The Persistence of "My God" in the Dark - 04/03/2026

It was such a blessing to finally gather with our brothers and sisters at Faith United Methodist Church for our joint Good Friday service. Being in that space felt less like a formal visit and more like continuing a long conversation among family. During the service, I found myself thinking deeply about the weight of that night and about LeeAnn Carlson, a dear friend in my former church, whose steady, quiet faith through her own dark valley remains such a beautiful light for so many of us in Grand Forks and beyond. I wanted to share these reflections with you all today, as we consider what it means to hold onto God even when the light seems to fade.

Scripture
 "At noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And at three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, 'Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?' (which means 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?')." - Mark 15:33–34 (NIV)

Reflection
At high noon, the world drifted into an impossible midnight. There is a profound honesty in the way the Gospel of Mark records this moment. It does not offer a theological explanation for the shadows. It does not attempt to soften the edges of the agony. It simply notes that the darkness came when it should not have, at the very hour when the sun should have been at its zenith. In the midst of that thick, heavy silence, a voice rose from the wood of the cross. It was not a whisper of resignation or a polished liturgical prayer. It was a raw and piercing cry that shattered the stillness.

Jesus spoke the ancient words of the Psalmist, reaching for אֱלֹהִי (Eloi, My God) and לָמָה (lama, why). This cry is often misunderstood as a moment of defeat, yet it remains one of the most profound acts of trust in all of scripture. Even when the heavens seemed like brass and the Father felt agonizingly distant, the Savior still used the word "my." He did not scream into a vacuum. He did not address an abstract force or a cold universe. He spoke to the One who had held him from his mother’s womb.

There is a sacred permission found at the foot of the cross. It is the permission to be honest about the weight of human existence. Faith is not found in the absence of pain, but in the refusal to let go of the Relationship in the middle of it. When the strength to form original thoughts vanishes, the soul may lean on the prayers of those who came before. These borrowed words carry the spirit when the heart is too weary to beat in rhythm with hope.

Because of this moment, there is no corner of human suffering that remains Godless. The darkness of the cross has touched every hospital room, every quiet breakdown in a parked car, and every midnight of the soul where shame feels the loudest. Christ has already occupied those spaces. He has walked the dark winter roads of the heart and stood in the chilling winds of grief. To say "My God" in the dark is to acknowledge that the storm is real, but the isolation is over. The headlights of grace are visible through the snow. Even when the "why" remains unanswered, the "My God" remains true. Silence is no longer empty because the One who cried out has filled it with his presence.

Prayer
Lord Jesus, we stand at the foot of your cross and marvel at your honesty. Thank you for entering the darkness so that we would never have to face it alone. When our words fail and our hearts are heavy, remind us that it is enough to simply reach for you. Help us to hold onto the truth that you are our God, even when the sun seems to have set at noon. Bind us together in your love and sustain us by your grace. Amen.