Psalm 44 is a prayer that doesn’t easily mold into our typical categories. There is no resolution, no confession, just a confused plea in the face of both relentless enemies and the seeming absence of God. The psalm is an exercise in contrasts that only serves to further indict God. The psalmist remembers God’s mighty acts in the past (v. 1, 20) but it’s the Lord who has forgotten. The people have not turned away from God (vv. 17-18) but it’s the Lord who has abandoned the people (v. 19). The peoples bless God and boast in his name (v8), the enemies meanwhile mock and deride them (vv.13-16) and all the while, God is sleeping (v. 23). God’s people are reduced to dust (v. 25)—unless—unless, God will arise (v. 26).

But that’s the thing. At least from the vantage point of Psalm 44, he doesn’t. There is no alternative heavenly perspective showing us how God is not really absent or sleeping, there is no response from heaven to suddenly change the situation, there’s not even a final resolve on the part of the psalmist to remain steadfast in trust and praise. Only one final desperate, perhaps resigned, plea- “rise up, come to our help. Redeem us for the sake of your steadfast love.”

Many of us have probably etched our names into the cell wall of this sort of dark night of despair, searching our innermost thoughts and motivations and concluding, like Job, “I haven’t turned away, I haven’t done anything wrong!” And then in the same breath, given voice to the accusatory question, “Where are you?” But whether we know this kind of despair well or simply bear the memory in our bones, Psalm 44 is a witness.

It is a witness that in the sacred record of the salvation of God, there is a place for this sort of protest. It sounds almost hubristic to dare that we have done it right, we have stayed the course, and God has forgotten, God has dozed off. Theologically, we know this is not the case. Paul picks up the phrasing from this very psalm echoing the charge against God—“you have made us like sheep for slaughter”—in Romans 8 where he famously finishes with his final flourish: there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God in Christ. Nothing. Not what’s happening in Psalm 44, not life, not death. And yet, without systematic theologizing, explanation, or easy resolution, Psalm 44 is right there in the middle of the Bible as an invitation to bear witness. Psalm 44 may be one of the most human-centered prayers in the scriptures. God and his perceived absence serves as a foil for the asserted faithfulness of the one offering the prayer. It’s truly stunning the depths of honesty that God encourages in us.

But as much as Psalm 44 is a witness to our own individual experiences, in the hands of the church, Psalm 44 is a witness to the plight of our sisters and brothers whose daily life often reflects the tension of Psalm 44. I think about the church in places like Nigeria, Ukraine, Cambodia, and so many others. Gatherings of faithful people, dedicated to the Lord surrounded by violence and oppression, crying out to God. And yet their situation is not resolved, it does not change. Psalm 44 is a witness to their cries and it demands that we not forget them in our prayers.

Psalm 44 is a gift of grace, a witness to the love of God even when that love seems distant.