The Father Did NOT Turn His Face Away!
There are lies that slither into the Church with soft melodies and saccharine lyrics, cloaked in minor chords and tear-jerking crescendos. Few have slithered more subtly or struck more effectively than the now-famous refrain: "The Father turned His face away." It’s meant to evoke solemnity, to stir our hearts into grieving what we have done to God’s Son. But whatever sentiment it aims to elicit, the phrase itself is heresy.
It teaches that a fracture occurred in the Trinity. That the eternal union between Father and Son was severed. That God the Father abandoned God the Son. That’s not just bad poetry—it’s blasphemy. It violates the very essence of God’s nature. It denies omnipresence, as though God could not see His Son. It contradicts immutability, as if God could change His posture toward the One in whom He is eternally well-pleased. And worst of all, it renders Calvary as a crime scene rather than the cosmic coronation it was.
Let us be clear: the Father did not turn His face away from His Son. He turned toward Him—eyes wide open, heart swelling with holy pride, watching His Son obey to the point of death. The cross was not a moment of divine distance. It was the pinnacle of Trinitarian unity. The Son did not suffer apart from the Father’s presence but within it—with the Father’s pleasure blazing like a furnace. As Isaiah prophesied, “It pleased the LORD to crush Him” (Isaiah 53:10)—not because God is sadistic, but because the Son’s obedience was so holy, so righteous, so beautiful, that it stirred the infinite delight of the Father.
If the Father declared His pleasure when the Son rose from the Jordan in obedience—“This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well-pleased” (Matthew 3:17)—how much more would He rejoice at the true and better Isaac, climbing the hill, carrying the wood, laying Himself down for sinners? This was not a moment of divine recoiling. It was the moment of divine rapture. It was the perfect fulfillment of an eternal plan, forged before time, now brought to its apex on Golgotha’s hill.
The idea that Jesus was “abandoned” by the Father is not only foreign to Scripture—it is theological insanity. It suggests that the eternal Trinity fractured for three full days. That the immutable God became mutable. That the Son ceased to be the Son. That the Father, whose eyes are too pure to look upon evil, somehow became blind to His Beloved. If we know our doctrine of God, we know He does not change. He does not fracture. He does not abandon Himself.
And if we know our doctrine of Christ, we know Jesus is homoousios with the Father—of the same substance and essence (John 10:30; Colossians 1:15–17; Hebrews 1:3). If for even a nanosecond there had been disunity between the Father and the Son, the universe itself would have disintegrated. The One who holds all things together cannot fall apart.
So no—the Father did not turn His face away.
He beamed with joy.
He radiated with love.
He watched with unwavering, glorious pride.
When Jesus cried out, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Psalm 22:1), He was not announcing abandonment. He was invoking a song. That line is the opening verse of Psalm 22—a psalm every Jew would have known by heart. A psalm that begins in anguish but crescendos into resurrection, vindication, and global worship. Jesus was not unraveling—He was unveiling. He was not despairing—He was declaring.
And by declaring the first line, He summoned the entire song into the moment. It was an indictment, a revelation, a coronation.
They pierced His hands and feet (Psalm 22:16).
They cast lots for His clothing (Psalm 22:18).
They wagged their heads and sneered (Psalm 22:7–8).
He was pointing at them, not separating from the Father. He was fulfilling Scripture, not forsaken by heaven. And lest we miss the point, the psalm itself tells us so: “He has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; Nor has He hidden His face from him” (Psalm 22:24).
He was not lamenting a loss of communion. He was lifting up a coronation hymn. He was not severed from the Father—He was singing the victory song written before the foundation of the world.
This was not divine abandonment. This was divine accomplishment.
The most beautiful moment in human history was not sentimental or shadowed by shame. It was loud. It was holy. It was glorious. The cross was not where Jesus lost the Father—it was where the Father and Son completed the mission they planned in eternity. The Lamb slain before the foundation of the world (Revelation 13:8) was now publicly lifted up, fulfilling the law, bearing the curse, and declaring triumph.
Jesus was not disowned—He was designated.
He was not cut off—He was crowned.
Yes, the wrath of God was poured out—and Jesus bore it fully. But the presence of God never left Him. The Son of God drank the cup of wrath with the Father’s eyes upon Him, with the Spirit’s power within Him, and with the eternal joy of the Triune God radiating in this cosmic crescendo of redemption. Calvary was not the suspension of communion—it was its supreme display.
“For the joy set before Him, He endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2). That joy was not simply the joy of resurrection—but the joy of obedience. The joy of pleasing His Father. The joy of redeeming His Bride. The joy of fulfilling the mission. The Father was not repulsed—He was rejoicing. He was not hiding—He was hallowing. He was not disgusted—He was delighting.
Lyrics matter. And if we sing lies, we will believe lies. If we dare put into the mouths of God’s people the heresy that the Father turned His face away from the Son, we are not leading them in worship—we are leading them into confusion. It may rhyme. It may stir emotion. But if it compromises the glory of the Godhead, it must be rejected.
The cross was not a divine divorce.
It was the eternal triumph of love.
Let us cast out the sentimental fictions. Let us throw away every soft lyric that suggests God averted His gaze. Let us exalt the truth: that as the nails went in, the Father leaned forward. That as the blood was poured, the Spirit upheld Him. That as the earth quaked, heaven rejoiced.
So what truly happened at the cross?
A Son obeyed to the uttermost.
A Father watched with holy delight.
And the Spirit carried that obedience all the way to resurrection.
This was not divine disconnection. This was divine glory. This was not distance. It was union. This was not abandonment. It was achievement. Not a turning away—but the turning point of all history.
Hallelujah!
Christ was never forsaken.
And in Him, neither shall we be.
