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A Sheep’s Journey Through Psalms – 74

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God’s Unfailing Presence in Times of Ruin

Dear friend, as we open our hearts to Psalm 74, let’s imagine ourselves sitting together by a cozy fire, Bibles in hand, sharing in the timeless truths of God’s Word. This psalm, attributed to Asaph, pours out a raw and honest lament over the destruction of the sanctuary—likely a reflection on the Babylonian invasion that left God’s temple in ruins. Yet, even in its sorrow, it invites us as Christians to cling to the hope found in our Savior, Jesus Christ, who promises restoration beyond what we can see. Let’s walk through this psalm together, verse by verse, drawing comfort from its depths and seeing how it points us to the God who never abandons His people.

The Cry of Abandonment (Verses 1-3)

“O God, why do you cast us off forever? Why does your anger smoke against the sheep of your pasture? Remember your congregation, which you have purchased of old, which you have redeemed to be the tribe of your heritage! Remember Mount Zion, where you have dwelt. Direct your steps to the perpetual ruins; the enemy has destroyed everything in the sanctuary!” Here, Asaph begins with a heartfelt plea, feeling the weight of what seems like divine rejection. It’s as if he’s saying, “Lord, we’re Your sheep—why this silence in our suffering?” As Christians, we can relate to those moments when trials make us wonder if God has turned away. But oh, what encouragement we find in remembering that God has “purchased” us not just with ancient covenants, but with the precious blood of Christ (1 Peter 1:18-19). Just as He redeemed Israel, He has redeemed us eternally. Friend, if you’re in a season of “perpetual ruins”—perhaps a broken relationship, a health struggle, or a shattered dream—take heart. God directs His steps toward us, not in anger, but in love, promising to make all things new through Jesus (Revelation 21:5).

The Enemy’s Rampage (Verses 4-8)

“Your foes have roared in the midst of your meeting place; they set up their own signs for signs. They were like those who swing axes in a forest of trees. And all its carved work they broke down with hatchets and hammers. They set your sanctuary on fire; they profaned the dwelling place of your name, bringing it down to the ground. They said to themselves, ‘We will utterly subdue them’; they burned all the meeting places of God in the land.“Asaph paints a vivid picture of destruction: enemies roaring like wild beasts, smashing the beautiful carvings of the temple, and burning it to ashes. It’s a stark reminder of how evil can seem to triumph, desecrating what is holy. In our world today, we see echoes of this—persecution of believers, cultural attacks on faith, or personal battles where sin or hardship profanes our inner sanctuaries. Yet, as followers of Christ, we know the ultimate victory. Jesus Himself faced the roar of enemies at the cross, where darkness seemed to win, but His resurrection shattered their “signs” forever (Colossians 2:15). Beloved, when destruction surrounds you, remember: the enemy may rage, but Christ has subdued them. Lean into His strength, and let His peace guard your heart (Philippians 4:7).

The Silence of Heaven (Verses 9-11)

“We do not see our signs; there is no longer any prophet, and there is none among us who knows how long. How long, O God, is the foe to scoff? Is the enemy to revile your name forever? Why do you hold back your hand, your right hand? Take it from the fold of your garment and destroy them!” The pain deepens as Asaph laments the absence of signs, prophets, or any sense of timeline for relief. “How long, O God?”—it’s a cry we’ve all echoed in waiting seasons. As Christians, this resonates with the “already but not yet” of our faith: Christ has come, defeating sin and death, yet we await His full kingdom. In those silent times, we’re invited to trust God’s timing, just as Jesus endured the cross for the joy set before Him (Hebrews 12:2). Dear one, if heaven feels quiet today, hold on. God’s right hand isn’t idle—it’s the same hand that raised Jesus from the dead and will one day wipe away every tear (Revelation 21:4). Your waiting isn’t forgotten; it’s part of His loving plan to draw you closer.

