Sing the Surprising Victory of Jesus
April 5, 2026
Preached by Benjamin Vrbicek
Discussion Questions
Where in your life do you see the hard, gloomy first part of Psalm 22 happening in and around you?
This psalm is a psalm of lament. How does bringing our laments to God actually show our faith in him and his character? (Hint: what would it say about our view of God if we couldn’t even be bothered to complain to him?)
How can you—right now—by faith pray and sing the encouraging parts of Psalm 22:22–31?
What do you notice about the company of “singers” in vv. 22–31? How can the other brothers and sisters in your life help you keep focused on the victory of Jesus? How can you be doing that for them?
Scripture Reading
Psalm 22:22-31
22 I will tell of your name to my brothers;
in the midst of the congregation I will praise you:
23 You who fear the Lord, praise him!
All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him,
and stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel!
24 For he has not despised or abhorred
the affliction of the afflicted,
and he has not hidden his face from him,
but has heard, when he cried to him.
25 From you comes my praise in the great congregation;
my vows I will perform before those who fear him.
26 The afflicted shall eat and be satisfied;
those who seek him shall praise the Lord!
May your hearts live forever!
27 All the ends of the earth shall remember
and turn to the Lord,
and all the families of the nations
shall worship before you.
28 For kingship belongs to the Lord,
and he rules over the nations.
29 All the prosperous of the earth eat and worship;
before him shall bow all who go down to the dust,
even the one who could not keep himself alive.
30 Posterity shall serve him;
it shall be told of the Lord to the coming generation;
31 they shall come and proclaim his righteousness to a people yet unborn,
that he has done it.
Most of us are probably familiar with the classic rock anthem, “We Are the Champions.” You’re familiar with the song, right? The chorus famously goes,
We are the champions, my friends / And we’ll keep on fighting till the end / We are the champions / We are the champions / No time for losers / Cause we are the champions of the world
No ambiguity about what this song is about. When we hear it, we think of winners. We think of historic football teams or moments in the Olympics.
As familiar as we are with that chorus, most of us are not as familiar with the verses. For a moment, humor me a bit. I’m going to read, not the actual first verse, but something I wrote. It will help us understand Psalm 22, the passage that was just read for us. So, this is not the verse to the song, but think if it were:
The refs lie about me. / They have rigged the game. / Teams are stronger than we can be. / We’ve no one but us to blame. / Our two best athletes tore their ACLs. / Another starter has the flu. / Our coach just got fired. / And it’s time for me to retire.
Imagine singing that verse and imagine then the electric guitar building and building and building and then you hear Freddie Mercury scream, “We are the champions.”
That doesn’t work, does it? Nothing about that verse leads you to believe that someone will erupt into a chorus of victory. The entire verse leads you to believe it’s a song of defeat, destruction, domination—no victory, no champions, just losers.
We didn’t read the beginning of Psalm 22 on purpose this morning. I wanted you just for a moment to hear the victory, which we’ll focus on more this morning. But to really appreciate the victory, we have to know how strange and mysterious the transition is in this song, this hymn we call Psalm 22. Nothing in the first 21 verses of this psalm prepares you for singing about the victory and champion-ness that comes at the end.
Timothy Shorey, our guest speaker on Good Friday, went through all of these in detail, so I won’t belabor this. But if you have a Bible, I’ll just highlight a few of the lowlights. Look at vv. 1–2.
1 My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?
2 O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer,
and by night, but I find no rest.
A few of these lines are famous because Jesus quotes them from the cross. The original lyrics were written by a king named David, some one thousand years before Jesus lived. The people of God had been singing this song for a thousand years to identify with those among them who are suffering in the most extreme ways and to identify with the victory that they believe God will work.
The accusation is that God is too far away—and not just sometimes too far away, but all the time. That’s the idea behind “day and night.” All the time. We can speak of God’s transcendence, meaning God’s being lofty and above us. Here, the sufferer accuses God of being too lofty, too transcendent, too far above his pain.
In vv. 12–18 the intensity increases, if that were possible. As I read it, you’ll likely hear some of the lines from the New Testament authors, who saw a fulfillment in these verses in the crucifixion of Jesus.
12 Many bulls encompass me;
strong bulls of Bashan surround me;
13 they open wide their mouths at me,
like a ravening and roaring lion.
14 I am poured out like water,
and all my bones are out of joint;
my heart is like wax;
it is melted within my breast;
15 my strength is dried up like a potsherd,
and my tongue sticks to my jaws;
you lay me in the dust of death.
