The Father Did Not Turn His Face Away

Correcting a Common Misreading of the Cry of Dereliction from the Cross

Photo by Alex Noriega on Unsplash

Every year at about this time, I find myself frustrated by the prevalence of the idea (spread widely through song) that when Jesus was on the cross, God the Father turned his face away, from his son, unable to look once Jesus took the sins of the world upon himself. As Stuart Townend puts it in the extremely popular modern hymn, “How Deep the Father’s Love For Us,”

How deep the Father’s love for us,
How vast beyond all measure,
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure.
How great the pain of searing loss –
The Father turns His face away,
As wounds which mar the Chosen One
Bring many sons to glory.

Finding the Root of the Error

This teaching aims to explain Jesus’ cry from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34; Matt 27:46). On a plain reading of Jesus’ cry, the biblically illiterate would naturally conclude that at this moment, the full gravity of his final fate has finally fallen on Jesus, who feels the bitter disappointment of divine abandonment as death approaches.

More than a few scholars have argued that this cry reflects the historical Jesus’ realization that God was not going to save him after all, that his plan to force God’s hand and bring about Israel’s restoration had concluded in an ignominious death.¹

This is, of course, not the usual view of most professing Christians. Instead, an increasingly common view is that this cry comes at the moment when the full weight of humanity’s sin was placed on Jesus, at which point—since sin separates humanity from God—Jesus was separated from his father for the first time in all eternity. The biblical proof-text for this reading is Habakkuk 1:13, in which the prophet complains to God, “Your eyes are too pure to look at evil, and you cannot look at harm.”

Reading this verse together with Jesus’ cry of dereliction is where the idea that God the Father turns away from Jesus—unable to look at sin, he can no longer look at his beloved son, who has now become sin (2 Cor 5:21). One must admit: it’s a compelling story, full of pathos, and a clever combination of scriptural intertexts.

The problem is that it’s simply wrong. First of all, this reading misunderstands Habakkuk 1:13, which is not a theological declaration of God’s incapacity, as though the inability to look at sin was inherent to the nature of God. Instead, this statement is a complaint from the prophet, whose complaint about injustice has been answered by the revelation that God will use the Chaldeans/Babylonians to punish Judah (Hab 1:6–11).

The incredulous prophet questions the justice of such judgment, objecting that the Chaldeans are themselves unjust and violent people:

Your eyes are too pure to look at evil
And you cannot look [favorably]² at harm
Why do you look [favorably]
At those who deal treacherously
Why are you silent when the wicked swallow up
Those more just than they?

The problem is that a just God is somehow disciplining his unjust people by using an even more unjust people as the instrument of justice. This is simply a bridge too far for the incredulous prophet, who questions the justice of such an arrangement, questioning why God allows the wicked to prosper and wondering why God seems to have no problem at all looking at evil.

This is a great example of how it is so important to recognize the genre and context of a given statement. By saying “your eyes are too pure to look at evil,” the prophet is not making a doctrinal statement about God’s eyes, he’s making an appeal and complaining to God about how he thinks God ought to do things.

The Irony of Mark and the Cry of Dereliction

To understand Jesus’ cry from the cross, we also need to understand something very important about how the Gospel of Mark works.³ One of the primary features of the Gospel of Mark is its strong use of dramatic irony throughout. Dramatic irony is a rhetorical device in which the audience of a story knows crucial information that the characters in the story do not. This tends to create tension, suspense, and humor, as the characters (for example) regularly misunderstand statements that the audience is expected to understand.

In Mark, the reader knows from the first verse that Jesus is the Messiah, the son of God.⁴ The rereader⁵ of Mark is especially equipped to understand what Jesus is saying and what he has come to do. The characters of the story, however, are in the dark, consistently misunderstanding Jesus’ statements.

The nature of these misunderstandings—and the nature of Mark’s dramatic irony—is especially important. The characters within the story, particularly the disciples, regularly interpret Jesus’ statements as though they are about the material, fleshly realm, while Jesus is consistently speaking on a heavenly, eternal level. A few examples:

Jesus: “Beware the leaven of the Pharisees.”
Disciples: “And they began to discuss with one another that they had no bread.” (Mark 8:15–16)

Jesus: “The son of man is handed over to men, and they will kill him, and when he has been killed, he will rise three days later.”
Disciples: “But they did not understand this saying, and they were afraid to ask him.” They then proceeded to argue about which of them was the greatest. (Mark 9:31–34)

James and John: “Grant that we may sit, one on your right and one on your left, in your glory.”
Jesus: “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink?”
James and John: “We are able.”
Jesus: “You will drink the cup that I drink … but to sit on my right or on my left is not mine to give but is for those for whom it has been prepared.” (That is, it’s for the two who get crucified with Jesus, because in the Gospel of Mark, that’s Jesus’ “glory.”)

