Psalm 22: The Heart-Melting Torment of the Son Produced the Eternal Joy of God’s People

April 18, 2025/Zach Keele/
Photo Credit: artplus / iStockphoto.com

Photo Credit: artplus / iStockphoto.com

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What pain throbs the worse? What wins the prize as the champion of agony? The lineup is loaded with many serious competitors: broken bones, toothaches, post-surgical pain, migraines, kidney stones, gout, sciatica, shingles, and others. We do know this is a race for second place, though, as the gold goes to childbirth.

Yet, this is just physical torment. There are other types of affliction: emotional, relational, spiritual. Our anatomy extends beyond our bodies; it includes the soul, the deep caverns of the heart. Blades and bats may not bruise the soul, but other weapons can, such as shame, mocking, grief, and loneliness. Soul soreness is ranked on a whole different scale, and though unseen, it can far exceed bodily torment.

In fact, soul pain intensifies by nearness. Those we love and respect the most are the ones who can cut us the deepest. A parent, spouse, child, or friend can break our hearts in ways no stranger or foe can. And there is one closer than family, the Lord, who unleashed unfathomable torment on his Servant so that he could become our Savior and endless delight.

Psalm 22 is most fully true about Christ, but the basic texture of the torments are common to all of God’s people.

The New Testament quotes Psalm 22 about a dozen times, and this psalm casts a big shadow, especially as it was fulfilled by our Lord on the cross. Indeed, as Jesus used the words of this psalm in his cry of agony, few passages allow us such a clear glimpse into the soul of our Savior.

We know that Psalm 22 is most fully true about Christ. It is practically a behind-the-scenes look on the passion of Golgotha as recorded in the Gospels. Before we see Jesus in this psalm, however, we need to remember it was first penned by David as something he experienced. In so far as David was a regular saint, he too endured the pains of Psalm 22.

There are depths here that only apply to Jesus, but the basic texture of the torments is common to all of God’s people. In order to share in our sufferings, what we feel in part Jesus felt in whole. We first need to perceive the body and soul pains of David, which we too can experience, so that we can appreciate the more profound anguish of our Savior for us.

The sweet affection of David’s words “My God” clashes with the angry hostility of being forsaken.

David starts off with a shrill cry of trauma: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Ps. 22:1). Like fingernails on a chalkboard, David’s throbbing hurts our ears, for there are two things in this opening line that don’t belong together. As salt upon a cut or vinegar on a dry throat, these two can only stab with pain. The first is the tender intimacy of “My God.”

This is the term of covenant companionship, like a wife saying, “That’s my man.” The bond of peace, the aroma of love, and the security of commitment are all abound up in these two words. All the bounties of God’s redemption, care, and provision are recalled. David’s life of service, joy, and fellowship with God are tasted here.

Yet, the sweet affection of “My God” clashes with the angry hostility of being forsaken. Deliberate abandonment by one so very dear is to be forsaken. It is like crying, “Beloved, why did you wound me?” or “Honey, how could you divorce me?” In fact, forsakenness has extensive roots within the covenant. For one, a regular promise of the Lord is that he would never forsake his people.

The undying fidelity and kindness of the Almighty doesn’t forsake his covenant partners. Under the law for rebellion and apostasy, though, God threatened to forsake his people as the ultimate curse (e.g., Deut. 28:15ff). If the people disowned God, then he would disown them. Yet, there is no evidence of David turning from the Lord. Rather, his pure loyalty seems spotless.

David is upright, but God has forsaken him as a cursed thing.

Thus, to cry forsaken is the searing poison of betrayal. The Lord promised not to forsake, but David is forsaken. Why has God not kept friendship but poured out curse and fury on David? Betrayal stabs that most sensitive nerve between heart and soul that fractures your very identity. It is the child abandoned by mom in a back alley by the dumpster.

