A note on this post: A year ago, one of those spiritual ideas that change who you are and where you’re going came up and smacked me in the head. Char and I were musing on it last night, and on this holy day, I thought it would be apt to share. This post is a transcription of a paper I wrote at the very end of college, which reframes the crucifixion of Christ as a trinitarian event: we often forget that Jesus, though certainly central to our remembrance this day, represents only one essence of a triune God. And therefore his death, although entirely significant and paramount to our salvation, is only one piece of the suffering which God endured for us.

It’s not an easy question, and it springs from Christ’s words on the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” and the theology of hope of Jurgen Moltmann (a Nazi draftee, a broken prisoner of war, a man who found hope in the deepest of suffering). If you have a little time to spend, I highly urge you to read this and let it guide your thoughts and actions this Good Friday. Be blessed, and go bless others.

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Eloi, Eloi: the Trinity at the Crucifixion

“Christ was all anguish that I might be all joy,
cast off that I might be brought in,
trodden down as an enemy that I might be welcomed as a friend,
surrendered to hell’s worst that I might attain heaven’s best,
stripped that I might be clothed,
wounded that I might be healed,
athirst that I might drink,
tormented that I might be comforted,
made a shame that I might inherit glory.
entered darkness that I might have eternal light,

My Savior wept that all tears might be wiped from my eyes,
groaned that I might have endless song,
endured all pain that I might have unfading health,
bore a thorned crown that I might have a glory-diadem,
bowed his head that I might uplift mine,
experienced reproach that I might receive welcome,
closed his eyes in death that I might gaze on unclouded brightness,
expired that I might for ever live.

O Father, who spared not thine only Son that thou mightest spare me…”[1]

This excerpt from a Puritan prayer highlights the suffering of Christ that occurred in exchange for our hope—and the words in it are widely accepted by Christians to be truth. We are marked by our belief that Christ’s suffering was to restore our hope. Yet what happens to this precedent when the words of Christ himself are added: “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” or, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” It can easily be stated that Christ was forsaken so that we would never be. Yet what does this forsakenness look like? How deeply does this forsakenness, this rending of the triune God go? How much did the Trinity endure, how much was sacrificed, how much was suffered, that creation would never be alone?

This paper will analyze Jesus’ cry of forsakenness and, through the theological ponderings of Jürgen Moltmann, will view the crucifixion as a holistic, entirely Trinitarian event. The effect, I hope, will give a necessary emphasis to the suffering of the first and third members of the Trinity, a more accurate depiction of the torment of the second, and therefore will invoke a reorientation of our understanding of this God-given rending that gave us life.

It is necessary, before fully beginning this discussion, to outline some of the basic theological and Christological premises that this paper will use as foundational. Firstly, that the God identified in Christianity is Trinitarian: that he is love in nature, and inherently relational through the connections of Father, Son, and Spirit in one essence. Secondly, that Christ represents an incarnation of the second person of the trinity, the Son, and that he is fully human and fully divine.

It is also helpful to assert that the torture of the cross must have constituted more than just a physical pain to endure. If the above statement that Jesus was fully divine and fully human is true, then it would follow that his suffering would be both physical and spiritual. For any man, and indeed every man, endures death, and some even have experienced the physical brutality of this world similar to Jesus’. Yet for this act to be salvific, some sort of punishment akin to the spiritual death of the human race was necessary.

Many theologians have focused on the topic of the crucifixion. Yet few have looked at it as an event happening specifically between God and God: and therefore it remains difficult and necessary to examine. In the first option, we have a Trinity which remains whole and unbroken—certainly the answer that has the least theological problems, but in which case, why does the Son cry out of his forsakenness from his Father? In the second option, the Trinity gives the greatest sacrifice possible, by rending community within itself that relationship with its creation would be restored. In this option—even if the Trinity is restored in the resurrection, is this God still god? Or is there a middle ground that lies somewhere between these two extremes, in which God gives all suffering possible and still remains unified?

A Referential Phrase

The phrase “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” is recorded in the gospels of Matthew and Mark near the end of Jesus’ torture on the cross. In these words, he knowingly makes a reference to Psalm 22, a passage of individual lament in which the psalmist calls out to God in distress—and which God returns through uncharacteristic silence.[2] The relationship between speaker and God in this Psalm is heartbreaking and disorienting,[3] as the psalmist catalogs the history of his life and finds that God, indeed, has never left him before. The name Eloi is not of a distant deity removed from the psalmist’s affairs—rather, it is intimate and unique, and used to describe one who is deeply connected in the lives of the individual and community.[4] This silence from Eloi is therefore more troubling and frightening—where has he gone in this desperate time of need? In fact, this forsakenness is a far worse situation to deal with than whatever physical problem was troubling the psalmist. His greatest lament is for his abandonment.