Jesus: casts out demons and heals people
Pharisees: “It’s by the power of Beelzebul!” (Mark 3:22)
Jesus’ family: “He’s out of his mind!” (Mark 3:21)

Perhaps the most notable of these are the threefold “I AM” statements, in which Jesus refers to himself with an unpredicated “I am” statement:

Jesus: walks on water, responds to the disciples’ terror: “Do not be afraid, I AM!” Gets into boat, wind stops.
Disciples: “They were confounded, for they had not gained any understanding from the loaves, but their hearts were hardened.” (Mark 6:50–52)

Jesus: “Many will come in my name, saying, ‘I AM.’” (Mark 13:6)
Disciples: Still clueless.

Caiaphas: “Are you the Messiah, the son of the Blessed One?”
Jesus: “I AM, and you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of power…”
Caiaphas: [Someone finally understands fully.] “Tearing his clothes, the high priest said, ‘what further need do we have of witnesses? You have heard the blasphemy!” (Mark 14:61–64a)

Each of these statements could mean something as mundane as “It’s me” (though not exactly the most common way to say this) or “I am he” (in the case of Mark 13). But each could also easily be understood as a self-identification with the name of the God of Israel, whose first response to Moses when asked his name was, “I AM”—an unpredicated statement of being.

Whereas the disciples weren’t picking up what Jesus was putting down, Caiaphas recognized exactly what Jesus was suggesting. But Caiaphas’ reaction is itself ironic—now that a human character (the demons have had no difficulty—another irony!) does recognize what Jesus is saying, his response is exactly the opposite of what it ought to be. Irony on irony. That’s the Gospel of Mark.

This irony is then all the more accentuated in the Passion scenes:

1. Jesus is declared king by the official Roman representative, Pontius Pilate. (Mark 15:9)

2. Jesus is crowned king by the Roman soldiers, who stage a full coronation and pay him honor, saluting him and acclaiming him king(15:16–18). They’re obviously mocking, but the irony is that they’re doing exactly what was prophesied—the nations are bowing down to Israel’s king.

3. They lift him up on a cross. This is, from the fleshly perspective, rock bottom. But for Mark, this is the moment of exaltation and glorification. This is the moment when the kingdom of God has finally come in glory (cf. Mark 9:1).

4. The passers-by and the chief priests and scribes mock him, saying, “Save yourself! … He cannot save himself” (15:31). This aligns with Psalm 22:8, where those who surround the “just one” who is appealing to God are saying, “Commit him to YHWH, let him save him” (Ps 22:8). But in Mark, Jesus is YHWH, so “save yourself” amounts to this very statement. They have unwittingly crucified YHWH himself and are mocking God.

This is the context in which Jesus finally cries out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34). By this point, the alert reader has already observed multiple connections to Psalm 22, including the one mentioned in the preceding paragraph, the specific reference to the soldiers dividing his clothing and casting lots (Ps 22:18; Mark 15:24), and the crucifixion itself (Ps 22:16, “they pierced my hands and feet”), so Jesus’ statement fits perfectly, confirming that he is the righteous sufferer of the Psalm.

Of course, there’s still room for one more bit of dramatic irony: those who hear him misunderstand his statement yet again: “And when some of the bystanders heard, they were saying, ‘Look, he is calling for Elijah!’” (15:35). The people still aren’t getting it, though (as will be discussed below), they may be getting it better than many modern readers do.

Psalm 22: A Psalm of Vindication and Victory

But many modern Christians aren’t doing any better in their reading of Jesus’ statement. The key to understanding the statement—as is pretty much always the case with Jesus’ statements in Mark—is to recognize the scriptural hyperlink and then use the context of that hyperlink to interpret the statement.

In the case of Psalm 22, the psalm begins with the afflicted one crying out in agony—he is completely surrounded, naked, with his hands and feet pierced. His strength is gone, and the time of death and final defeat approaches. This should all sound familiar to the reader of Mark.

But the psalm does not end there. Instead, there is a turn at verse 19, right after the persecutors have divided the victim’s clothing among themselves in verse 18. Here, the afflicted one prays:

But you, YHWH, be not far away
My help, hurry to my aid

Save my life from the sword
My only one⁶ from the hand of the dog

Save me from the lion’s mouth
From the horns of the wild oxen you answered me! (Ps 22:19–21)

What is that answer, you ask? Well, read on:

I will proclaim your name to my brothers.
In the midst of the assembly I will praise you.

You who fear YHWH, praise him!
All you, seed of Jacob, glorify him!
And stand in awe of him, all you seed of Israel.