The memory of God’s past affections burn David like a branding iron. Our fathers trusted in the Lord. The faith of the ancestors was not put to shame; they suffered, prayed to God, and he delivered them. How can the Lord bless the faith of Grandpa but curse the same faith when it is in David?

Likewise, since birth the Lord has been kind to him. God delivered the psalmist in the maternity ward (Ps. 22:9). He laid David on his mother’s bosom. David has rested on the Lord from the womb; he has belonged to God since conception. Talk about a delightful picture of a covenant child—to be birthed by God and to rest on him from the delivery room.

Yet, the closeness of what was is no longer. The childhood nearness has been replaced by distance and hostility. Presently, David roars in agony under the curse of God, and to add blisters on top of bruises, there is silence. The psalmist prays fervently, but there is no answer, no acknowledgment, not even a nod of hearing.

Day and night David’s tearful petitions are thrown at heaven without ceasing. But the Lord hears not; he helps not at all. David does profess the holiness of the Lord (Ps. 22:3). His faith knows better than to sling impious charges against the Lord. God is holy and all he does is holy, but such purity in God turns up pain.

David is a maggot, a detestable grub, and his opponents are cruel beasts.

Yahweh is holy; David is upright, but God has forsaken him as cursed thing. Such bewilderment on how this can be has David strapped up to a car battery for shock torture. The Lord is far off when he is needed so desperately up close. David bellows, “Be not far from me, for trouble is near” (Ps. 22:11). And what is the anatomy of this misery pressing in upon him?

The features of David’s torment are nearly too gruesome to witness. First, the poor treatment has dehumanized him into a worm or, more accurately, a maggot: “I am a worm, not a man” (Ps. 22:6). No one respects David’s dignity as an image bearer, but rather they judge him to be the grossest life-form—a maggot of the dung heap.

David is most despised of all humans; the public deems his shame as a blotch on humanity itself. The whole community of David spits scorn at him; rude gestures, cutting words, and perverse charges are pilled upon the psalmist. People quarantine David off from human society as if he is demon-possessed or contagious with lethal cooties.

His neighbors gag at his maggoty nature. One of the noticeable features of this psalm is its use of animals to characterize the human players. David is a maggot, a detestable grub, and his opponents are cruel beasts (Ps. 22:12-13). Like massive bulls with towering horns, they besiege David. They maul and rip on his legs like a roaring lion.

David’s friends have transformed into a pack of feral, rabies-infested dogs (Ps. 22:16). These images of animals feel like watching a scary nature documentary. The bulls of Bashan are like water buffalo who encircle a threat to gore and trample it to death. The lion stands over the fallen zebra to roar with blood on its mane.

The dogs rip and tear into David like hyenas fighting over a gazelle. And what does it mean when men become like terrifying beasts? This is a picture of wicked cruelty, devoid of all mercy. If a man acts like a lion, crimes against humanity are taking place. Devolving into a predator erases all proper, human restraint. Lions torment their prey as entertainment.

It appears that David is going to perish as one forsaken by God.

The opponents abuse and torture David for amusement, and the injuries inflicted upon the psalmist undo him body and soul (Ps. 22:14). He is poured out like water; his heart melts as wax before a flame; and his tongue is welded his gums. Note here how his sufferings express his complete deterioration as a living thing.

A body is a solid thing; bones are the firm frame of our existence. But David is liquified, and his blood is tossed away like water. His joints are pulled apart to be an assortment of Legos in bag of skin. The heart within melts to mix with his bowels. Like cheap pottery, his skin is ashy and cracked to become a fragile and worthless thing.

Dehydration sticks David’s tongue down so that he cannot swallow or speak. He is so emaciated that medical students could use him for a test on the skeleton. David is so far gone that he is laid in the dust and his tormentors start divvying up his garments. To cast lots for garments is payday for the executioners.

Once they end the life of their victim, the firing squad plunders the dead as the wages for their torture. To divide up his clothes means that David is dead or nearly there. The sword is literally laid upon his throat, and he is set in the dust like a corpse with no plans for burial. The agony of the poetry here is like the last thoughts of a dying man.

