Abstract
This article explores Mark’s use of Psalm 22:1 in the crucifixion narrative (Mk 15:34) as a postcolonial theological act and pedagogical resource within the South African context. It argues that Mark’s appropriation of the Psalm is not a mere citation but a dynamic reinterpretation that reconfigures the traditional understanding of divine abandonment, reframing it as a site of eschatological hope, resistance and theological transformation. Drawing on the Jewish liturgical practice of invoking the whole Psalm through its opening verse, the article contends that Mark’s readers would have perceived Jesus’ cry not solely as despair, but as a deliberate evocation of the Psalm’s trajectory from lament to restoration. This re-reading disrupts conventional atonement paradigms by locating divine presence within the experience of forsakenness, thereby offering theological solidarity with communities that continue to suffer under postcolonial conditions. The article also demonstrates how this reading of Mark 15:34 functions pedagogically in South African theological education. Teaching methods that integrate lament traditions, postcolonial hermeneutics and indigenous African grief practices open interpretive space for students to confront themes of abandonment, injustice and resilience. While students initially resist the shift from doctrinal to contextual readings, the engagement with postcolonial biblical scholars facilitates a critical consciousness that reimagines the cross as a narrative of resistance and identity reconstruction. The article concludes that Mark’s intertextual engagement with Psalm 22 invites a pedagogy of hope and theological agency, enabling marginalised communities to articulate their suffering and faith within a framework of redemptive lament.
Intradisciplinary and/or interdisciplinary implications: This article contributes to postcolonial biblical scholarship by offering a reconfiguration of Mark 15:34 as a theological and pedagogical resource that centres lament as a form of resistance. It advances a postcolonial hermeneutic that situates divine presence within the experience of abandonment, resonating with the historical traumas of marginalised South African communities. Additionally, it proposes a praxis-oriented pedagogy that bridges academic exegesis with indigenous forms of grief and theological agency.
Keywords: postcolonial optic; Mark 15:34; Psalm 22; lament; South African context; pedagogical praxis; resistance and hope.
Introduction
The interpretation of Jesus’s cry of abandonment in Mark 15:34 – ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ – has generated extensive scholarly engagement, particularly in relation to its intertextual connection with Psalm 22. Within postcolonial biblical criticism,1 this scene has been fruitfully examined as a theological site of protest, divine solidarity and identity reconstruction. However, despite the abundance of postcolonial readings (Sugirtharajah 2001; see also West 1999), there remains a gap in the literature regarding how Mark’s appropriation of Psalm 22 operates not only as a theological reconfiguration but as a pedagogical resource in postcolonial contexts, specifically within South African theological education.
The overfamiliarity of postcolonial interpretations of Psalm 22 in Mark has rendered many readings theoretically rich, yet practically static,2 often detached from the lived pedagogical and spiritual challenges faced by students and communities in postcolonial South Africa. As such, there is a pressing need to explore how this lament text functions not only within the narrative structure of Mark’s Gospel but also within the contemporary classroom as a transformative hermeneutic. Engaging Mark 15:34 in dialogue with Psalm 22 presents a unique opportunity to bridge ancient lament with present suffering, offering theological tools for resistance, resilience and critical consciousness.
This article, therefore, poses the following guiding question: How does Mark’s use of Psalm 22 function as both a theological reinterpretation and a pedagogical resource within the South African context? It contends that Mark’s intertextual invocation of Psalm 22:1 is more than a literary citation. It is a narrative-theological act that reconfigures traditional notions of divine abandonment and suffering. By invoking the entirety of Psalm 22’s trajectory, from lament to praise, Mark crafts a theology of redemptive lament that not only sustains Jesus in his final moments but also constructs a symbolic space for marginalised readers to locate themselves in the divine story (Beavis 2012; Hays 2016; Hooker 1991). This theological dynamic becomes particularly potent when taught in classrooms shaped by the socio-political legacies of colonialism, apartheid and economic disparity.
The thesis of this study is that Mark’s intertextual use of Psalm 22 in the crucifixion scene (Mk 15:34) reconfigures inherited traditions of divine absence, constructing a theology of lament that undergirds postcolonial resistance and simultaneously functions as a transformative pedagogical tool in the South African theological classroom. This approach resonates with the broader aims of postcolonial hermeneutics, which seek to recover the voices of the silenced, challenge hegemonic readings and develop theological frameworks for identity, agency and healing (Dube 2000; see also Moore 2006). To explore this thesis, the article employs a combination of literary-critical exegesis, intertextual analysis and contextual pedagogical reflection. It begins by examining the narrative function of Mark 15:34, considering Psalm 22’s structure and themes. It then analyses how this intertextual gesture challenges traditional theological interpretations of suffering, judgement and abandonment. Finally, it engages the South African pedagogical context by reflecting on how this passage is taught, received and resisted in the classroom, particularly among students navigating questions of trauma, injustice and theological formation.
