Crying Out from the Depths

Dear friend in Christ, as we open our hearts to Psalm 88, we encounter one of the most raw and unflinching cries in all of Scripture. This psalm, attributed to Heman the Ezrahite, stands out in the Psalter for its unrelenting lament—there is no pivot to praise, no sudden dawn of hope within its verses. Yet, in its darkness, it speaks profoundly to our human experience of suffering, isolation, and the seeming silence of God. As we exegete this psalm verse by verse, we’ll see how it mirrors the depths of despair. We will also turn to the wisdom of Athanasius, the great church father of the fourth century, whose insights in his Letter to Marcellinus reveal a Christological layer that transforms this cry into a testament of divine love and redemption. Athanasius reminds us that the Psalms often speak in the voice of our Lord Jesus Himself, and in Psalm 88, he hears Christ bearing the weight of our sins on the cross. Let this devotion warm your soul, reminding you that even in the pit, you are not alone—God has entered that darkness for you.

The Cry for Salvation (Verses 1-2)

Lord, you are the God who saves me;
day and night I cry out to you.
May my prayer come before you;
turn your ear to my cry.

The psalm opens with a declaration of faith amid anguish: God is the “savior,” the one who delivers. Heman addresses Yahweh personally, emphasizing persistent prayer—”day and night” he cries out. This is a lament psalm, a genre where the sufferer pours out complaint to God without restraint. The Hebrew word for “cry” (rinnah) implies a loud, desperate shout, underscoring the intensity. There’s no pretense here; it’s an honest plea for God to listen and respond.

Athanasius, in grouping Psalm 88 with others like 105 and 106, sees it as a reflection on God’s historical kindnesses to His people, such as the exodus, to highlight human ingratitude and divine faithfulness. Yet, he goes deeper, interpreting the psalm Christologically. For Athanasius, these opening verses echo Christ’s own prayers in Gethsemane, where He cried out to the Father in agony. In our own seasons of unrelenting pain, this invites us to persist in prayer, knowing that Jesus, our Savior, has modeled this cry and ensures our voices reach the throne of grace.

Overwhelmed by Troubles and Isolation (Verses 3-9)

I am overwhelmed with troubles
and my life draws near to death.
I am counted among those who go down to the pit;
I am like one without strength.
I am set apart with the dead,
like the slain who lie in the grave,
whom you remember no more,
who are cut off from your care. You have put me in the lowest pit,
in the darkest depths.
Your wrath lies heavily on me;
you have overwhelmed me with all your waves.
You have taken from me my closest friends
and have made me repulsive to them.
I am confined and cannot escape;
my eyes are dim with grief.

Here, the psalmist describes a descent into Sheol-like despair. “The pit” (bor) and “darkest depths” evoke the grave, a place of separation from God’s life-giving presence. The language is vivid: troubles “overwhelm” like waves, strength ebbs away, and even friends abandon him. This reflects ancient Near Eastern views of death as a shadowy realm cut off from God (cf. Job 3), but Heman attributes his suffering directly to God—”You have put me,” “Your wrath lies heavily.” This isn’t accusation but honest wrestling; the psalmist sees God’s hand in his affliction, yet still turns to Him.

Athanasius draws profound insight here, viewing these verses as spoken “in the Lord’s own person.” He quotes verse 7 (“Your wrath lies heavily on me”) and verse 16 (later in the psalm) to illustrate substitutionary atonement: “He [Christ] suffered these things, not for His own sake but for ours. ‘Thou hast made Thy wrath to rest upon me’… He suffered for us and bore in Himself the wrath that was the penalty of our transgression.” For Athanasius, Psalm 88 prefigures Christ’s experience on the cross, where He was “overwhelmed” by the waves of divine judgment—not for His sins, but for ours (cf. Isaiah 53:4-6). This warms our reading: if you’ve felt abandoned, like Heman or like Jesus crying “My God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46), know that Christ entered that isolation to redeem it. He bore the wrath so that you might receive mercy.

Questions from the Grave (Verses 10-12)

I call to you, Lord, every day;
I spread out my hands to you.
Do you show your wonders to the dead?
Do their spirits rise up and praise you?
Is your love declared in the grave,
your faithfulness in Destruction?
Are your wonders known in the place of darkness,
or your righteous deeds in the land of oblivion?

The psalmist persists in prayer, hands outstretched in supplication—a gesture of dependence. But he poses rhetorical questions about death: Can God’s wonders, love, faithfulness, or righteousness be known in Abaddon (the place of destruction)? This echoes other psalms (e.g., Psalm 6:5; 30:9) where the dead are seen as unable to praise God in the living community. It’s not a denial of afterlife but a plea for deliverance now, so that praise might continue.

Athanasius’ Christ-centered lens adds depth: these questions foreshadow the resurrection. Christ, in descending to the depths, answered them with a resounding yes—His wonders are known even in darkness, as He conquered death. In your moments of doubt, when it feels like God’s love is absent, remember: Jesus asked similar questions in His suffering, yet rose to declare God’s faithfulness eternally. This truth brings warmth; our cries are not futile but joined to His victory.

Persistent Plea Amid Rejection (Verses 13-18)

But I cry to you for help, Lord;
in the morning my prayer comes before you.
Why, Lord, do you reject me
and hide your face from me? From my youth I have suffered and been close to death;
I have borne your terrors and am in despair.
Your wrath has swept over me;
your terrors have destroyed me.
All day long they surround me like a flood;
they have completely engulfed me.
You have taken from me friend and neighbor—
darkness is my closest friend.

The psalm closes without resolution, intensifying the lament. Morning prayers persist, but rejection feels acute—”hide your face” recalls divine disfavor (cf. Deuteronomy 31:17). Lifelong suffering culminates in despair, with wrath as a “flood” and darkness as the only companion. Exegetically, this lack of uplift makes Psalm 88 unique; it ends in the valley, inviting readers to sit with unresolved pain.Yet Athanasius offers hope through Christ: referencing verse 16 (“Your terrors have destroyed me”), he affirms that Jesus bore this destruction as our substitute, paying what we “never took” (from Psalm 69). He suffered the flood of wrath so we wouldn’t be engulfed forever. This insight turns the psalm’s darkness into a beacon: Christ became our “closest friend” in darkness, ensuring that our story doesn’t end there.

Beloved, Psalm 88 validates your deepest sorrows—it’s okay to cry out honestly to God. But through Athanasius’ eyes, we see Jesus in these depths, bearing the penalty of sin on our behalf. He endured the wrath, the isolation, the terrors, so that in Him, we find salvation and light. If you’re in the pit today, spread out your hands; the God who saves hears you, because Christ has already answered. May this truth wrap your heart in warmth, drawing you closer to the One who suffered for love of you. Amen.