16 For dogs encompass me;
a company of evildoers encircles me;
they have pierced my hands and feet—
17 I can count all my bones—
they stare and gloat over me;
18 they divide my garments among them,
and for my clothing they cast lots.
When thinking of Jesus in these verses, the lines between literal and figurative fulfillment blur. Jesus didn’t have actual bulls surrounding him or an actual mangy, stray pack of dogs circling him. But he did have sinful leaders and their rebels hunting him down. And he did have his hands and feet pierced, and people gambled for his clothing.
The line that really stood out to me was in v. 14: “I am poured out like water.” We hear the emptiness and fatigue in that, of course. But it’s more than this. It’s the waste of it all. In a desert, arid climate, where you didn’t get water from a faucet or a drinking fountain and everyone didn’t have twelve metal water bottles with them, the image of being poured out like water was to feel like a waste, like there was something life-giving and hopeful and purposeful, but that life is poured out and wasted. You ever felt like that?
And in v. 15, as much as others are responsible for this waste, the sufferer says to God, You lay me in the dust of death. Which is to say, This is your fault, oh God. Why, my God, my God, have you forsaken me?
This devastation is why some fringe scholars have claimed wrongly that this psalm is two different psalms smashed together, one of suffering and one of victory. Their observation is right that something odd is happening, but their conclusion that extreme defeat can’t be followed by victory is wrong Victory followed defeat on the first Good Friday and the first Easter.
Standing back from this psalm I want to mention that preparing for this Easter has been so depressing. I know Easter is a happy morning. We come in our pastels to sing of victory. So, a few months ago, I had what I thought was a brilliant idea: to preach this classic Good Friday and Easter passage of Psalm 22.
But then I did the study, like, the full study of the whole passage—not just the happy ending—and it was so depressing. After staring at the passage for three weeks, I listened to like ten sermons on this passage, and they fell into two groups but had the same effect. Half of them were preached during the height of the Covid pandemic. And another half all started with heavy stories of loss, death, and tragedy. All week I didn’t feel like this was such a brilliant idea for Easter.
But that’s really how the first singers of this song felt when the people of God gathered for a thousand years to sing this strange mashup of a psalm. As they sang, they likely were left wondering how the defeat in this song could give rise to victory.
And maybe that’s how a few of you feel. You’re having a rough go right now. Maybe you’re trying church out on Easter morning because a friend invited you and you’re putting on a happy face and all of that, but just behind the surface, just behind the pastels, you’re struggling to believe that all this death and all this sorrow and suffering and tragedy can give way to resurrected life and joy.
And this is where Psalm 22 might actually be brilliant—not because I picked it, but because Jesus picked it.
Here’s what I mean. Yes, Jesus said, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” But what else does Jesus also say on the cross? Well, several things. One of them is this: “It is finished” (John 19:30). It is finished.
Look with me at the final verses in Psalm 22. I want to draw your attention to v. 31. I’ll read vv. 29–31 to see it in context.
29 All the prosperous of the earth eat and worship;
before him shall bow all who go down to the dust,
even the one who could not keep himself alive.
30 Posterity shall serve him; [a fancy word for the family tree of faith]
it shall be told of the LORD to the coming generation;
31 they shall come and proclaim his righteousness to a people yet unborn,
that he has done it.
The gathering pictured here is a diverse gathering. There are the wealthy and prosperous, and there are the poor who are so poor they can barely keep themselves alive. In fact, some of them can’t even do that. Also pictured is some future group of people, those who are yet unborn, who will one day sing. And what will they sing?
They will sing the last words of this psalm: He has done it. Which sounds an awful lot like, It is finished. So, it would seem that on the cross, Jesus quotes both the first lines and the last lines of this psalm.
We need to see what this short line doesn’t say. We don’t gather and sing, He has almost done it. We don’t sing, If I just do a bit more work; if I just try hard enough; if I just present my best self to God; if I just do enough good deeds, God will love me.
No, we sing He has done it. We sing, It is finished. When Jesus died and Jesus rose, all that was needed for you to be happy in God forever was done by Christ, our Champion. We sing, He has done it. It is finished. All the wrath of God is gone because Jesus absorbed it like a sponge. All the love that God has for Jesus is now ours.
It’s a wild and wonderful story. It’s a wild and wonderful song we sing when we sing Psalm 22. And look at all that he has done. Look again at vv. 22–24. I’ll read them again.
22 I will tell of your name to my brothers;
in the midst of the congregation I will praise you:
23 You who fear the LORD, praise him!
All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him,
and stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel!