The structure of the article is as follows. Firstly, the article provides a close literary and intertextual reading of Mark 15:34 and Psalm 22. Secondly, it explores the theological implications of abandonment and hope in a postcolonial context. Thirdly, it turns to the pedagogical significance of these texts in South African theological education, offering reflections on how lament functions as a teaching tool for resistance and resilience. The article concludes with a synthesis of theological and pedagogical insights, proposing that Mark’s use of Psalm 22 enables a redemptive reading of abandonment that empowers marginalised communities to reimagine their suffering within a divine framework of protest, solidarity and hope.
Mark’s use of Psalm 22: Intertextual and theological analysis
To appreciate the theological and political significance of Psalm 22 in Mark’s passion narrative, it is necessary to first examine how the evangelist appropriates the psalm within his Gospel. This requires both an intertextual and a theological analysis of the citation itself, especially as it climaxes in Mark 15:34, where Jesus utters the anguished cry of abandonment from the cross.
Mark 15:34 in context and literal analysis
The climactic cry of Jesus in Mark 15:34 – ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? [Ὁ Θεός μου, ὁ Θεός μου, ἱνατί με ἐγκατέλιπες;]’ – occupies a pivotal position in the Gospel’s passion narrative. Preceded by cosmic darkness (15:33) and followed by the tearing of the temple veil (15:38), this utterance intensifies the sense of divine silence and abandonment. The Markan passion is distinctively shaped by apocalyptic motifs (deathly silence, darkness, cosmic rupture), reinforcing a theological atmosphere of disruption and judgement (Marcus 2009:1042–1046). Yet, the placement of Jesus’ cry within this narrative structure is neither arbitrary nor simply expressive of despair; it functions as a theologically loaded moment where divine absence paradoxically affirms divine involvement.
In the broader literary structure of Mark, abandonment is thematically anticipated throughout. Jesus is betrayed by Judas (14:10), denied by Peter (14:72) and deserted by his disciples (14:50). The culmination in divine abandonment [ἐγκατέλιπες με] deepens the motif of complete isolation (Donahue & Harrington 2002:451). Mark presents Jesus as undergoing total forsakenness by friend, follower and now seemingly by God, thus reaching the depth of human suffering. However, this moment is not framed as a theological defeat; it is saturated with intertextual echoes that open up fresh interpretive horizons.
The Greek phrase ὁ Θεός μου, ὁ Θεός μου, ἱνατί με ἐγκατέλιπες (Mk 15:34) is grammatically concise, yet theologically and literarily profound. The repetition of ὁ Θεός μου [‘my God, my God’] follows a Semitic pattern of intensification, conveying deep emotional anguish and personal lament (cf. Gunkel 1998), while the possessive pronoun (μου) maintains a paradoxical intimacy with God even amid perceived abandonment (France 2002:662). The interrogative adverb ἱνατί [‘why?’], a solemn and somewhat archaic alternative to the more common διὰ τί, introduces a tone of liturgical lament and philosophical questioning, heightening the dramatic weight of Jesus’ cry (Caird 1963:180). The accusative με [‘me’] underscores the personal and relational nature of the abandonment, while the verb ἐγκατέλιπες [‘you have forsaken’] – a second-person singular, aorist indicative active – emphasises the finality of the action. The verb itself, a compound of ἐν + καταλείπω, suggests not mere absence but complete and tragic desertion, resonating with the tradition of divine abandonment in the LXX Psalter (cf. Ps 21:2 LXX) and prophetic literature (Is 62:4) (Hays 2016:221–223; Mays 1994). Literarily, this utterance forms a direct intertextual bridge to Psalm 22, a lament that begins in despair but moves towards vindication and universal praise, thereby embedding within the crucifixion a narrative arc that holds both abandonment and eschatological hope in theological tension (Levine & Brettler 2011:175; Marcus 2009:1061). Mark strategically positions this citation at the climax of the Passion to evoke the full theological weight of Jesus’ suffering, not only as a political or imperial victim but as one undergoing cosmic estrangement – a suffering that paradoxically fulfils the redemptive arc anticipated in Israel’s Scriptures. Thus, the phrase functions as a theologically rich and literarily dense hinge within Mark’s Gospel, encapsulating both his apocalyptic imagination and his theology of the cross (Myers 1988; Wright 2013).
