Is there really no hope for the suffering?

Suffering is something we instinctively avoid, but it finds us nonetheless. It manifests in many forms: loss, illness, betrayal, and often leaves us gasping for hope. Sometimes, God invites us to confront it within Scripture. Psalm 88 is one such passage — a stark reflection on suffering that offers no easy resolutions, no glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, it seems to leave us suspended in darkness, echoing the raw struggle of a human heart wrestling with sorrow.

The psalmist writes:

LORD, you are the God who saves me;
day and night I cry out to you.
May my prayer come before you;
turn your ear to my cry.
I am overwhelmed with troubles,
and my life draws near to death.
I am counted among those who go down to the pit;
I am like one without strength.
I am set apart with the dead,
like the slain who lie in the grave,
whom you remember no more,
who are cut off from your care.
You have put me in the lowest pit,
in the darkest depths.
Your wrath lies heavily on me;
you have overwhelmed me with all your waves.
You have taken from me my closest friends
and have made me repulsive to them.
I am confined and cannot escape;
my eyes are dim with grief.
I call to you, LORD, every day;
I spread out my hands to you.
Do you show your wonders to the dead?
Do their spirits rise up and praise you?
Is your love declared in the grave,
your faithfulness in Destruction?
Are your wonders known in the place of darkness,
or your righteous deeds in the land of oblivion?
But I cry to you for help, LORD;
in the morning, my prayer comes before you.
Why, LORD, do you reject me
and hide your face from me?
From my youth, I have suffered and been close to death;
I have borne your terrors and am in despair.
Your wrath has swept over me;
your terrors have destroyed me.

Of significance, the psalmist cries out to God. He is not interested in platitudes or humanistic solutions. This is personal. He is exhausted, and his soul is tormented. Going it alone is too much to bear, and humanity only circles back to the problem.

This is where Psalm 88 teaches us its first lesson: suffering only has meaning when anchored in God. Removing the anchor would place the burden on the psalmist to give meaning to suffering. This would create a nihilistic affliction, where life seems devoid of inherent meaning, value, or purpose. The psalmist places this weight in God's hands, choosing not to carry it alone. Instead of being crushed under the weight of despair, he finds solace in surrendering his pain to the divine, letting God bear the burden and solution.

The psalmist also takes us into “the lowest pit, in the darkest depths,” where God’s light seems absent. It is a place of non-being, where one is “cut off from [God’s] care.” This haunting imagery reminds us that suffering can make us feel like we are disappearing, swallowed by the void. The psalmist’s lament echoes through the ages, resonating with those who have felt abandoned in their pain, their cries unanswered, their prayers seemingly unheard.

Yet, there is something profound in this unrelenting darkness. The psalmist’s words reveal a truth we often try to avoid: Suffering is an inescapable part of the human condition. At some point, we all touch the edges of this darkness, if not plunge into its depths. For some, there is healing, escape, or relief. But for others, like the psalmist, “darkness is [their] closest friend.”

Psalm 88 offers us a glimpse behind the curtain — a glimpse into the darkness that brought God Himself to earth, where He hung on a cross, crying out, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46). It is the same darkness that the Apostle Paul longed to understand when he wrote, “I want to know Christ — yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings” (Philippians 3:10). Without knowing the darkness that nailed Jesus to the cross, how can we appreciate the love and sacrifice of God?

How much suffering will God allow us to see in our own lives? Will we experience the loss and anguish of Job or bear the beatings and imprisonments of Paul? Perhaps, like Jeremiah, we’ll find ourselves isolated, losing those we love. Will we face the horrors described in Hebrews — shutting the mouths of lions, escaping swords, enduring mockery, floggings, chains, imprisonment, or even being sawn in two? Like the psalmists, we cry out, "How much? How long, O Lord?" Yet, amidst the unknown, one truth remains: we will never carry the full weight of suffering Christ bore on the cross.

The palmist also gives us the language we desperately need when we can’t find the words to our sorrows. It is like the old, leather-skinned cowboy whose wife has left him; he has lost the farm, his children are gone, and his dog died. He drags himself into an old, dark saloon, to the jukebox in the corner, looking for that one song. The lyrics tell his story and open his heart to the sorrows in his soul — it hurts so good. It is as if God is watching the psalmist and says, “Yes, that is it. That is precisely how you feel. That’s what it looks like. That’s what my son died for. That’s the depth of this problem in the universe.”

From this psalm, we also learn that God values the transparency of our groanings because it reflects a genuine engagement with Him. When we bring our suffering to God, we are not seeking to solve a theological puzzle; we seek communion with the One intimately acquainted with our pain.

Psalms 88 offers us a sacred place to voice the most resounding cries of our hearts. It invites us to be honest with God about our fears and struggles, knowing He is not distant or indifferent to our pain. This psalm teaches us that lament is not a sign of weak faith but a profound expression of trust in God’s ability to hear and hold our sorrow. As we bring our questions, transparency, and language of lament to God, we are drawn into a deeper relationship with Him — one marked by honesty, intimacy, and the assurance of His presence amid our suffering.