Lent Devotional

My name is Leslie Bateman. My son, Cameron, and I have been at Fellowship for almost twelve years, and I joined the staff about four years ago. It's honestly been such a gift to get to serve here. I've been involved in all kinds of things over the years — from serving in the Treetop and working with recovery ministry to now getting to lead our care and connecting teams. What matters most to me is that everyone who walks through our doors feels welcomed and seen. I want people to know they matter and that Fellowship can be a place they call home, no matter what they're going through or where they have been.

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I see Christ in Psalm 22 in ways my own suffering has made deeply personal. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" These words Jesus cried from the cross echo through my own hard seasons. David wrote about pierced hands and feet, mocking crowds, feeling poured out like water, and a heart melted like wax a thousand years before the crucifixion happened.

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But here's what grips me: the psalm doesn't end in despair. Somewhere in the middle of his agony, David shifts from crying out to praising God — from feeling utterly alone to declaring God's faithfulness. That's the pattern Jesus shows us: suffering that leads to resurrection and abandonment that ends in victory. This passage stirs my heart because I'm learning that you can cry, "Why have you forsaken me?" and still worship.

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I've been in seasons where I felt like a worm and not a person, where the pain was so crushing I didn't know if I'd survive it. But God meets us there, not necessarily by removing the suffering, but by being present in it. David's raw honesty gives us permission to bring our broken, desperate selves to God without pretending to be okay. Jesus didn't avoid the cross; He walked straight into suffering with His eyes open. That changes everything for us. Our pain isn't pointless. Our struggles aren't a sign that we've been abandoned.

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What amazes me is that even in verse 3, right in the middle of his worst moment, David says, "You are holy." He chooses praise before anything even changes. We get to worship through the pain — which is sometimes thanking God for small mercies, sometimes remembering His faithfulness in the past, and sometimes just showing up and serving others when we have nothing left. Praise isn't about our circumstances; it's about God's character. Some days, worship is choosing gratitude when everything hurts. Some days, it's declaring "You are good" when we can't see it yet. God is worthy of worship precisely because He doesn't leave us in our darkest valleys; He walks through them with us. And somehow, mysteriously, He brings life out of death.

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Psalm 22 teaches us that it's okay to not be okay. David didn't hide his pain from God or his community. But it also shows us it's okay to be okay — to experience moments of God's presence and peace even in the middle of suffering. During seasons of struggle, I have felt guilty when I've had a good day or felt joy, as if I were somehow betraying the hard thing I was walking through. But this psalm holds both the honest cry and the rising praise together. When we show up as we really are — whether we're barely hanging on or experiencing breakthrough and joy — we give others permission to do the same. We honor God by being honest about the struggle and honest about His faithfulness. That's what blesses people: not pretending we have it all figured out, but showing them a God who meets us right where we are and a community that walks through the valleys together.