Psalm 22 in Jewish liturgical and narrative tradition
Psalm 22 is one of the most poignant laments in the Psalter, moving from a visceral cry of abandonment (v.1) to a confident affirmation of divine faithfulness and eschatological praise (vv. 22–31). In Jewish liturgical tradition, Psalms were memorised, sung and recited communally, often in cultic or crisis contexts (Gerstenberger 2002:21–23). The citation of a Psalm’s opening verse was understood to evoke the entire psalm – a rhetorical practice evident in Second Temple Judaism and rabbinic commentary known as remez or pesher (Hays 2016:281; Lim 2002:75–76). Thus, Jesus’ use of Psalm 22:1 may serve as a liturgical shorthand, pointing not only to the lament but also to its conclusion of divine vindication and restoration. This understanding is strengthened by textual evidence in the Gospels and early Christian writings that employ the Psalms not merely as proof texts but as interpretive lenses. Psalm 22 had already been used within Jewish and Christian traditions as a typology for the righteous sufferer and martyrdom (Bauckham 1998:65–68). Its powerful juxtaposition of divine absence and future praise renders it especially apt for interpreting Jesus’ crucifixion – not simply as punishment, but as participation in a long tradition of sacred suffering.
Mark’s reinterpretation of Psalm 22
Mark’s use of Psalm 22 is not a straightforward citation but a theological reconfiguration. By placing this lament on Jesus’ lips now of death, Mark reinterprets the Psalm in at least two critical ways. Firstly, he relocates divine action within suffering,3 thereby subverting traditional Deuteronomic theology, which often linked suffering to covenantal disobedience (Dt 28).4 Instead, Mark presents Jesus – the innocent and righteous one – as forsaken, thereby inverting retributive logic (Hooker 1991:370). This suggests that suffering is not a sign of divine displeasure but can be a context for divine solidarity.
Secondly, Mark positions the lament not as the conclusion of Jesus’ ministry but as the threshold of eschatological hope. If Psalm 22’s conclusion is in view – as the remez5 tradition would suggest – then Jesus’ cry opens a narrative trajectory that culminates in restoration, public praise and transgenerational witness (Ps 22:27–31). Mark thus embeds hope and vindication within the crucifixion itself. Jesus does not die in hopeless despair, but in continuity with a sacred narrative that transforms abandonment into eschatological trust (Beavis 2012:45).
Resistance or resilience?
While some readings prefer to highlight resilience in the face of abandonment, Mark’s use of Psalm 22 also invites a reading focused on resistance, not in opposition to resilience, but as its theological outworking. The cross, Rome’s brutal symbol of imperial control and shame, is re-coded in Mark’s Gospel as an instrument of redemptive protest (Myers 1988:387). In this context, Jesus becomes the prototype of the crucified poor, whose public execution mirrors the suffering of countless communities abandoned by systems of power.
Postcolonial biblical critics have emphasised the cross as a locus of identity reconstruction for oppressed peoples. In Mark 15:34, Jesus gives voice to those rendered voiceless by empire, apartheid and systemic injustice. His lament is not passive acceptance but active theological speech – naming abandonment and thereby reclaiming agency (Dube 2000:92). In South Africa, where the legacy of colonial violence continues to haunt theological formation and ecclesial discourse, such a reading enables resistance: a reimagined Gospel that empowers readers to articulate lament, contest silence, and construct a theology of hope from within the experience of divine forsakenness. Thus, Mark’s reinterpretation of Psalm 22 functions not only to deepen the pathos of Jesus’ suffering but to open a hermeneutical space for communities living in postcolonial abandonment. It affirms that lament is not the end of the story but the beginning of divine reconfiguration – a theological protest that gives birth to new identities grounded in memory, resistance, and hope.
Theological implications: Abandonment, hope, and postcolonial identity
Why did Jesus feel abandoned?
