Editor’s note: For more than 20 years, Father Raymond de Souza has preached the “Seven Last Words” devotion, a traditional meditation on the seven times Jesus speaks from the cross on Good Friday. Made famous in recent times by the Venerable Fulton J. Sheen, the meditations are usually organized around a particular theme. For 2025, Father de Souza chose the Nicene Creed as his theme, as the Catholic Church marks this year the 1,700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea. These meditations were preached at Holy Cross parish in Kemptville, Ontario, where Father de Souza is the pastor. The first three parts are here, here and here.

“And when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour, Jesus cried with a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ …  And Jesus uttered a loud cry, and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom” (Mark 15:33-34; 37-38).

If we were to encounter the Nicene Creed, the theme of our Seven Last Words this year, without knowing anything about it, we would read it rather serenely. It speaks of God, the creator of all things, visible and invisible. His Son, Jesus Christ, is God like He is, Light from Light, true God from true God. He comes down to accomplish some great task, and is born of the Virgin Mary. Astonishing to be sure, but tales of the divine should be astonishing. 

We would then get a shock. The story takes an unexpected turn: For our sake, he was crucified under Pontius Pilate, suffered death, and was buried. 

How can that happen? This short story is about God, the maker of all things, and now, all of a sudden, there is a crucifixion, a death so degrading that it was forbidden for Roman citizens, let alone the gods. 

The middle word from the Cross, the fourth of the seven words, is likewise a shock. Jesus has already been lifted up on the Cross, which is itself a shock, a surprise, a distressing perplexity. He cries out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

How can that be? Does God ever forsake His disciples? Was it not the same Jesus who said that if there are 99 disciples, 99 in the flock who are safe, but one that is lost, He will go in search of it? How then could God forsake Jesus, His only Son, eternally begotten of the Father, born before all ages? 

The middle of the creed and the middle word coincide by posing the same question.

In the Creed, the answer comes before we really have even time to consider the question. He suffered death and was buried, and rose again on the third day. We can say it in one breath. The Resurrection comes only a few syllables after the Crucifixion and burial. There is no time to think. 

The fourth word permits time to think, time to be perplexed, time to ponder the question. Jesus must think the question worth reflection, for with His limited energies, with great pain He poses it: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Could God allow God to suffer? Is it possible that the Father would allow, much less will, the suffering of the Son? What is the meaning of this cry of dereliction? It sounds like dereliction. Everything is lost. Jesus has been abandoned, apparently. Certainly, the whole brutal calculation of crucifixion was designed to leave the condemned man alone and abandoned.

What does Jesus mean by His cry? It is a prayer. A very specific prayer. It is Psalm 22, which begins with those words, “My God, my God!”

The Psalms are the prayer book of the Jewish people, which is now the prayer book of all disciples. The Liturgy of the Hours (Breviary) prays the Psalms constantly. Everything we can experience has a Psalm that is suitable, from the depths of dereliction to the heights of exaltation. If you could imagine ever being crucified, you might wonder, “What would be the right prayer?” It would be Psalm 22. 

We pray that psalm every Palm Sunday at Holy Mass. In different years we read different Passion accounts, but the Psalm is always the same on Palm Sunday, Psalm 22. 

Jesus crucified on the Cross does not have much strength. Crucifixion makes it difficult to breathe and nearly impossible to speak. Praying all of Psalm 22 would not be possible, but He could begin it, and it begins precisely with those words. It’s His fourth word. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

The Psalm has three aspects to it. It begins with that cry of dereliction, of abandonment, of suffering, even of desperation:

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' Why are you so far from saving me from the words of my groaning? My God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night I find no rest.

The Psalm then details the suffering, the degradation.

I am a worm, and not a man, scorned by mankind and despised by the people. All who see me mock me. They wag their heads. For dogs encompass me. A company of evildoers encircles me. They have pierced my hands and my feet. I can count all my bones. They stare and gloat over me. They divide my garments among them, and for my clothing they cast lots.

Jesus is fulfilling the prophecy of Psalm 22 in the stages of His crucifixion. At the same time, Psalm 22 includes verses of trust, even praise of God.

Yet you alone are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel. In you our fathers trusted. They trusted and you delivered them. To you they cried and were rescued. In you they trusted and were not put to shame.

These two aspects — dereliction and salvation — seem to contend in the heart of the one praying Psalm 22. The one praying Psalm 22 is not a man who has lost his faith. It is a man whose faith is under a most difficult trial. And he is honest enough to pray both through the trial and to trust at the same time. 

