Good Friday
Worship
Aids To The Psalms
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of
my groaning.
O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer;
and by night, but find no rest.
Yet you are holy,
enthroned on the praises of Israel.
In you our ancestors trusted;
they trusted, and you delivered them.
To you they cried, and were saved;
in you they trusted and were not put to shame.
But I am a worm, and not human;
scorned by others, and despised by the people.
All who see me mock at me,
they make mouths at me, they shake their heads;
"Commit your cause to the Lord; let him deliver -
let him rescue the one in whom he delights!"
Yet it was you who took me from the womb;
you kept me safe on my mother's breast.
On you I was cast from my birth,
and since my mother bore me you have been my God.
Do not be far from me,
for trouble is near
and there is no one to help.
My bulls encircle me
strong bulls of Bashan surround me;
they open wide their mouth at me,
like a ravening and roaring lion.
I am poured out like water,
and all my bones are out of joint;
my heart is like wax;
it is melted within my breast;
my mouth is dried up like a potsherd,
and my tongue sticks to my jaws;
you lay me in the dust of earth.
For days are all around me;
a company of evildoers encircles me.
My hand and feet have shriveled;
I can count all my bones.
They stare and gloat over me;
they divide my clothes among themselves,
and for my clothing they cast lots.
Alternate Image
The troubadour has AIDS. His father looks at him in disgust. His mother reaches out her hand then ashamedly pulls it away. His brothers and sisters ignore him. His friends talk about him behind his back whispering and winking conspiratorially. An evangelist comes to help him by condemning him. The hospital quarantines him and the staff avoids him, touching him only when he's enveloped in prophylactic material. The talk show seeks to exploit him. Why? He has always been faithful. He went to Sunday school throughout his youth. He accepted his confirmation vows seriously. He sought to serve the human community through his vocation. He doesn't claim to be sinless, just obedient and believing. Why? Why God have you forsaken me? Slumped in dismay the troubadour hears the voice of God say, "Let me tell you about my son." A peace invades the hospital room that palatably touches all who are privileged to be there.
Reflection
We all have our Job moments. When life seems absolutely terrible and not worth living. Oh, we can always find someone in worse condition, but does that help? We cry to God and ask why? We feel forsaken. I don't know if God ever answers all our whys; he just tells us about his Son. God comes to us as the Son. We still don't know why, but we know God is with us. I believe that is enough.
Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of
my groaning.
O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer;
and by night, but find no rest.
Yet you are holy,
enthroned on the praises of Israel.
In you our ancestors trusted;
they trusted, and you delivered them.
To you they cried, and were saved;
in you they trusted and were not put to shame.
But I am a worm, and not human;
scorned by others, and despised by the people.
All who see me mock at me,
they make mouths at me, they shake their heads;
"Commit your cause to the Lord; let him deliver -
let him rescue the one in whom he delights!"
Yet it was you who took me from the womb;
you kept me safe on my mother's breast.
On you I was cast from my birth,
and since my mother bore me you have been my God.
Do not be far from me,
for trouble is near
and there is no one to help.
My bulls encircle me
strong bulls of Bashan surround me;
they open wide their mouth at me,
like a ravening and roaring lion.
I am poured out like water,
and all my bones are out of joint;
my heart is like wax;
it is melted within my breast;
my mouth is dried up like a potsherd,
and my tongue sticks to my jaws;
you lay me in the dust of earth.
For days are all around me;
a company of evildoers encircles me.
My hand and feet have shriveled;
I can count all my bones.
They stare and gloat over me;
they divide my clothes among themselves,
and for my clothing they cast lots.
Alternate Image
The troubadour has AIDS. His father looks at him in disgust. His mother reaches out her hand then ashamedly pulls it away. His brothers and sisters ignore him. His friends talk about him behind his back whispering and winking conspiratorially. An evangelist comes to help him by condemning him. The hospital quarantines him and the staff avoids him, touching him only when he's enveloped in prophylactic material. The talk show seeks to exploit him. Why? He has always been faithful. He went to Sunday school throughout his youth. He accepted his confirmation vows seriously. He sought to serve the human community through his vocation. He doesn't claim to be sinless, just obedient and believing. Why? Why God have you forsaken me? Slumped in dismay the troubadour hears the voice of God say, "Let me tell you about my son." A peace invades the hospital room that palatably touches all who are privileged to be there.
Reflection
We all have our Job moments. When life seems absolutely terrible and not worth living. Oh, we can always find someone in worse condition, but does that help? We cry to God and ask why? We feel forsaken. I don't know if God ever answers all our whys; he just tells us about his Son. God comes to us as the Son. We still don't know why, but we know God is with us. I believe that is enough.