These are David’s final agonizing emotions, both body and soul, before the lights go out. Thus, his call for urgency: “But you, O Lord, do not be far off! O you my help, come quickly to my aid!” (Ps. 22:19). As when Paul was stoned and left for dead, so from the outside it appears David has perished as one forsaken by God. The tormentors and scoffers are packing their bags to go home for the day.

Psalm 22 is practically a behind-the-scenes look at Christ’s passion at Golgotha.

It is by these real-life agonies of David that we are shown the suffering of our Savior. Besides a few statements on the cross, the Gospel accounts of the crucifixion share few details about the mental state of Jesus. What was Christ feeling and thinking on that awful tree?

The Gospels are frugal with psychological information, and they are because such insights are provided by the Old Testament, particularly by this psalm. Do you want to know what your Savior was thinking as he died for you? Meditate on Psalm 22. Your Lord Jesus became a maggot for you; he was shamed as blot on humanity, not even worthy of the name.

For Christ’s heart to melt is for his mental sanity to be slipping away in the face of fear and wrath. The crowds laughed at him as Friday night entertainment. The priests and soldiers lorded themselves over his body without pity. They molested his soul with abusive curses, even as they plundered his body with jabs, blows, and perverse gestures.

How was it possible for the Father, who is one with the Son, to look away from Jesus?

His nearest friends abandoned Jesus as if a stranger; even his mother stood far off like a cold breeze on a frosty day (Mark 15:40). Dehumanization is a term overused nowadays, but the full ugliness of this torment was thrust upon Jesus as his humanity was abused into a maggot. Yet, the most intense pain was not imposed by the soldiers or the priests.

It came not from the crowds or his kin, not from his disciples or his mother, but it was inflicted by the blade of his Father. The closer the bond, the stronger the love, the deeper the wound. And there is none more intimate with Jesus than the Father. Indeed, we can’t even fathom the unity and bond between God the Father and God the Son.

One in essence and distinct in persons from all eternity, equal in power and glory, the same in holiness and love. Our imaginations cannot grasp such intimacy. The marriage bond, a mother’s love, a friend dying for another—these are pale reflections of the harmony between Father and Son. Indeed, amid this dark distress, we bump up against the greatest mystery in Scripture.

How could the Holy Father forsake the Righteous Son? How was it possible for the Father, who is one with the Son, to look away from Jesus? How could wrath and curse fall on the purest, most eternal love? We do not know! Mystery of all mysteries, the Father abandoned his Son for a moment upon the cross! The heart of Jesus melted as the Father turned his face away.

Moreover, Jesus actually died amid his forsaken torment. David appears dead in Psalm 22; Jesus really perished. No wonder the sun when black, and the earth shook in fear; such forsakenness within the Godhead threatened to undo the created order. The wrath and agony of Golgotha terrifies us with bewildering sadness and unmitigated pain.

In a shocking shift, the perishing David, the dead Christ, switches the music to joyful praises.

Indeed, Psalm 22 stands as the monument of Christ’s crucifixion; it is the tombstone of his incarnation, the relic of his suffering, the monolith of holy wrath. Before its bleak misery and tragedy, we should put on black sackcloth and mourn continually. Full appreciation of Christ’s trauma should eclipse happiness forever. Yet, this psalm refuses to give grief the victory.

In a shocking shift, the perishing David, the dead Christ, switches the music to joyful praises. At the darkest moment of divine abandonment, God hears. David exclaims in verse 21: “You have rescued me from the horns of the wild oxen!” The Lord hears while Jesus is impaled upon the horns of the cross.

And the hearing of the Almighty miraculously transforms the most harrowing agony into the sweetest joy. The psalmist moves from Golgotha to worship leader. He marvels in the name of God; he praises the Father in the midst of the congregation. And the glorifying music of Christ encompasses the whole people of God.

