"LORD, you are the God who saves me; day and night I cry out to you." (Psalm 88:1)
Psalm 88 is unique in the Psalter: it is the only psalm that offers no resolution, no turn to praise, no statement of trust. It begins in darkness and ends in darkness. The final word is darkness. The psalmist has cried to God since youth and received no answer. He is like the slain lying in the grave, cut off from God's hand, drowning in the waves of God's wrath, abandoned by friends, overwhelmed by terrors. There is no comfort here. The prayer ends in utter desolation: darkness is my closest friend.
Yet the psalm is in the Bible. It was prayed in the Temple. The Church prays it in the Liturgy of the Hours. Its presence in Scripture is itself a theological statement: even the prayers that receive no audible answer, even the nights that produce no dawn within the prayer, are held by God and belong in the community's worship. St. John of the Cross described this kind of darkness as the dark night of the soul, through which God purifies the soul of its attachment to spiritual consolation. The darkness is not absence; it is a different mode of presence. And the one who prayed the darkest human prayer was Jesus on the Cross, crying out from Psalm 22 into a silence that became the Resurrection.
Brothers and sisters, if you are in the darkness of Psalm 88 today, know this: your prayer is heard even when it returns nothing. It is held in the hands of the one who spent three days in the heart of the earth before the dawn came. Pray this psalm. Mean it. And wait.
Lord, you are the God who saves me; day and night I cry out to you. In the darkness, in the silence, when prayer returns nothing and consolation is a stranger, we still cry to you. Hear us from the depths. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.