At the heart of Calvary, when the sky darkened at noon and silence fell upon creation, Jesus cried out the most haunting and heart-wrenching of all His sayings: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” This fourth Word, spoken at the height of His suffering, reveals not just physical agony but the spiritual weight of separation, the mystery of divine abandonment, and the fulfillment of prophetic scripture.
This Word resounds with holy tension. It is both deeply personal and prophetically profound. It is the only time in all the recorded sayings of Jesus that He does not address God as “Father.” Instead, He uses the phrase “My God,” not once, but twice—an expression of deep anguish and earnest appeal. In this cry, we hear the echo of Psalm 22:1, written by David centuries before, now prophetically fulfilled on the Cross. Jesus, the Word made flesh, is quoting the Word to express the very depth of His suffering.
Let us examine the setting. At this point, Jesus has been on the Cross for approximately six hours. The first three hours were filled with the cruel mockery of the crowd, the pain of the nails, and the weight of physical torture. But now, at the sixth hour (noon), something changes. The Gospel writers tell us that “there was darkness over all the land unto the ninth hour” (Matthew 27:45, KJV). This darkness was not due to an eclipse. It was a supernatural manifestation—a divine sign that something far deeper than death was taking place. Heaven had turned its face. Earth had grown still. Creation groaned. The Light of the world was being enveloped in darkness, not just physically but spiritually.
It is in this thick darkness that Jesus cries out—not silently, but with a loud voice. This was not a whisper of despair but a proclamation of prophetic depth. “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” This is not a loss of faith—it is faith in crisis. Jesus still acknowledges God as His own. He says, “My God.” He does not doubt God’s existence or power. But He expresses the full force of abandonment. In this moment, Jesus, the sinless Son, bears the sin of the world and feels the full effect of what sin does—it separates.
Isaiah 59:2 declares, “But your iniquities have separated between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you…” (KJV). Jesus, though pure and holy, has become the substitute for sinful man. As 2 Corinthians 5:21 affirms, “For he hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin…” (KJV). On the Cross, Jesus is not just bearing sin—He becomes sin. And as sin personified, He experiences what humanity should have—the abandonment of God. Not because God stopped loving Him, but because the justice of God demanded the full weight of wrath to be poured out.
This is the cup Jesus wrestled with in Gethsemane. When He prayed, “O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me…” (Matthew 26:39, KJV), it was not the fear of physical pain. It was the anticipation of divine separation. For all eternity, the Son had lived in perfect fellowship with the Father. There had never been a breach, never a distance. But now, on the Cross, He experiences what we deserved—separation, silence, and sorrow.
And yet, this cry is not hopeless. It is holy. It reveals the mystery of substitution. He was forsaken so we might be forgiven. He was abandoned so we might be adopted. He experienced divine silence so we might receive eternal assurance. Jesus did not cry this out because He had lost faith, but because He was fulfilling the cry of all humanity. In that moment, He became the voice of every broken heart, every outcast, every weary soul who has ever asked, “Where is God?”
This Fourth Word reminds us that Jesus does not just sympathize with our pain—He enters into it. Hebrews 4:15 says, “For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities…” (KJV). Jesus took on the full experience of human suffering—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. This Word from the Cross gives permission to those who have ever felt alone in their faith. It validates the experience of divine silence, yet it reminds us that even in silence, God is still sovereign.
The cry “why hast thou forsaken me?” is not an accusation, but a lament. It mirrors the psalms of David, the weeping of Job, the questioning of the prophets. It is the cry of the righteous sufferer. And in this, Jesus becomes our example in suffering. He teaches us how to bring our pain to God. He shows us that honest lament is not unbelief—it is faith that refuses to let go. Like Jacob wrestling the angel, Jesus cries out in pain, yet still clings to God with the words “My God.”
This Word also reveals the gravity of sin. We often speak of grace, mercy, and forgiveness—and rightly so. But this Word reminds us that grace is not cheap. Sin is not light. The cost of our redemption was not just blood—it was abandonment. The Lamb of God was slain, and in that moment, He bore the full consequence of sin’s curse. This was not just about nails and thorns—it was about separation from the Father. Jesus did not just die for us; He was forsaken for us.
This Word calls the Church to never take sin lightly again. If the spotless Son of God had to be forsaken for sin to be dealt with, then sin must be deadly. But it also means salvation must be glorious. Because He was forsaken, we are never alone. Because He was rejected, we are accepted. Because He was abandoned, we are embraced.
This Fourth Word marks the climax of the crucifixion. It is the depth before the height. It is the valley before the victory. It is the hour of darkness before the dawn of resurrection. But it had to happen. Without the forsaking, there would be no forgiveness. Without the separation, there would be no salvation.
Psalm 22, which begins with this cry, ends in triumph. What begins as “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” ends with declarations of deliverance, victory, and praise: “They shall come, and shall declare his righteousness unto a people that shall be born, that he hath done this” (Psalm 22:31, KJV). Jesus was not only quoting the first line—He was fulfilling the entire psalm. The Cross was not the end—it was the pathway to glory.
Even in His forsaken moment, Jesus was preaching. He was proclaiming the faithfulness of God in the midst of suffering. He was pointing to the prophetic Word that would not fail. The people around Him may not have understood. They mocked Him, thinking He was calling for Elijah. But heaven understood. The veil would soon be rent. The tomb would soon be opened. The silence would soon be broken. But first, there had to be a cry.
“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” This is the cry that secures our confidence. This is the wound that wins our healing. This is the silence that breaks our shame. Because of this Word, we can say with assurance: “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee” (Hebrews 13:5, KJV). He was forsaken so we would never be.
Selah Moment with Prophetess Dr. Althea Winifred
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