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My God, hear my cry

A Reflection for Good Friday by Rev. Natasha Westerhoud 


Selected passage for reflection: Psalm 22:1-2


Read

Psalm 22

1 My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?    

Why are you so far away when I groan for help?

2 Every day I call to you, my God, but you do not answer.    

Every night I lift my voice, but I find no relief.



Reflect

Psalm 22 does not begin with calm faith but with a cry that is familiar and echoes through the ages: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” These powerful words express a deep sense of grief that can leave us feeling confused, isolated, and overwhelmed. On Good Friday, Jesus embraces this Psalm as his own, connecting with everyone whose pain has ever felt like abandonment, reminding us that we are never truly alone in our struggles.


I have often found myself crying out in desperation, "Where are you, God? Why don’t you take this away from me? I am left to feel angry, lonely, and scared. I try to find my way back, yet things seem impossible.  Today I am reminded once again of the truth in Psalm 22: it does not dismiss pain; it dignifies it, giving voice to suffering that cannot be neatly packaged or soothed by promises of goodness. Some losses shake the soul so deeply that even God can seem impossibly distant. Have you ever had that moment when you cannot see, hear, or feel God? Have you ever fallen on your knees in utter despair, saying these words, “I cry by day, but you do not answer.” I have. The day my father passed away. The day we lost our child. The day I was rejected by friends. The day I received the devastating diagnosis. The day I felt unheard or unseen in spaces I thought were safe. The day I started to notice my child’s hidden suffering.  I felt so abandoned that I could not bear to face another day. Deeply mourning a life that should have been, that I felt like my heart would rip out of my chest. Sometimes grief takes up all the space around you, and sometimes faith feels like shattered glass, and silence feels unbearable. If you find yourself in such a season, your experience is not that you lack faith; what you are feeling is human suffering and mourning. Something we try to avoid, yet most have lived it.  


Yet today, on this dark day, I am reminded of hope. There is always hope. As we read Psalm 22, we see that the Psalm continues to speak to us. In our despair and isolation, we are drawn to the truth, catching a glimpse of how to connect our pain-filled hearts to the One who feels distant. And here lies the invitation to trust as we cry out in hopes of being seen and heard. We all have this deep desire to be seen and understood. 


And at this point, we are mindful and connect with the truth that we are in a relationship with the one who is holy, good, and faithful. He has never failed us, and we can trust Him. We remember His goodness. “Yet you are holy… In you, our ancestors trusted.” The devastating pain continues, and somehow our eyes are open to recognize that we are invited to re-remember the One who can offer us healing and peace. I have always believed that joy and suffering coexist, and it is in this coexistence that we need to learn how to live in hope, holding space for both. And as we understand this coexisting relationship, we see that He is near; indeed, “You who fear the Lord, praise him… For he did not hide his face from the one who suffers.” The pain is still there, but something is different about it. We are not alone in it, and we remember that God does not hide His face from the one who suffers, and He is indeed present in the hidden dark silence, holding us close, experiencing the co-existence of joy and suffering. 


On Good Friday, Jesus speaks from the cross as He fully experiences human grief, abandonment, and the deepest shadows of the human heart. Because He entered that darkness, He understands the intensity of our own sorrow and pain, as there is no depth of suffering He has not already faced and understood. He IS there. His suffering and death call us into a life of freedom and redemption, embracing both joy and suffering. 


Respond 

May this Psalm bring comfort in your grief. Allow yourself to cry out, knowing you will find strength and hope even in the darkest moments.  May you believe and trust that Jesus understands your suffering and will not abandon you in your time of despair.  I invite you to take a moment to be still and breathe in slowly, recognizing any heaviness you may be carrying. As you breathe out, breathe out this truth.” I praise you, Lord, you do not hide your face from the one who suffers. “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus, for the Cross. 


Rest 

Creator in Heaven, you know my heart and know my needs. I offer all that I am to you. In my brokenness, I praise you, as I know the truth. You love me, you died for me, and you will never leave me or abandon me. The world may fail me, but you will never fail me. On this dark day, I pause to question, wonder, and mourn in my own weakness, yet I do not stay there, because I know that You did not leave me, and I know that Sunday IS coming. Praise the Lord, all who fear Him, Amen. 



About the Author 

Reverend Natasha Westerhoud follows Jesus' teachings by living with love, compassion, generosity, and radical hospitality. As an ordained pastor in the Evangelical Covenant Church of Canada, she serves as a Chaplain, caring for residents and families. Deeply passionate about pastoral care, she founded Soul Care Ministries, offering inspiring workshops and mental health support worldwide. She is also a trauma and attachment counselor, currently studying for a degree in Spiritual Care. Natasha leads annual mission trips through the ECCC, including family trips to Quito, Ecuador. Married to Mike for 30 years, they have two beautiful children, Hana and Eli, after a long journey of waiting and crossing oceans to adopt. She openly shared her adoption stories in ‘The Mom Quilt,’ with proceeds supporting The Mercy House in Kenya, helping pregnant girls in need. The book is available on Amazon. 


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