The question of why Jesus felt abandoned on the cross in Mark 15:34 is both historically grounded and theologically subversive. Mark recounts Jesus’ anguished cry – ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ – a direct citation from Psalm 22:1, placing the crucified Messiah within the tradition of lament literature. At its most immediate level, this utterance reflects the extremity of Jesus’ human suffering. Having been betrayed by Judas, denied by Peter and deserted by his disciples, Jesus now confronts the isolation imposed by the machinery of imperial crucifixion and religious condemnation (Hooker 1991:368). The social and existential dimensions of this cry should not be minimised; they signify the culmination of a trajectory of forsakenness that began in Gethsemane and now finds its climax in a death devoid of comfort, justice or divine intervention.
Yet this expression of abandonment in Mark is not merely psychological, but profoundly theological. Unlike Luke, who portrays Jesus commending his spirit into God’s hands (Lk 23:46), or John, who offers a triumphant ‘It is finished’ (Jn 19:30), Mark presents no divine reassurance, no interventionist epiphany and no vindication at the moment of death. Instead, divine silence looms large. As Marcus (2009:1045) points out, this narrative strategy is intentional – it underscores the scandal of the cross not only as a site of execution but as the locus of theological ambiguity and divine hiddenness. The silence resists the impulse to sanitise the Passion through premature resurrectional lenses. Instead, it preserves the rawness of abandonment as a legitimate theological space.
This portrayal has significant implications. It invites readers not to resolve the lament too quickly but to dwell within its unresolved tension. In this regard, Mark’s Jesus embodies a solidarity with those who have suffered under the silence of God in moments of atrocity – be it colonised peoples, victims of genocide or the oppressed under systemic injustice. For communities shaped by histories of erasure and disempowerment, Jesus’ lament functions not as a breakdown of faith, but as a protest within faith, echoing the voices of lamenters throughout history (Beavis 2012:47). Rather than signalling divine rejection, it signifies a moment where human suffering and divine mystery converge in paradox.
Theologically, then, this cry may be interpreted as an invitation to wrestle with the divine Deus Absconditus – the hidden God – not as absence per se, but as a presence that does not coerce or explain itself in neat categories. This challenges deterministic atonement theories that reduce the cross to a mechanistic transaction. Instead, it suggests a model of divine engagement where God is most profoundly present in the experience of forsakenness, precisely because God refuses to insulate the divine self from the full depth of human suffering (Moloney 2002:78; see Balthasar 1988:350). Thus, Mark’s Gospel offers a theology in which divine abandonment is not the terminus of hope, but the threshold of a mystery that remains open-ended, inviting both lament and faith.
The cry of Jesus as postcolonial analogy
For communities in postcolonial contexts – particularly in South Africa – Jesus’ cry of abandonment offers a powerful analogical framework. The historical legacy of apartheid, systemic poverty, land dispossession and socio-political marginalisation has produced conditions where many continue to feel abandoned by God and society alike. Jesus’ cry thus becomes a mirror and mouthpiece for those whose lives are marked by structural injustice and spiritual silence.
In this sense, Jesus stands in solidarity with the crucified peoples of history. His experience on the cross resonates with the collective memory of black South Africans who, under colonialism and apartheid, endured state-sanctioned violence, exclusion and theological misrepresentation. The analogy does not flatten historical difference but reveals a shared grammar of suffering (West 2016:140). Jesus does not merely represent the forsaken; he joins them, embodying what James Cone (2011:150) calls the ‘God of the oppressed’ in cruciform solidarity.
This postcolonial analogy reframes the Gospel not as a doctrine of escape but as a text of protest – a theological language for naming and confronting the felt experience of divine absence in contexts of enduring trauma (Dube 2000:98). In classroom settings, this connection often evokes deep engagement from students, who see their historical pain reflected in the passion of Christ. The Gospel, then, becomes a living document through which abandonment is not denied, but voiced and validated.
Hope as a hermeneutic of survival
Although abandonment is foregrounded in Mark 15:34, it is not the telos of the narrative. Psalm 22 itself offers a hermeneutical key: the movement from desolation in verses 1–21 to restoration and cosmic praise in verses 22–31. This shift affirms that lament is not a theological cul-de-sac, but a gateway to hope. When read in tandem, Mark and Psalm 22 offer a hermeneutic of survival – a theological logic that enables communities to persist in faith even amid divine silence.
In the South African postcolonial context, this interpretive framework affirms the spiritual intelligence of surviving with lament. Rather than suppressing grief through triumphalist readings, the Gospel embraces lament as a mode of protest, survival and transformation. Psalm 22 becomes a script for resilience, articulating a journey through pain towards reimagined identity and communal restoration (Gerstenberger 2002:45–46).
