When the righteous cry out, the Lord listens; he delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he saves those whose spirits are crushed. The righteous have many problems, but the Lord delivers them from every one. He protects all their bones; not even one will be broken. — Psalm 34:17-20

Recently, a heartbreaking event left me with the heavy weight of grief. It came out of nowhere. I cried out to God, prayed, lamented, wailed. I doubted anyone heard me. 

God answered my prayer — partly, only to have my heart broken yet again. 

It felt cruel to get an answer and then have my worst fears realized. I questioned God’s moral character. God answered one prayer, only to jab me with something worse. 

I know all the lines we tell people: God doesn’t always answer prayer the way we want. Better days are on the horizon. This happened so that ­something new can be done in your life. 

I hate hearing these things. And, I admit, in my younger days I said them. I said them when the unimaginable happened, when grief was raw and when what was broken was unfixable. 

Now, being on the other side of those words, they seem as hollow and careless as the grief itself. God’s apparent silence is deafening. 

When life feels like a cruel joke, there’s not a lot to do or say. 

Many of us know the five stages of grief and know that grief is not linear. We’ve gotten through tough times before, we say, and we can do it again. But that’s not helpful when our very nerves are exposed. 

I can only speak for myself, but I wonder if I might be speaking for you, too. You didn’t deserve what happened. You didn’t deserve more pain and suffering. 

It’s OK to say God feels absent. It’s OK to say God feels cruel. 

There’s a psalm for that. 

According to Walter Brueggemann’s theory of the structure of psalms, a psalm starts with orientation, praising God for what God has done in our lives. Then disorientation happens: We’re struck with calamity, strife and grief. 

In some psalms, we ask God to slay those who have done us wrong. Then reorientation happens, where — and I’m guessing here — we’re supposed to gain perspective and retain hope? 

I know I’m not there yet. 

Psalm 34:17-20 calls attention to the wrong that’s been done. It promises that God delivers us from our troubles — all of them. God even protects our bones. 

This passage hit me hard. The naming of spirits being crushed? An acknowledgment of our many ­problems? Protecting our very bones? 

While all of this is difficult for me to believe right now, it gives me a sliver of hope. While God feels cruel right now, God is close when our hearts are broken. 

I suppose this is the mystery of faith. Spirits crushed? Yes, I feel that. We are promised that we’ll be saved from that. The psalm says we have many problems — and yes, we do! Will we be delivered? Yes. Our very bones, the ones that feel pulverized now, will remain strong. They’ll still hold us together. 

There is power in words, especially in the Word of God. I have often found solace for other people in the scriptures. It’s a pastor’s job to help people find hope in God’s Word. After a death, a divorce or a surgery gone wrong, I have pulled out the Book of Psalms. 

This is the first time in a long time I’ve felt they’re meant for me, too. 

God is not cruel. God did not do this to me. 

Life contains suffering, for all of us. We may not feel God or hear God’s voice. Worship may feel empty and disingenuous. Prayer might not even be possible. 

But the psalms have already prayed for us. The psalms worship for us. The psalms seek God when we cannot. 

The psalms name our experience and our pain. In their words we hear the voice of one who has experienced pain, too. 

The psalms give words to our cries: Crushed spirits, broken bones, problems upon problems. 

Psalm 34 also speaks of deliverance. Salvation. 

The Word of God saves us. Delivers us out of the pain. 

I can’t believe that right now. But the Word of God can hold it for me. May the Word of God hold it for all of us.