All those who fear God join the melody of Jesus. The heirs of Abraham by faith glorify and venerate our heavenly Father. Jesus was the miserable, afflicted one, so all who identify with his misery rejoice with Jesus. In fact, within the great worship assembly, those who rest in the suffering of Christ shall eat and be satisfied.

The worship that the delivered Christ starts within the great congregation spreads to the world.

The saints of God feast in worship with the joyful Christ. In the Old Testament setting, this refers to the thank offering sacrifice, which was an offering of gratitude where the people shared a meal with God. In the New Testament, this becomes all it can be in the Lord’s Supper. Jesus told his disciples that he would not eat with them until he came into his kingdom.

In his resurrected body Jesus broke bread with his disciples at the Supper, and their eyes were opened to his glory (Luke 24:30-32). So also, the Lord’s Supper is our meal of celebration to be filled with the benefits of Christ. The happy hymns and eating before the Lord here are what we participate in as often as we come to the Table.

But there is more. The worship that the delivered Christ starts within the great congregation spreads to the world. The ends of the earth come to worship. The families of the nations bow down; the prosperous eat and worship. And why is the international community swept upon in worship? Because the Kingdom belongs to the Lord (Ps. 22:28).

This line is cited in Revelation 15 as fulfilled in the second coming of Christ our Lord. The resurrection joy of Jesus that begins in the church will spread through the great commission to embrace the whole world when Christ comes again. What a glorious telescoping of events! The agony of the cross gives way to the rejoicing of the resurrection, which overflows to heavenly worship.

Indeed, the good news of Christ’s cross and resurrection gets passed on through time to future generations between his first and second comings (Ps. 22:30). Posterity will serve God through the Son. The joy will be told to coming generations. The righteousness of Christ will be preaching to a people yet unborn.

The order of events is mixed up in this psalm, but the whole of the New Testament era is revealed here—from the cross to the resurrection to the great commission to the Second Coming and everlasting worship. In fact, the pointers to the eternal are rather explicit. In verse 26, the hearts of the congregants are exhorted to look to life forever with the Lord.

In verse 29 those who descend into the dust, even though they don’t survive, will bow before the Lord. In the Old Testament there existed a vast wall between the dying and worship, but here this is overcome. The living and the dead, the present and future ones, all enter to praise the Lord as foreshadowing of new creation. The details on exactly how this will come to pass are foggy here, but the dawn of the New Testament dispels the misty clouds to reveal the bright bliss of the bodily resurrection and life everlasting through the suffering, death, and resurrection of the Davidic Servant, Jesus Christ.

By his holiness God crushed the Son for our redemption and eternal bliss.

As the good news is heralded to future generations, how is the gospel summed up? In verse 31 we read, “He has done it.” The Lord has accomplished it all. This is God’s doing. And what is the impact of this? It means this heart-melting torment of the Son that produced the eternal joy of God’s people was the Father’s doing! And he did it for you! As we are overwhelmed by the anguishing dehumanization of the Son, we wonder why?

Why would the Father abandon the Son? How can such searing pain be anything but evil? It came because God is holy, and by his holiness God crushed the Son for your redemption. Jesus willingly became a maggot to make you new creations! Christ’s life was poured as water, because he loved you to the end, to make you his forever.

Thus, as Psalm 22 brings us into the dark day of Christ’s despair, it ushers us into the rich currents of his love for us sinners. The Father loved you enough to forsake the Son. Jesus cherished you more than his own life. He tasted the most bitter agony so you may enjoy his supreme delights all of grace. And this definitely calls for rejoicing! Let us then join the lead of Christ to declare the praises of God’s name. May we be active and believing participants in the great congregation, now with hope during our pilgrim lives and forever in the endless bliss of the Heavenly Jerusalem.

This article is adapted from the Rev. Zach Keele’s sermon on Psalm 22, preached at Escondido Orthodox Presbyterian Church on January 12, 2025.

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