Pedagogically, this reading enables students to develop a nuanced theology of hope – one that is not naïve or escapist, but critically engaged and socially rooted. It invites theological formation that honours emotional truth while cultivating spiritual endurance. As such, hope is not an abstract ideal, but a redemptive resource generated through faithful reading, community lament and dialogical engagement with the Gospel’s deepest wounds.
Pedagogical praxis in South Africa
The teaching of the Passion narratives in South African theological classrooms is increasingly shaped by postcolonial hermeneutics, which seek to interrogate the intersection of empire, suffering and faith. However, the incorporation of such critical approaches often provokes both intellectual curiosity and theological resistance among students, reflecting the complex interplay between inherited traditions and emerging decolonial pedagogies.
Teaching the passion in a postcolonial classroom
Teaching the Passion narrative in a South African postcolonial theological context demands pedagogical methods that are critically contextual, dialogical and emotionally resonant. In engaging Mark 15:34 and Psalm 22, I have integrated lament traditions – both biblical and African – as central interpretive tools in the classroom. These lament traditions mirror the lived experiences of black South Africans, many of whom carry intergenerational trauma shaped by colonial dispossession, apartheid violence and persistent economic exclusion (Boesak 2009:41–43).
A key aspect of this pedagogy involves drawing upon township theology,6 a grassroots theological orientation developed during the struggle against apartheid, which emphasises embodied resistance, lived suffering and spiritual agency (West 1999:22–24). Within the classroom, students are invited to read the Passion narrative not merely as an event in salvation history but as a living script that intersects with township grief, protest and hope.
To foster deeper engagement, I employ performance-based methods, including the dramatisation of Psalmic laments and Jesus’ cry on the cross. This multisensory pedagogy is complemented by the incorporation of lament poetry, particularly from South African poets like Samuel Edward Krume Mqhayi, Nontsizi Mgqwetho and Mzwakhe Mbuli, whose works voice the cries of the forsaken in the idiom of protest and praise (Brown 2010:79). These practices encourage students to embody the text, feel its emotional weight and interpret it in solidarity with marginalised communities.
Dialogic pedagogy further empowers students to become co-interpreters of the Gospel text. Rooted in Paulo Freire’s liberative approach to education (Freire 1970), this method decentralises authority, affirming student experience as a theological resource. As such, teaching becomes a space of co-constructed meaning where theological knowledge emerges from the encounter between Scripture, tradition and the cries of the oppressed.
Student reception and resistance
The author of this paper has had the privilege of teaching at three institutions of higher learning, as well as engaging in several grassroots theological training initiatives associated with a variety of ecclesial traditions. These range from African Initiated Churches (AICs) to historically mission-founded mainline denominations, encompassing a wide theological spectrum – from conservative and Reformed evangelical to more liberal theological orientations. A noteworthy development within the landscape of South African theological education in recent years has been the significant shift in student demographics. As a result of broader socio-political changes in the country, students from black communities now constitute the majority in many institutions that were historically designated as white and elitist.
Over the years, the author has been involved in the design, adaptation and compilation of theological modules across a range of academic levels, from undergraduate (first year to third year) to postgraduate diploma programmes. This curriculum development work has often required attentiveness to the diverse theological sensibilities present in classrooms composed of students from various denominational, cultural and socio-political backgrounds.
While teaching, particularly when engaging students with critical approaches such as postcolonial, imperial-critical or contextual hermeneutics, I frequently encountered initial resistance. Such methods are often perceived by some students and stakeholders as attempts to politicise the biblical text, views rooted in the assumption that the Bible is strictly a religious or spiritual document devoid of socio-political entanglements. This resistance is especially prominent among students from conservative theological traditions, who may view critical methodologies with suspicion or as foreign impositions.
However, pedagogical experience suggests that when these interpretative approaches are clearly articulated, contextually grounded and demonstrated through exegetical engagement with specific biblical texts, student reception notably improves. Once students begin to see how these readings uncover layers of meaning often obscured by traditional interpretations – and how they speak to historical and contemporary struggles, particularly those rooted in African postcolonial contexts – there tends to be a growing appreciation for their relevance and theological depth. This shift underlines the importance of pedagogical strategies that both challenge inherited assumptions and remain pastorally sensitive to students’ theological and cultural locations.