Therein lies a lesson. We should pray as we are, not as we would like to be. Circumstances may put us to the test, or sometimes we ourselves put our faith under trial. We can be perplexed and anxious — even afraid, doubtful. We don’t like to pray that way. We are then inclined to pray as if we were not perplexed or doubtful or anxious or afraid. And we might, if we are good at that, fool ourselves while we are praying, but we are not going to fool God. What would be the point? 

We should pray as we are. Our prayer might sound like Psalm 22. Perhaps we go before the Lord and say, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” 

If you consider that disrespectful or even spiritually dangerous, then be comforted. The Psalms pray like that, and Jesus chose to pray those Psalms. For the psalms, inspired by the Holy Spirit, direct our hearts rightly. Psalm 22 moves toward its conclusion:

But you, O Lord, do not be far off. O you, my help, come quickly to my aid. Deliver my soul from the sword, my precious life. Save me from the mouth of the lion. Rescue me from the horns of the wild oxen.

Psalm 22 at verse 22 then shifts from dereliction to proclamation.

I will tell of your name to my brethren in the midst of the congregation. I will praise you. You who fear the Lord, praise him. All the offspring of Jacob, glorify him. Stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel. For he has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted. He has not hidden his face from him, but is heard when he cries to him. From you comes my praise in the great congregation. My vows I will perform before those who fear him.

It is an exultant praise of God, a promise to praise Him before the congregation in the midst of the assembly. Psalm 22 begins with that cry of abandonment, but it does not end there. The first aspect of Psalm 22 is dereliction, the second aspect is trust, and the third is proclamation. With the fourth word, Jesus directs His listeners to the proclamation of God’s glory for the gift of salvation.

Those three aspects of Psalm 22 find their echo in the Creed. There is the descent: God comes down. Then there is the ascent: He returns from the grave and ascends to Heaven. We are invited to trust in that. The creed then moves to the proclamation, in the midst of the congregation, in the midst of the assembly. The word “church” comes to us from a Greek word, ekklesia which means “assembly” or “congregation.” 

I believe in one holy Catholic and apostolic Church. I confess one baptism. I look forward to the resurrection of the dead.

The Creed moves like Psalm 22 towards proclamation. Psalm 22 has an ecclesial dimension to it, proclamation amid the assembly. The fourth word from the Cross follows the third word, which also has an ecclesial dimension. Mary is the mother of that little assembly — ekklesia — at the foot of the Cross.

Psalm 22 begins with the cry of one who appears to be alone, who feels forsaken, abandoned; but it ends with a vision of a great congregation gathered. Far from alone, the soul at the end of Psalm 22 is exultant, praising with others and for others and to others, the great communion of those redeemed and saved.

The Creed begins, in a certain sense, with one God, solitary. I believe in one God. We might think of Him alone, but eventually He reveals to us that even in His oneness, He is already a communion of persons. The Creed itself moves from being alone, God alone, to that vision of the resurrection of the dead, of all those who ever lived who accept the gift of salvation gathered around, as we say in a different context, the lamb upon the throne.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the Temple was torn in two from top to bottom.

The cry that goes up from the Cross, the cry of the fourth word, gets an answer. Jesus cries out to the Father and an answer comes back. The curtain of the Temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The curtain of the Temple separated the holiest place, the Holy of Holies, the Sanctum Sanctorum, from the rest of the Temple. There was a large curtain, a very tall curtain that separated it. 

To tear that curtain would be very difficult, but certainly, it could not be torn from the top to the bottom. It would only be torn from top to bottom if it was torn from above. The cry from the Cross goes up and the Father’s reply comes down from heaven. He tears the Temple of the curtain from the top to the bottom.

In the Temple of Jerusalem, no one could enter the holy of holies. Once a year on the day of Atonement, Yom Kippur, only the high priest could enter. The Father is indicating that now the high priest is entering the sanctuary on the day of Atonement. It is not the annual day of Atonement, but the day of salvation for all time and for all peoples.

Jesus has entered the holiest place on the holiest day, and He does, like the Psalm, and like the Creed, enter alone. He does not remain there alone. All those who accept the gift of salvation go with Him. He is no longer alone, and He is no longer forsaken, but indeed the entire congregation has now entered the holiest of holies. The Creed points us toward that day. 

I look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.