For he has not despised nor scorned the suffering of the afflicted one.
Nor has he hidden his face from him.
But when he cried to him for help, he heard. (Ps 22:22–24)

And we have finally come to the key verse, the verse ignored by Townend and all those theologians and laypersons who insist that God the Father “turned his face away” from the Son on the cross. The Psalm explicitly contradicts this idea, instead declaring that the Father had his approving attention fixed on the Son all along and that when the Son cried for help, he heard that plea and responded affirmatively.

Note also that in this era, there were no chapters and verses, so if one was to signal an entire passage (or psalm), one would quote the first line. The hearers were expected to be able to fill in the remaining context. The Gospel of John—which loves to fill gaps left by Mark—seems to have gotten Mark’s memo, as Jesus’ final cry, “It is finished!” (19:30) parallels the final line of Psalm 22, “he has done it,” only in a more appropriate register for the one who is finishing the task right at that moment.

Once we understand how Jesus speaks throughout Mark and know the content of Psalm 22, we will recognize that Jesus’ quotation of the first verse of this psalm is not a declaration that he has been abandoned by the Father or that the Father has hidden his face but is rather the opposite: it is an identification of himself as the Afflicted One from this psalm and a declaration that the Father will not abandon him but is instead watching him in approval and will vindicate him in the end.

Indeed, the remainder of Psalm 22 is striking in this regard:

The Afflicted One will eat and be satisfied
Those who seek him will praise YHWH
May your heart live forever!

All the ends of the land/earth will remember and turn to YHWH
And all the families of the nations will worship before you

For the kingdom is YHWH’s
And he rules over the nations

All the fat ones of the land/earth will eat and worship
All those who go down to the dust will kneel before him
Even he who did not keep his soul alive

A seed will serve him
It will be told of the Lord to the generation to come
To a people who will be born, that he has done it. (Ps 22:25–31)

This is how the psalm that Jesus cries out from the cross ends. In full Markan fashion, what sounds like a cry of dereliction and abandonment is in fact a declaration of victory and vindication. The Father does not turn his face away. Instead, he approves and vindicates the Son who has lowered himself to the grave to redeem his people, rewarding him with life forever.

It is also no accident that this psalm is immediately followed by Psalm 23, in which the Afflicted One walks through the “valley of the shadow of death” (23:4), only to be anointed and have everlasting life, dwelling in the house of YHWH forever (23:6).

Calling Elijah?

One final aside: The default explanation for why some bystanders conclude that Jesus is following Elijah is that of Jesus’ cry bears some homophonic resemblance to Elijah’s name. Thorlief Boman, for example, suggests that Jesus, presumably quoting the full psalm from the cross, cried out אלי אתה (eli atah “you are my God”; Ps 22:11), which sounds very much like אליא תה (eliya ta! “Elijah, come!”). Others have simply observed that the Aramaic אלהי (elahi “my God”) sounds fairly similar to אליה (eliyah “Elijah”).

But I think it’s more likely that these bystanders recognize the invocation of Psalm 22, which they know is a psalm of vindication in which the Afflicted One is rescued by God. By invoking Ps 22, Jesus is identifying himself as the righteous Afflicted One of this psalm, so they presume that he must be calling for Elijah to come as the agent of YHWH and rescue him, vindicating him as the psalm declares.

This response understands what Jesus is doing when he quotes Ps 22:1 better than we give those bystanders credit for—and better than most modern readers. This reference to Elijah is also another way for Mark to signal that Jesus’ invocation of Ps 22 is pointing to the vindication that happens in the psalm. But what these bystanders don’t realize is that Elijah has already come (cf. Matt 17:12) and that Jesus is in fact the agent of YHWH—indeed, YHWH himself!—and is presently in the process of establishing the restoration they associate with Elijah.

1. This is, in broad strokes, the view of Albert Schweitzer, put forward in his Quest of the Historical Jesus (1906) and influencing many since.

2. The hiphil of the Hebrew נבט connotes not merely seeing in the generic sense but to look at with pleasure or favor.

3. The reason I’m emphasizing Mark and not Matthew (where Jesus also cries out with the same statement from the cross) is that Mark was written first, while Matthew copies Mark in this instance (among many others).

4. Yes, I know, there’s a textual variant there. But now is not the time or place to discuss the finer points of textual criticism on that point. Nevertheless, I think the “son of God” reading is likely original, partly because of the inclusio it creates with the centurion’s statement in chapter 15.

5. Mark is manifestly a Gospel designed to be reread, with the reader only fully “in” after a first full reading reveals the surprising plan and path to victory. I think this is why Mark originally ended so abruptly (the original ending is at 16:8). It’s designed to guide the reader right back to the beginning—the reader is instructed to “go back to Galilee,” which is where the Gospel begins.

6. Greek μονογενῆ, typically translated “only begotten” in the NT