As already noted above, introducing students to postcolonial and lament-centred readings of the Passion often evokes initial resistance. Many have been formed within theological traditions that emphasise penal substitutionary atonement as the primary framework for understanding the cross (Stott 1986:32). The idea that Jesus’ cry of abandonment might reflect not divine punishment, but a theological protest rooted in lament, is often met with scepticism. However, as students are exposed to postcolonial and African biblical scholarship, their perspectives begin to shift. The works of Gerald West, who emphasises reading the Bible with the poor, and Musa Dube, who critiques imperialist hermeneutics and centres the experiences of African women, provide alternative interpretive models that resonate with students’ social realities (Dube 2000; West 1999). By facilitating engagement with these thinkers, students begin to see Mark 15:34 not as a theological anomaly but as a site of spiritual resistance and epistemic reorientation. In classroom discussions, students often remark that the lens of lament opens a space for honesty in theological discourse. Some express that this reading affirms their own experiences of abandonment – personal, familial or communal – while others identify the Passion as a narrative of God’s identification with the structurally forsaken. Through sustained engagement, resistance often gives way to transformation.
Theological outcomes and transformative learning
As students immerse themselves in lament-based, postcolonial readings of Mark, they begin to exhibit signs of critical consciousness. Freire (1970) describes this as the capacity to read not only the text but the world with discernment, locating systems of oppression and imagining alternatives. Students begin to perceive theological education as a platform for social engagement, not merely doctrinal affirmation.
A recurring theme in reflective essays and oral responses is the reimagination of the cross as a call to ethical praxis. No longer viewed solely as a mechanism of substitutionary atonement, the cross becomes a site of protest, where divine solidarity with the poor and suffering issues a summons to prophetic witness. Students articulate a theology where resurrection hope emerges from within suffering, not beyond it – a hope that sustains resistance, not just spiritual endurance (Hombana 2025:1–8).
This shift in understanding has led to transformative learning outcomes, where theological formation moves from cognitive accumulation to ethical reorientation. Students express a renewed commitment to justice, community healing and the construction of contextual theologies that address South Africa’s socio-economic crises. In this way, lament becomes both a hermeneutic and a pedagogical strategy for theological formation and public engagement (Knoetze 2020:1–8).
Reflections on improvement and methodological evolution
Despite these positive outcomes, the process is ongoing and requires continual reflection and adaptation. One key area for growth is the deeper integration of community voices into theological education. While classroom readings engage grassroots theology, more intentional partnerships with local church leaders, activists and cultural practitioners would broaden the dialogical base and ground biblical interpretation more fully in lived realities (Kritzinger 2008:148–149).
Another critical area for theological transformation lies in the domain of language and epistemic accessibility. The continued dominance of Western academic jargon in theological education has inadvertently created a hermeneutical chasm between the academy and communities rooted in oral traditions and indigenous knowledge systems. Theological terminology – often inherited from Eurocentric dogmatic frameworks – tends to privilege Greco-Roman, Latin and Germanic philosophical categories at the expense of African idioms of life, wisdom and the sacred. As scholars such as Maluleke (2000:21) have noted, such frameworks can alienate students, especially those from rural or township contexts, who often engage theology through narrative, proverb, idiom and song rather than abstract doctrinal formulations.
A shift towards multilingual and mother-tongue pedagogies – including the use of isiXhosa, isiZulu, Sesotho and other African languages in theological classrooms – offers not merely a linguistic change but an epistemic reorientation.7 It enables theology to become dialogical, participatory and rooted in the existential experiences of African communities (Chimuka 2001:67). As Mugambi (2003:89) argues, language is not neutral; it shapes our theological imagination. The introduction of indigenous languages into theological discourse not only democratises access but also opens space for indigenous theological categories, such as ubuntu, umoya or ukuphila, to inform soteriology, anthropology and ecclesiology in culturally resonant ways. In this manner, theological education begins to embody Afrocentric epistemologies rather than merely accommodate them.
Moreover, the method of theological education must become ritualised and healing-centred, particularly in courses dealing with suffering, lament or trauma – whether personal, historical, or communal. Western models of theological reflection often prioritise cognitive abstraction, whereas African epistemologies tend to be holistic and embodied, integrating emotion, memory and the spiritual realm (Mbiti 1969:213–215). Thus, pedagogies of healing – such as communal lament services, storytelling circles, symbolic enactments and liturgies of remembrance – serve as vital correctives to overly rationalistic modes of instruction. These practices can anchor theological concepts in communal praxis and ritual, allowing students to process theological content not merely intellectually but spiritually and emotionally (Tshaka & Makofane 2010:542). For instance, a course on lament could integrate public rituals of grief modelled after African funeral practices, thereby linking Psalmic theology to embodied communal healing.