The fact that Christ chose these words to quote is a powerful testament to what was happening on the cross. In place of the psalmist and humanity, God calls out to himself in a desperate voice: “Eloi, Eloi, why have you forsaken me?” Just as the psalmist recalled of his lifelong intimate relationship with God, the connection of the Trinity had always been strong and evident through the life of Jesus. And as we are troubled when we read the psalmist’s lament, we should be troubled by these words of Christ. What is going on in this place of absolute darkness and abandonment? Perhaps one of the solely comforting effects of this phrase is Christ’s identification with the psalmist—in that author’s suffering, confusion, and forsakenness, Christ is there as well, enduring the estrangement of the greatest communion imaginable. And only through this dark lament of Friday can the full power and hope of Sunday be formed.[5]

A Biographical Account with Suffering and Hope

These words, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” held a tremendous impact on the life of one theologian in particular: Jürgen Moltmann. In return he has offered great study and insight into this matter. Moltmann himself believe that wise study of a theologian’s views should begin in his biography[6], and much can be learned about his system of thought from his life.

Moltmann was born into an affluent, enlightened home in Germany of the 1920’s, where he grew up on Goethe and Nietzsche rather than biblical teaching.[7] He was drafted as a Nazi in World War II and, like most soldiers during that time, saw terrible and unforgettable things. After six months of service, Moltmann was captured by the British and for three years he was imprisoned in a series of POW camps. During this time, his captors worked to reeducate Moltmann and his compatriots, attempting to roll back the thick layers of German propaganda from events like the concentration camp murders and the comparative justifications the soldiers had been living under. Later in his writing, Moltmann describes the dawning of realization that came during this time, and the subsequent, all-consuming depression that followed.[8] He watched men literally sicken and die from their complete loss of hope.

It was behind this barbed wire, in this place of abandonment and despair, that Moltmann met God. A chaplain gave him a New Testament and Psalms Bible and, having discarded Goethe as worthless, Moltmann found comfort in the words of Christ, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” and the psalm which it references. As he later states in his book, The Crucified God, it was the theology of “God in the sight of the one who was abandoned and crucified”[9] that made the impact. He describes, even in the midst of overwhelming despair and depression, that he was “gripped by a new hope which enabled me to survive. That hope was the hope of Christ, to which Christian fellow prisoners testified in conversations with me.”[10]

Today, Moltmann is largely renowned for his theology of hope—and hope often reaches its full meaning when it begins in dark places. The Gospel accounts and psalm that Moltmann turned to asked the question of where is God in the suffering of specific human beings—and, in turn, where does hope begin for the sufferers. In particular, Moltmann was not afraid to ask the question, “Who is God in the cross of the Christ who is abandoned by God?”[11]

The Relations of the Trinity

As this quote asks, how can Christ be God on the cross when he is abandoned by God? This can only possibly make sense when viewed as a Trinitarian occurrence. In one of the foundational statements made at the beginning of this paper, we affirmed that Christ is the incarnation of the second person of the Trinity. Moltmann argued that if “The Son suffers dying, the Father suffers the death of the Son. The grief of the Father here is just as important as the death of the Son. The Fatherlessness of the Son is matched by the Sonlessness of the Father, and if God has constituted himself as the Father of Jesus Christ, then he also suffers the death of his Fatherhood in the death of the Son.”[12] The picture Moltmann paints here resultant of the relationship between the Father and the Son is more broad that Christians tend to picture it—here, the Father suffers just as much pain as the Son. The will of the Father that Christ submits himself to in Gethsemane does not only decree pain for Jesus: rather, the Father wills that he will endure just as much, for the sake of his creation. This indicates that the greatest suffering to be faced (the stress that caused Jesus to sweat blood) was not the physical torment offered by the world, but the simultaneously spiritual and relational pain of abandonment.

Let us return to Christ’s utterance from the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” The spiritual divide described as the Son’s estrangement and the Father’s grief is, quite possibly, the greatest pain that God could suffer—indeed, that he could self-inflict. And yet, are not the two united in their absolute suffering? Moltmann points out that, “In the cross, Father and Son are most deeply separated in forsakenness and at the same time are most inwardly one in their surrender.”[13]

This discussion of the cross as a Trinitarian event begs the question of where the third member, the Holy Spirit resides in this time. I do not find it logical that the Spirit was an uninvolved onlooker in this event—for theologically he represents the bond between the Father and the Son. It is a difficult question, though, that has no easy answer.

However, a few postulates can be formed for the Spirit’s involvement, based on basic Christian Pnuematology. The Spirit is widely recognized as the breath of life, both giver and sustainer.[14] In relations with humanity, the Spirit guides and empowers, whether through lives of specific individuals (pre-Pentecost) or through the church as a whole (post-Pentecost). As the enabler, the “power of God at work in the world bringing to completion the divine program”[15] it doesn’t seem illogical that the Spirit would have been intimately involved in the crucifixion. In short, the Father wills, the Son submits, and the Spirit moves.

