Here we behold the Savior in the depths of his sorrow. No place reveals Christ's grief like Calvary, and no moment at Calvary holds more agony than when his cry rent the air: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

At this moment, physical weakness united with acute mental torture from the shame and mockery he endured. And to crown his grief with emphasis, he suffered spiritual agony surpassing all expression—the departure of his Father's presence. This was the black midnight of his horror. This was when he descended the abyss of suffering.

No human being can enter into the full meaning of these words. Sometimes we think we could cry out the same thing: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" There are seasons when clouds eclipse the brightness of our Father's smile. But let us remember—God never truly forsakes us. It is only a seeming forsaking with us. In Christ's case, it was a real forsaking.

We grieve at even a slight withdrawal of our Father's love. But the real turning away of God's face from his Son? Who can calculate the depth of that agony? When we cry out in darkness, our cry is often dictated by unbelief. When Christ cried out, it was the utterance of a dreadful fact—God had really turned away from him for a season.

O poor, distressed soul! You who once lived in the sunshine of God's face but now sit in darkness—remember that he has not truly forsaken you. God in the clouds is as much our God as when he shines forth in all the luster of his grace.

But since even the thought that he has forsaken us brings such agony, what must the woe of our Savior have been when he exclaimed, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"