Such approaches also resonate with black and womanist theological traditions, which have long emphasised the importance of memory, ritual and narrative as loci of theological meaning and resistance (Kobo 2020:1–8; also 2022:1–8; Williams 1993:75). Incorporating these elements into curriculum design not only honours African spiritualities but also offers therapeutic pathways for students grappling with intergenerational trauma and systemic injustice. The goal is to bridge theory and praxis, the cognitive and the affective, the spiritual and the academic – ultimately producing a form of theological education that heals, liberates and empowers.
Final remarks
The cry of Jesus in Mark 15:34, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’, does not merely echo despair but evokes a deeper structure of hope and divine solidarity. By invoking Psalm 22, the evangelist Mark crafts a cruciform moment that invites readers to enter a sacred tradition of lament, one that simultaneously names abandonment and anticipates restoration. This intertextual gesture serves not only as a theological claim but as a narrative performance of resistance, whereby the crucified Christ embodies the suffering of the marginalised and dignifies their protest (Hays 2016; West 2016). Theologically, this article has argued that Mark’s use of Psalm 22 reconfigures conventional interpretations of divine abandonment. Rather than positioning forsakenness as a sign of divine rejection, Mark presents it as a liturgical and prophetic act that reclaims lament as a site of redemptive significance. In doing so, he offers a theological grammar for communities that live with the silence of God – communities whose histories, like South Africa’s, are marked by systemic exclusion, racialised violence and economic injustice. The cross, thus, is not a site of defeat but a location where God’s identification with the forsaken is most fully revealed (Cone 2011).
From a pedagogical standpoint, this article has demonstrated that such a reading of Mark 15:34 functions as a transformative educational tool. Rooted in postcolonial pedagogy, lament becomes both content and method: a means by which theological education fosters critical consciousness, ethical reflection and spiritual formation. The inclusion of township theology, lament poetry, performance and dialogic methods enables students to reimagine the Gospel as a living tradition that speaks to their existential realities. Crucially, the cross becomes a call to social action and a source of spiritual resilience (Dube 2000; Freire 1970). This approach not only deconstructs Eurocentric theological frameworks but also opens the way for African-centred theological imaginaries that are both rooted and responsive. In a country where young theological minds continue to wrestle with inherited systems of thought and oppressive social structures, the Passion narrative – read through the lens of lament and pedagogy – provides fertile ground for theological innovation and communal healing.
Acknowledgements
Competing interests
The author reported that they received funding from the University of South Africa that may be affected by the research reported in the enclosed publication. They have disclosed those interests fully and have in place an approved plan for managing any potential conflicts.
Author’s contribution
M.H. is the sole author of this research article.
Ethical considerations
This article followed all ethical standards for research without direct contact with human or animal subjects.
Funding information
The author disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the publication of this article. This work was supported by the University of South Africa.
Data availability
The author confirms that the data supporting this study and its findings are available within the article and its listed references.
Disclaimer
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and are the product of professional research. It does not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of any affiliated institution, funder, agency, or that of the publisher. The author is responsible for this article’s findings, and content.
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Footnotes
1. Postcolonial biblical criticism interrogates how biblical texts and their interpretations have been shaped by imperial ideologies, both ancient and modern, revealing how Scripture has often been co-opted to justify conquest and domination (Sugirtharajah 2002). Drawing on theorists like Edward Said and Homi Bhabha, it explores resistance, hybridity and marginality within both the biblical world and its interpretive history. Decolonial biblical criticism, while sharing similar concerns, seeks a more radical epistemic break from Eurocentric theological frameworks by recovering indigenous knowledges, languages and spiritualities as valid hermeneutical resources (Mignolo 2011). Whereas postcolonial criticism often works within Western academic paradigms, decoloniality emphasises epistemic disobedience and delinking from colonial logic. While both approaches face criticisms – such as over-politicisation or relativism – postcolonial biblical criticism remains the preferred lens for this study. It offers a balanced method that critically engages empire and coloniality without severing ties with theological tradition, making it especially pedagogically effective in South African contexts marked by historical injustice and religious hybridity (Dube 2000; West 2018).