Remembering God’s Mighty Deeds (Verses 12-17)

“Yet God my King is from of old, working salvation in the midst of the earth. You divided the sea by your might; you broke the heads of the sea monsters on the waters. You crushed the heads of Leviathan; you gave him as food for the creatures of the wilderness. You split open springs and brooks; you dried up ever-flowing streams. Yours is the day, yours also the night; you have established the heavenly lights and the sun. You have fixed all the boundaries of the earth; you have made summer and winter.” What a beautiful shift! Asaph turns from lament to praise, recalling God’s ancient victories—from parting the Red Sea to taming chaos (symbolized by Leviathan). This reminds us that our God isn’t distant; He’s the Creator who commands nature and history. As Christians, we see this fulfilled in Christ, who calmed storms (Mark 4:39) and conquered the ultimate chaos of sin on the cross. Friend, in your own storms, pause and remember His past faithfulness. The God who made day and night, summer and winter, is weaving your story into His grand salvation plan. Let this truth warm your soul: He’s been your King from of old, and He’ll be faithful forever.

A Plea for Justice and Mercy (Verses 18-23)

“Remember this, O Lord, how the enemy scoffs, and a foolish people reviles your name. Do not deliver the soul of your dove to the wild beasts; do not forget the life of your poor forever. Have regard for the covenant, for the dark places of the land are full of the habitations of violence. Let not the downtrodden turn back in shame; let the poor and needy praise your name. Arise, O God, defend your cause; remember how the fool scoffs at you all the day! Do not forget the clamor of your foes, the uproar of those who rise against you, which goes up continually!” The psalm closes with a fervent appeal: “Arise, O God!” Asaph begs for remembrance of the covenant, protection for the vulnerable, and justice against scoffers. From a Christian vantage, this points to the new covenant in Christ’s blood (Luke 22:20), where God remembers us not because of our merit, but because of Jesus’ sacrifice. In a world full of “dark places” and violence, we’re called to be doves—gentle yet resilient—trusting God to defend His cause. Beloved, if you’re feeling downtrodden, know that Christ intercedes for you (Hebrews 7:25). He arose from the grave, and one day He’ll arise fully to make all things right.

As we close this reflection, let’s bask in the warmth of Psalm 74’s message: Even in ruin, God is near, remembering His people and working salvation. Through Christ, our ultimate Temple (John 2:19-21), we find hope that transcends any destruction. May this encourage you today—rest in His love, praise His name, and watch for His deliverance. Let’s pray: Heavenly Father, thank You for hearing our cries as You heard Asaph’s. In our ruins, remind us of Your redeeming power in Jesus. Arise in our hearts, and let us praise You forever. Amen.

A Sheep’s Journey Through Psalms -60

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A Banner of Hope in the Storm: Reflections on Psalm 60

My dear friend, imagine for a moment the dust-choked battlefield, where the ground itself seems to quake under the weight of defeat. Swords clash like thunder, banners lie tattered in the mud, and the once-mighty warriors scatter like leaves in a fierce gale. This is the vivid scene that unfolds in Psalm 60, a heartfelt cry from King David amid the turmoil of war and national crisis. Written during his campaigns against Aram and Edom, as recorded in the psalm’s title, it’s a raw, honest plea that resonates deeply with our own seasons of struggle. Yet, woven through the despair is a thread of unshakeable hope—a reminder that even when God seems distant, His banner waves high, calling us back to victory. As we walk through this psalm together, let’s uncover its treasures, drawing comfort from its truths and applying them to our lives with a warm embrace of faith.

The psalm opens with a lament that paints a picture of divine abandonment, like a loving father turning away in disappointment, leaving his children to face the storm alone. “O God, you have rejected us, broken our defenses; you have been angry; oh, restore us,” David cries in verses 1-3. Here, the earth trembles as if split by an invisible hand, breaches gaping like wounds in a shattered wall, and the people are forced to drink “the wine of astonishment“—a bitter, swirling draught that leaves them reeling, dizzy with hardship and confusion. It’s as if the very foundations of life are shaking, isn’t it? We’ve all tasted that wine at times: the job loss that hits like an earthquake, the relationship fractured beyond recognition, or the health crisis that scatters our plans like defeated troops. David doesn’t sugarcoat it; he acknowledges that these “hard things” come from God’s sovereign hand, not as random chaos, but as a call to humility and repentance.

