The Song of the Cross & The Crown 

A Lent Journey Through Psalm 22

What do Travis have to do with Easter?

My favourite song of theirs (and probably their biggest hit) was Why Does It Always Rain on Me? — a track that somehow managed to sound both melancholy and oddly comforting at the same time.

The second verse begins with the line:

“I can’t stand myself…”

If you stop there, it sounds like pure self‑loathing.
But the very next line shifts the meaning.
And the line after that shifts it again.
Suddenly you realise the singer isn’t just spiralling — he’s naming something deeper, something hidden, something that only makes sense when you hear the whole verse...

“I can’t stand myself… I’m being held up by invisible men.”

That haunting phrase — “I’m being held up by invisible men” — isn’t about ghosts or paranoia.
It’s about the strange, fragile tension of being propped up by forces you can’t see.
The pressure you feel but can’t explain.
The weight you carry that no one else notices.
The gap between how you look on the outside and how you feel on the inside.

It’s a line about hidden struggle — the kind that’s hard to articulate, the kind that sits silently beneath the surface.

Yes Jon, but... what do Travis have to do with Easter?

Ah yes - thanks for reminding me...

Strangely, that’s exactly what happens with one of the most famous sentences Jesus ever spoke:

“My God, My God, why have You forsaken me.”

If you only hear the that line, it sounds like despair.
If you only hear the emotion, it sounds like abandonment. 
If you only hear the cry, it sounds like the end of the story.

But Jesus wasn’t merely expressing a feeling... He was actually quoting a song.

And not just any song, a psalm — Psalm 22.  
A psalm that begins in darkness… and ends in dazzling light.  
A psalm that starts with a cry… and finishes with a crown.

When Jesus spoke those words, He wasn’t giving up.
He was pointing somewhere. He was quoting a song, and inviting us to sing along... to remember the rest... to hold the hope...

A Hope Much More Catchy that a Mere Melody.

Some psalms you read. But this one… you walk.
Starting this week, and continuing through Lent, we’re going to walk it too.

And what a walk it is - Psalm 22 is a journey from why to wonder, from pain to praise, from lament to life.

It’s a psalm for the weary and the wounded,
the misjudged and the misunderstood,
the overwhelmed and the overlooked,
the hopeful and the hurting,
the searching and the sorrow‑soaked.

It’s a psalm for anyone who has ever whispered, “God, where are You?”  
It’s a song that finds you in that place, but refuses to leave you there.

Jesus walked this Psalm, He lived this song, and when we walk with Jesus we can be sure He walks with us.
 
The Song of the Cross

But Psalm 22 isn’t just an emotionally honest song - in terms of prophecy... it’s quietly astonishing.
Long before Jesus walked the earth, this psalm carried echoes of a suffering that would one day take place on a hill outside Jerusalem.

It speaks in images that feel strangely familiar to anyone who has ever read the story of the crucifixion -  
images of pain and piercing,
of torture, thirst and taunting,
of crowds that circle and clothing that changes hands.

And then — just when the psalm seems swallowed by shadow — it turns.  
It rises.
It widens.

It begins to speak of hope breaking through,
of God answering,
of praise erupting,
of nations remembering,
of future generations retelling the story,
of something finished, fulfilled, forever accomplished.

This is why Jesus chose this psalm on the cross.
Not because He was abandoned, but because He was pointing to a story that begins in agony and ends in astonishing victory.

A story that holds both the cross and the crown.

Why This Series During Lent?

Lent is often misunderstood as a season of gloom or grim determination. But at its heart, Lent is simply this: A slow, steady, honest walk with Jesus toward the cross - and toward the hope that waits beyond it.

It’s a season of paying attention.
Of retelling and remembering.
Of naming what hurts.
Of loosening what burdens.
Of letting go of what numbs.
Of wonder and worship.
Of making space for God to meet us again.

Lent isn’t about pretending.  
It’s about walking truthfully — and discovering that Jesus walks tenderly with us.

Psalm 22 is the perfect companion for that kind of journey.

Our Weekly Wednesday Word Walk...

Each week, I'll release a short reflection allowing the Psalm to meet us in motion.

Whether you’re carrying questions, wounds, weariness, or wonder — this journey has room for you.

I'm hoping and praying that together we might discover the wonder hidden in the hurt.
The work God is doing in the waiting.
The adoration that flows even in the aching.
And to find the grace and power of Jesus in the unexpected places of questions, suffering, struggle, loneliness and loss.

I want us to walk together, with Jesus, toward the cross… and the crown.

If you haven’t already, you might like to subscribe to our YouTube channel so you don’t miss any of the weekly reflections as they’re released. It’s the simplest way to walk this journey with us — step by step, week by week.
 

May the God who hears your every cry
meet you in the places you least expect.

May the One who walked the road before you
walk beside you in these days of waiting.

May the Man of Sorrows shoulder what you cannot carry,
and may the risen King lift your eyes to the hope that is coming.

And as you walk — slowly, steadily, sincerely —
may you find that, in Him,
the suffering, the shame, the sin
does not have the final word,
the crown is closer than you think.
Grace is happening.
Change is possible.
Life is breaking out.
Hope is here.

May you stop long enough to see it.
May you stop striving long enough to sink into His arms of grace.
May you tune out from the competing noise long enough
to learn the rhythms of His song,
until it's tune never leaves your ears for long,
and the words rest sweetly and securely in your soul.

In Jesus' precious Name I pray,
Amen.