2. The postcolonial interpretations of Psalm 22 in Mark – particularly Jesus’ cry of abandonment in Mark 15:34 – have often foregrounded the colonial and imperial structures that undergird the crucifixion narrative. Scholars, such as Sugirtharajah (1998) and Liew (1999), have compellingly read Jesus’ lament through the lens of colonised suffering, interpreting his cry as the voice of a subjugated subject crushed under Roman imperialism. These readings frame Psalm 22 as a subversive script of resistance, wherein the crucified Jesus embodies the dispossession, silence and fractured identity experienced by colonised peoples across history. The Gospel narrative, especially in its reuse of Psalm 22, is thus seen as performing a symbolic counter-narrative to empire – destabilising imperial ideologies through irony, lament and allusion (Liew 1999; Sugirtharajah 2001). However, while such interpretations are theoretically rich, they have also become somewhat overfamiliar and risk hermeneutical stasis. The recurrent emphasis on Roman oppression often marginalises other dimensions of suffering in the text, such as betrayal, religious complicity and communal abandonment (Moore 2006). Moreover, many of these readings remain confined to academic discourses, offering minimal engagement with the lived realities of postcolonial communities today.
3. This relocation reflects a theological reconfiguration seen throughout Mark’s Gospel, wherein divine presence is paradoxically disclosed in weakness, marginality and abandonment (cf. Mk 8:31; 10:45; 15:34). Rather than interpreting suffering as divine punishment, Mark – through Jesus’ lament – frames it as the very site of divine identification and revelatory action, echoing Isaiah’s Servant Songs (Is 52:13–53:12) and countering the retribution logic embedded in Deuteronomic theology.
4. Deuteronomy 28 establishes a covenantal framework in which obedience leads to blessing and disobedience results in suffering. Post-exilic literature (e.g. Job, Lamentations and certain Psalms) already challenges this neat correlation. Mark’s appropriation of Psalm 22 in the crucifixion scene radicalises this critique by presenting a righteous sufferer forsaken not for sin, but as part of divine purpose, destabilising inherited theological causality (cf. Balentine 2006; Brueggemann 1997:119–121).
5. Remez, meaning ‘hint’ in Hebrew, is one of the four classical modes of Jewish biblical interpretation under the PaRDeS framework, which includes Peshat [literal], Remez [allegorical], Derash [homiletical] and Sod [mystical]. A remez reading seeks a deeper, often typological or symbolic meaning subtly embedded within a biblical text. It involves recognising allusions or intertextual echoes that point beyond the surface meaning. For example, when Jesus quotes Psalm 22:1 in Mark 15:34, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’, he is not only expressing lament but also evoking the full context of the psalm, which moves from despair to divine vindication – a classic instance of remez (Beale & Carson 2007; Hays 2016:221–223). This mode of interpretation was common in Second Temple Judaism and continues to inform both Jewish and Christian readings that are sensitive to intertextual and theological depth (Neusner 2004).
6. Township theology emerges as a contextual theological response rooted in the lived experiences of black South Africans in apartheid-era townships, marked by poverty, displacement and systemic marginalisation. Unlike formal academic theology, township theology is grounded in the everyday faith practices of ordinary people and shaped by their struggle for dignity and survival (Maluleke 1997:18). It represents a theology ‘from below’, often articulated through sermons, songs and communal narratives that critique injustice while affirming hope and identity (Maimela 1987:4). As such, it offers valuable insights into how theology is embodied and enacted in marginalised spaces, making it a crucial resource for pedagogical frameworks in postcolonial classrooms. By recognising township theology, educators can affirm local epistemologies and spiritual resilience that challenge colonial paradigms of knowledge production (Mosala 1989:14).
7. While recourse to mother-tongue languages in theological engagement is an important decolonial act, the practice of vernacular hermeneutics need not be confined solely to indigenous languages. Even when working within foreign or colonial tongues such as English, critical appropriation of these languages can advance liberative theological discourse. As Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o (1986:4) reminds us, it is possible to use ‘the master’s tools to demolish the master’s house’, provided the tools are re-inscribed with emancipatory intent. However, this strategy must not replace the broader goal of restoring and elevating African languages to equal epistemic status in global academic and theological conversations. Therefore, the dialectic between linguistic decolonisation and global scholarly engagement should not be seen as mutually exclusive, but as complementary imperatives. A decolonial pedagogy must strive to internationalise mother-tongue theological reflections – not simply through translation into global languages, but by promoting multilingual scholarship where African languages are sources of knowledge and not merely objects of preservation. In this way, linguistic decolonisation contributes not only to local transformation but also to a more pluriversal theological academy.
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