Yet, even in this vulnerability, David points us to the source of healing. As church leader Matthew Henry insightfully observes, “In God’s displeasure their troubles began, therefore in his favour their prosperity must begin.” What a comforting truth! When we feel cast off, it’s not the end—it’s an invitation to turn back to Him. God isn’t a distant tyrant but a compassionate restorer, mending the breaches with His gentle touch, steadying the ground beneath our feet.

Then, the tone shifts like dawn breaking over a war-torn valley, illuminating a symbol of hope in verse 4: “You have set up a banner for those who fear you, that it may be displayed because of the truth.” Picture that banner now—vibrant crimson fluttering against a stormy sky, a rallying point for the weary soldiers, emblazoned with the promise of God’s unchanging truth. It’s not just a flag; it’s a beacon, a declaration that amid the chaos, God gathers His people under His protection. For us as Christians, this banner foreshadows Christ Himself, the ultimate standard lifted high on the cross, drawing all who fear God to safety and triumph. No wonder Charles Spurgeon, in his reflections on this psalm, declares, “The bravest men are usually intrusted with the banner, and it is certain that those who fear God must have less fear of man than any others.” Friend, in your battles—whether against doubt, temptation, or external foes—lift your eyes to that banner. It’s there for you, waving defiantly because of God’s faithful word.

In verses 5-8, David pivots to rejoicing in God’s promises, claiming victory over enemies as assured possessions. “God has spoken in his holiness: I will exult,” he proclaims, dividing lands like Shechem and Succoth as if the conquest is already done. Gilead and Manasseh are His, Ephraim the helmet of strength, Judah the lawgiver. Even foes like Moab become mere washpots—humble vessels for cleansing—and Edom a place to casually cast a shoe, symbolizing effortless dominion. Philistia is taunted to “shout in triumph” over David’s success. What vivid confidence! It’s like a king surveying his map, marking territories with bold strokes, knowing the Divine Conqueror fights for him. Spurgeon captures this spirit beautifully: “Faith regards the promise not as fiction but fact, and therefore drinks in joy from it, and grasps victory by it. ‘God hath spoken; I will rejoice:’ here is a fit motto for every soldier of the cross.” As believers, we too can claim this: in Christ, our enemies—sin, death, and the powers of darkness—are already defeated. We divide the spoils of grace, wearing the helmet of salvation and wielding the law of love.

But David doesn’t end in presumption; verses 9-12 bring a humble plea for God’s ongoing help. “Who will bring me into the fortified city? Who will lead me to Edom?” he asks, acknowledging that past rejections don’t erase future reliance. Even after tasting defeat when God “did not go out with our armies,” he affirms, “Give us help from trouble, for vain is the help of man.” It’s a stark reminder: our strategies, alliances, and strengths are like fragile reeds in the wind without Him. Yet, the psalm closes on a triumphant note: “Through God we shall do valiantly; it is he who will tread down our foes.” Imagine stamping grapes in a winepress—that’s how God crushes opposition, empowering us to march forward with courageous steps.

Oh, how this psalm speaks to our hearts today! In a world trembling with uncertainty—pandemics, divisions, personal trials—Psalm 60 invites us to own our brokenness, rally under Christ’s banner, and trust in God’s promises for victory. As Henry reminds us, “Hope in God is the best principle of true courage, for what need those fear who have God on their side?” So, my friend, whatever breach shakes your life, turn to Him. Let His restoration flow like healing rain over parched earth.

Let me close with a simple prayer: Heavenly Father, in our moments of astonishment and defeat, restore us again. Raise Your banner over us, that we may rejoice in Your holiness and do valiantly through Your strength. Amen.

A Sheep’s Journey Through Psalms -44

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A Devotional Exposition on Psalm 44: Trusting God Amid Trial

Psalm 44 is a raw, heartfelt cry from the sons of Korah, a lament that weaves together vivid memories of God’s past faithfulness and the piercing pain of present suffering. It speaks to me personally, as I imagine it does to many, in moments when faith feels tested, when God’s presence seems distant, yet His promises remain our anchor. Let’s walk through this psalm, drawing on insights from the church fathers, to uncover its meaning and find inspiration for our own journey.

