who have gone down into the dust will kneel in homage.
And I will live for the LORD; my descendants will serve you.

The generation to come will be told of the Lord, that they may proclaim to a people yet unborn the deliverance you have brought.

It just seems like the next Psalm over couldn't be far from this extended, inner cry:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

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So, were all of these thoughts in the mind of our brother, rushing through him like water even as his own body poured out water? In what rhythm, what cadence, what meaning? Jesus spoke so little in his misery, but as he poured out...blood and flesh and water and bile and spirit and thunder and darkness and earthquakes, those few words he spoke indicate the roiling oceans of thought and memory and, yes, Words that must have been crashing within him.

(Sorry for the mixed translations. How then, shall we be translated?)