24 For he has not despised or abhorred
the affliction of the afflicted,
and he has not hidden his face from him,
but has heard, when he cried to him.
The imagery here is of Jesus not only receiving praise but also being in the midst of the people of God. The New Testament takes these verses and describes Jesus as our older brother (see Heb. 2). Think about that. We could be tempted to think that even though he’s now saved us, Jesus simply tolerates us. He doesn’t really want to be with us, but he will if he has to.
No, it says Jesus is in the congregation, lifting up his voice with us! Even though our champion is so far above us, he’s not ashamed to be called our brother. To sit with you. To stand with you. To lift up his voice with you. If for the joy set before him, he would gladly carry your sins to the grave, he will gladly now carry your sorrows too.
Look at vv. 27–28 at the sweep of his redemption is all-encompassing:
27 All the ends of the earth shall remember
and turn to the LORD,
and all the families of the nations
shall worship before you.
28 For kingship belongs to the LORD,
and he rules over the nations.
Not only is this message for us, but for all the world. The message of life with God through a suffering-but-now-risen savior is the message that we have to share with the world. The gospel is ricocheting from person to person and nation to nation, going everywhere so that the whole world would be able to sing one day, He has done it.
We’re not there yet, are we? I guess we’re still somewhere in between the stories. Because in some ways, we’re very much after Easter, when he is risen. But as we wait for his return, we are sort of like on the Saturday before Easter. And so we can also sing, He will do it. And that makes us like the people who sang this song for a thousand years. The people of God started singing the happy end of the psalm before they had the full victory. Just like we do.
Sure, if we only look with our physical eyes at their current state of affairs, at the current state of the church, the current state of the education system and government and law and politics and movies and culture and wars and rumors of wars and our own lack of conformity to the image of Christ, it just could seem like he may have done something, he may be doing something, but he won’t really be able to finish it. We won’t really be able to sing at the end of time, He has done it.
But that’s not what faith does. Faith looks to what can’t yet be seen. Faith celebrates the future now. That’s what Easter is about. We celebrate now what we will celebrate then forever.
This is why Psalm 22 is such a great psalm for us. Before Jesus has returned, before he has led his final resurrection, before he has raised all his people from the grave, before he has wiped every tear from every eye, before there is no more sorrow and no more sadness, we can start singing now that it’s as good as done. Because it is.
Think about it like this. Imagine someone you love is in a care facility, perhaps an Alzheimer’s care facility. Let’s just say it’s your mother. And you go to visit her this afternoon. And the visit starts okay, but it’s hard in all the ways you expect. And you see all the other people there, some who seem to be further along, if you know what I mean, and it’s all very hard.
So you say, “Hey, Mom, it’s Easter. Let me pop out, and I’ll bring you back some better food. We’ll have an Easter feast.” You leave, and you go get food, and when you come back you don’t even expect your mother to know that you got food from her favorite place. But you did.
You show up again and come into the common area, but most people are not there. You worry. You ask what’s going on. A worker says your mother is out back. You say, “Wait, what? Is someone with her?” The worker says, “Yes, of course. They’re all there.”
You go out back, and you can’t believe your eyes. Your mother is playing tennis. And it’s not just tennis. It’s like a center-court championship tennis match at Wimbledon. Your mother returns serves with two-handed backhands. You see others playing basketball and others singing, painting, dancing, laughing. And you look to the side, and there is a huge spread of the best food, a true Easter feast. And you realize you’re holding plastic bags of cold food in Styrofoam.
Your mother sees you, and jogs over and says, “Hey, welcome back.”
But, you think, nothing about all the previous hours and most recent years spent together would have led me to believe that this kind of healing, this kind of change could have ever been just around the corner.
And then you realize this wasn’t a healing. It was a resurrection.
I’ve been staring at this passage for weeks. And what seemed to me so strange as I read the psalm from the beginning was the way it kept getting worse and worse throughout the passage before it got better. This passage is like a plane that keeps descending deeper and deeper. And I thought: how does this plane not crash?
And I realized it does. Jesus dies. And then Jesus lives. And his plane takes off again, a new plane, a plane that will never crash again. As Jesus said, “No one takes [my life] from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down, and I have authority to take it up again” (John 10:18). And when he takes up his life again, it’s like his plane begins to soar, and when he does, he leads a squadron of resurrected planes with him.
We do not see it yet. We do not see that resurrection yet. But by faith we can sing about it. Because it’s as good as done. It is finished. He has done it. The first Easter promises a future Easter.
Let’s pray. “Dear Heavenly Father. . .”