Recalling God’s Mighty Deeds (verses 1-8)

The psalm begins with a vivid recounting of God’s works, passed down like treasured stories told by firelight: “We have heard with our ears, O God, our fathers have told us, the deeds You did in their days” (Psalm 44:1). I picture families gathered, voices hushed, sharing tales of seas parting like curtains, enemies fleeing not by human might but by God’s radiant favor—“the light of Your countenance, because You delighted in them” (v. 3). Hilary of Poitiers, in his commentary, sees this as a celebration of divine acts preserved through generations, a reminder that God’s power, not human effort, established His people. For me, this stirs memories of answered prayers in my own life—moments when God’s hand moved unmistakably, like a sunrise breaking through a long night.

The psalmist boasts in God alone: “Through You we will push down our enemies; through Your name we will trample those who rise against us” (v. 5). There’s a confidence here, a declaration that victory comes not from swords or strategies but from God’s name. Yet, as Saint Augustine notes, this boasting is not pride but worship, for “in God we boast all day long” (v. 8). This challenges me to examine where I place my trust—am I leaning on my own strength or on the God who delights in His people?

The Pain of Present Suffering (verses 9-16)

Then the tone shifts, like a storm cloud swallowing the sun. The psalmist cries, “But You have cast us off and put us to shame” (v. 9). I feel the weight of these words—times when life feels like a battlefield, where defeats pile up like scattered sheep among wolves (v. 11). The imagery is stark: “You have given us up like sheep intended for food” (v. 11), sold for “no profit” (v. 12), a laughingstock to neighbors (v. 13). It’s the kind of raw honesty I’ve felt in moments of betrayal, loss, or confusion, when God seems silent, and the world mocks my faith.

Augustine connects this suffering to the Church’s trials, particularly the martyrs who, like Christ, endured persecution for God’s sake. He links the sons of Korah—whose name evokes “baldness” or “the place of the skull”—to Golgotha, where Christ “slept” in His passion before rising in glory. This perspective transforms my view of suffering. It’s not abandonment but a crucible, refining my faith. The psalmist’s cry mirrors my own when I feel forsaken, yet it points to a deeper truth: God is still at work, even in the shadows.

Faith in the Fire (verses 17-22)

Despite the pain, the psalmist insists, “All this has come upon us; yet we have not forgotten You, nor have we dealt falsely with Your covenant” (v. 17). This is a bold claim—I wonder if I could say the same in my trials. Have I remained steadfast, or have I wavered? The imagery here is vivid: “Our heart has not turned back, nor have our steps departed from Your way” (v. 18), even as they’re crushed in “the place of jackals” (v. 19). Yet the haunting cry persists: “Why do You hide Your face?” (v. 24).

Augustine sees this as the voice of the Church enduring for Christ’s sake: “For Your sake we are killed all day long” (v. 22). He reminds us that suffering tests our loyalty, redirecting us from worldly comforts to the narrow path of faith. For me, this is a call to perseverance, to trust that God’s silence is not absence but preparation for a greater revelation of His glory.

A Plea for Redemption (verses 23-26)

The psalm closes with a desperate plea: “Awake! Why do You sleep, O Lord? Arise, do not cast us off forever” (v. 23). It’s a cry I’ve echoed in my darkest moments, longing for God to act. Yet, as Augustine points out, God’s “sleep” is not indifference but a mystery that culminated in Christ’s resurrection, awakening the world to salvation. The psalmist appeals not to human merit but to God’s “mercy” (v. 26), a reminder that my hope rests not in my goodness but in His unchanging love.

Application: Trusting Through the Storm

Psalm 44 invites me to hold two truths in tension: God’s past faithfulness and my present struggles. Like the psalmist, I can recall God’s deeds—personal moments of grace, like answered prayers or unexpected provision—and let them fuel my trust. The church fathers teach me that suffering is not a sign of God’s absence but a refining fire, shaping me for His purposes. In my trials, I’m called to cry out honestly, yet cling to His covenant, trusting that His mercy will redeem even my darkest days.

So, Lord, awake in my life! Let Your light pierce my shadows, turning my lament into praise. May I, like the sons of Korah, declare Your faithfulness, knowing that Your love—vivid as a dawn breaking over a weary world—will never fail. Amen.