Perhaps most importantly is this point: that the Spirit represents the concretization of the love reciprocated between Father and Son. Even in the terrible suffering and abandonment of the crucifixion, we are given no indication that the love central to God’s being ceases. Yes, great wrath is poured out, and Son became sin to his Father for us.[16] Yes, there was death and grief and estrangement. But none of these occurrences predicates that the love between Father and Son be extinguished—nor, even diminished in the slightest. The will and grief of the Father and the submission and death of the Son shows, as noted by Moltmann, a “deep community of will…expressed precisely at the point of their deepest separation.”[17] As the Spirit is, ultimately and most importantly, this bond of love between Father and Son, it is possible that he is what holds the fabric of God together during this time of forsakenness. Even through the physical act of abandonment when Christ cried out, “Eloi! Eloi!”, even through the Father’s unparalleled and unimaginable grief at the loss of his Son, the loving nature of God remains the heart of it all—and thus the Spirit survives. It is likely that this bond of love was beaten, bruised, and stretched to the breaking point by holy wrath unleashed upon God’s own self—yet, oh thought of immeasurable glory, the bond of love endured, and the Trinity remains whole.

Conclusion

Great hope must begin in the heart of great suffering. The words quoted by Christ emphasize this great pain and forsakenness by identifying with the psalmist (in particular) and humanity (as a whole). And while general Christianity accepts and venerates the physical pain and redemptive salvation that Christ offers from the cross, there are a few parts to this suffering deserve wider understanding and appreciation: these points include the spiritual and relational         pain of abandonment for the Son, the unimaginable grief and estrangement of the Father, and the battered but unbroken bond that the Spirit provides between them.

In the end, the result is a God who gave us far more than we can imagine. For he is a triune deity whose very nature is love and relationship, and he brought himself into abandonment and forsakenness that we would never be lost and alone (as God did not spare his Son, all the godless are spared)[18]. This concept should not be misunderstood—for even though God estranged himself, the most important part of his relationship (the bond of love) still remained intact. The point is that God went to the point of rending himself—most likely the greatest suffering he could endure—yet his greatness of love proved strong enough to both save us and to keep himself unified. As God drew close to his creation in suffering, he also provided a hope that would last for eternity.

[1] Arthur Bennett, ed. “Love Lustres at Calvary,” in The Valley of Vision: A Collection of Puritan Prayers and Devotions, (Banner of Truth, 1975), 42-43.

[2] Hermann Gunkel and Joachim Begrich, Introduction to Psalms: The Genres of the Religious Lyric of Israel, trans. James Nogalski (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1998), 121.

[3] Walter Brueggemann, Spirituality of the Psalms (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002), 36

[4] Erhard Gerstenberger, Psalms Part 1 With an Introduction to Cultic Poetry. The Forms of the Old Testament Literature XIV (Grand Rapids: Eerdmanns, 1980), 109.

[5] Walter Brueggemann, “The Friday Voice of Faith” in Calvin Theological Journal 36 (2001), 30.

[6] “My own experiences with theological thinking have taught me that the two things belong together in Christian theology: the telling of God’s history with us, and the argument for God’s presence—biographical subjectivity and self-forgetting objectivity.”
Jürgen Moltmann, Experiences in Theology : Ways and Forms of Christian Theology, 1st Fortress Press ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2000). xix.

[7] Wesley Wildman, “Moltmann, Jürgen,” The Boston Collaborative Encyclopedia of Modern Western Thought, http://people.bu.edu/wwildman/WeirdWildWeb/courses/mwt/dictionary/mwt_themes_855_moltmann.htm, Accessed 25 April 2009.

[8] Jürgen Moltmann, “Wrestling with God: A Personal Meditation,” The Christian Century, no. (1997),

http://www.highbeam.com/library/docfreeprint.asp?docid=1G1:19721002&ctrlInfo=Round20%3AMode20b%3ADocFree%3APrint&print=yes, Accessed 28 April 2009.

[9] Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God: the cross of Christ as the foundation and criticism of Christian theology, trans. R.A. Wilson and John Bowden (New York: HarperCollins, 1991),  1.

[10] Carlos A. Valle, “Communities of Faith and Radical Discipleship – an Interview with Jürgen Moltmann,” The Christian Century,  http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=1689, Accessed 25 April 2009.

[11] Moltmann, The Crucified God, 3.

[12] Ibid, 243.

[13] Ibid, 244.

[14] Stanley J. Grenz, Theology for the Community of God, (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2000), 363.

[15] Grenz, 375.

[16] II Cor 5:21

[17] Moltmann, The Crucified God, 243-4.

[18] Moltmann, The Crucified God, 242.

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