A Sheep’s Journey Through Psalms -41

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Finding Blessing in Compassion: A Devotion on Psalm 41

Dear friend, as I sit with Psalm 41 today, I feel a deep stirring in my heart. This beautiful psalm, penned by David in a time of sickness and betrayal, speaks directly to our souls, reminding us of God’s unwavering faithfulness amid life’s trials. It’s a song of hope, a declaration that compassion toward the weak not only honors God but invites His divine protection into our lives. Let’s journey through it together, verse by verse, allowing its truths to inspire and transform us.

“Blessed is the one who considers the poor! In the day of trouble the Lord delivers him; the Lord protects him and keeps him alive; he is called blessed in the land; you do not give him up to the will of his enemies.” (Psalm 41:1-2, ESV) Oh, how these opening words lift my spirit! In a world that often overlooks the vulnerable, David proclaims a profound blessing for those who pause to truly consider the poor—not just with a fleeting glance, but with thoughtful action and empathy. I love how Charles Spurgeon, that great preacher of the 19th century, unpacked this: he saw it as a call to reflect Christ’s own compassion, who “considered our low estate” and became poor for our sake. Spurgeon reminded us that such kindness bears fruit, for “David delivered others, and God will deliver him.” Isn’t that encouraging? When we extend a hand to the needy—whether through a kind word, a shared meal, or standing with the marginalized—we align our hearts with God’s, and He promises to be our shield in stormy seasons. I’ve seen this in my own life; moments of giving have returned to me as unexpected strength in my weaknesses.

As the psalm unfolds, David turns inward, confessing his frailty: “O Lord, be merciful to me; heal me, for I have sinned against you!” (Psalm 41:4). Here, in his vulnerability, David doesn’t hide his shortcomings but lays them before a merciful God. This resonates so deeply with me—how often do we carry hidden wounds of the soul, aching for healing? Matthew Henry, the insightful 17th-century commentator, urged us to apply this personally: “Is any afflicted with sickness? Let him sing the beginning of this psalm. Is any persecuted by enemies? Let him sing the latter end.” Henry emphasized that our liberality to the poor mirrors God’s mercy to us, ensuring “seasonable and effectual relief” when we cry out. What a comfort! In our confessions, God doesn’t turn away; instead, He strengthens us on our “bed of languishing” (v. 3), turning our pain into a pathway for grace.

Yet, Psalm 41 doesn’t shy away from the harsh realities of betrayal. David laments, “Even my close friend in whom I trusted, who ate my bread, has lifted his heel against me” (Psalm 41:9). These words pierce the heart, don’t they? They echo the sting of broken trust we’ve all felt at some point. But here’s where the psalm shines with prophetic light—Saint Augustine, the early Church father from the 4th century, saw this as pointing directly to Christ, betrayed by Judas at the Last Supper. Augustine wrote inspiringly of how Christ’s enemies mocked, “When He shall die, then shall His Name perish,” yet through His resurrection, “He died, but He was a grain, which dying, the grain immediately sprang up,” multiplying the Church across nations. What an insight! In our betrayals, we can find solidarity with Jesus, knowing that no enemy can ultimately triumph over us (v. 11). God upholds us in integrity, setting us before His face forever (v. 12), turning our sorrows into testimonies of His victory.

As the psalm crescendos to its close, David bursts into praise: “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, from everlasting to everlasting! Amen and Amen” (Psalm 41:13). This eternal doxology reminds me that our stories, like David’s, are woven into God’s grand tapestry of redemption. No matter the trials—sickness, slander, or solitude—His favor endures, calling us to a life of gratitude and worship.

Reflection:

Beloved, let’s carry this psalm into our day. Consider the poor around you, confess your needs to a merciful God, and trust Him through betrayals. As Spurgeon encouraged, let pardoned sin lead to fruit for others. May we, like David, emerge stronger, singing praises to our eternal King.

A Closing Prayer:

Heavenly Father, thank You for the truths of Psalm 41 that speak life into our weary hearts. Help us to consider the poor with Your compassion, heal our souls where we’ve sinned, and shield us from every foe. Uphold us in Your integrity, and let our lives echo eternal praise to You. Amen and Amen.

A Sheep’s Journey Through Psalms -22

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A Devotional on Psalm 22: The Cry of the Cross, The Hope of the Dawn

Scripture Reading: Psalm 22:1-2, 16-18, 27-31 (NIV)
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest… Dogs surround me, a pack of villains encircles me; 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… All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the Lord, and all the families of the nations will bow down before him… Posterity will serve him; future generations will be told about the Lord. They will proclaim his righteousness, declaring to a people yet unborn: He has done it!”

Reflection: The Cry Heard Across Time
Imagine a barren hill under a darkened sky, the air thick with dust and despair. A lone figure hangs on a Roman cross, his voice cracking through parched lips: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” These words, first penned by King David a thousand years before, echo through the ages to find their fullest expression on Golgotha. Psalm 22 is no mere lament; it is a prophetic tapestry woven with threads of anguish, abandonment, and astonishing hope, pointing us to the suffering and triumph of Jesus Christ.

In David’s day, this psalm captured the raw pain of a king surrounded by enemies, his life hanging by a thread. Historically, David likely wrote these words during a time of betrayal or persecution, perhaps fleeing from Saul or Absalom. His vivid imagery—pierced hands and feet, bones out of joint, garments gambled away—paints a scene of utter vulnerability. In the ancient Near East, to be “surrounded by dogs” was to face ruthless adversaries, scavenging for your downfall. David’s cry was not just personal; it was the cry of Israel, a people often forsaken yet never forgotten by God.

Centuries later, these same words poured from the lips of Jesus on the cross (Matthew 27:46). The parallels are haunting: the pierced hands and feet, the mocking crowd, the soldiers casting lots for His robe (John 19:24). Jesus, the Son of David, embodied this psalm in His darkest hour, taking on the weight of humanity’s sin. In that moment, the Father’s silence was not absence but the profound cost of redemption. The cross was not the end but the hinge of history, where despair gave way to deliverance.

Vivid Imagery: From Darkness to Dawn
Picture yourself standing at the foot of that cross. The ground trembles, and the sky is shrouded as if creation itself mourns. You hear the Savior’s cry, feel the weight of His suffering. Yet, as the psalm turns in verse 22, the scene shifts. The darkness cracks, and a radiant dawn breaks forth. “I will declare your name to my people; in the assembly I will praise you.” The same voice that cried in agony now sings of victory. The tomb is empty, and the risen Christ stands triumphant, proclaiming God’s faithfulness to all nations.

This is the heart of Psalm 22: it moves from desolation to declaration, from the cross to the crown. The imagery of “all the ends of the earth” turning to the Lord (v. 27) evokes a global chorus—people from every tribe, tongue, and time joining in worship. The psalm’s closing vision is a legacy of hope: future generations, even those yet unborn, will hear of the God who “has done it!”—the God who finished the work of salvation.

Application: Trusting Through the Silence
Today, you may feel like David, surrounded by trials, or like Jesus, wrestling with God’s silence. The vivid imagery of Psalm 22 invites you to bring your raw, honest cries to God. He hears you, even when answers seem distant. The cross reminds us that God’s silence is not His absence; it is often the prelude to His greatest work. Just as David’s lament turned to praise, and Jesus’ death gave way to resurrection, your story is not over. God is weaving your pain into a tapestry of redemption.

Take a moment to reflect: Where do you feel forsaken? Lay it before the One who bore forsakenness for you. Trust that the same God who turned the cross into a crown will turn your night into day. And like the psalmist, let your story proclaim to others: “He has done it!”

Prayer
Lord Jesus, You cried out in my place, bearing the weight of my sin and sorrow. Thank You for the cross, where Your love turned despair into hope. In my moments of silence and struggle, help me trust Your presence. Let Psalm 22 remind me that You are near, turning my cries into songs of praise. May my life declare Your faithfulness to a world yet unborn. Amen.

For Further Reflection

  • Meditate on Psalm 22 alongside Matthew 27:27-50. How do the details of Jesus’ crucifixion fulfill David’s words?
  • Journal about a time you felt God was silent. How can Psalm 22’s shift from lament to praise encourage you today?
  • Share the hope of this psalm with someone who needs to hear that God “has done it!”

May the vivid truth of Psalm 22 fill you with courage to trust God’s faithfulness, from the cross to the coming dawn.