Christianity is a faith of contrasts. The Bible describes the Incarnate son of God lying in a manger; an elderly, temperamental Moses leading the enslaved Israelites to freedom from the mighty Egyptian empire; shepherd boy David defeating the hero of the Philistine army, Goliath; Joseph now with power over his brothers not avenging himself for their crimes against him; and many others. Perhaps the most vivid series of contrasts, however, can be found on the cross.
There are crosses in my office, many of them. One glass cross was given to me by a hairdresser with whom I shared my faith. There are also crosses impressed on diplomas, crosses emblazoned on stationary, and embossed on book jackets. For a first century Roman, this would be bizarre and revolting. Crucifixion was a sickening reality, and polite company would have kept crosses as far away as possible. I think if we understood their perspective on crucifixions, we might understand our own faith better. We might also understand the power of this day, Good Friday.
Crosses were not interesting symbols to Romans. No celebrities would don gold, diamond encrusted crosses as they sauntered down a red carpet. No tattoo artist would ink someone’s arm with the image of a man nailed to one. Crosses would not be found on worship centers or on signet rings. They would not be found on seals of universities or of the state. Crosses were horrors to be avoided.
Imagine having a glass impaling pole on your bookshelf as a decoration. Imagine a stake, prepared for the burning of its next hapless victim, on the cover of your books. Imagine admiring a little set of guillotine earrings. To have such things would be grotesque, ghoulish. Romans felt exactly that way about a cross. There is little wonder as to why. The cross was an instrument of torture and death. It was a horrible weapon of punishment in the Roman arsenal of pain. Not only was it a device for executions, It also served as a vehicle of intimidation, keeping the masses in line.
Jesus Christ of Nazareth was condemned and crucified, most likely on Friday April 3, 33 AD. On that dreadful Friday they took Jesus to Golgotha, a name meaning something like “Skull Hill,” after beating Him nearly to death. They stripped Him completely and tied him to a cross. His body was positioned so that His own weight would be an impediment to breathing. He would have to push up with His bunched-up legs to make room in His chest to inhale. Then they nailed his hands and feet to the cross, the only real purpose of which was to cause pain.
There the Romans would watch and scoff and Jesus pushed up on the nails to get a breath. His lungs burning from lack of oxygen, His legs burning from the relentless pressure to lift His body mass, He shuddered in pain. Eventually, His quivering legs would fail. Unable to lift is body He would suffocate in the afternoon sun.
The Roman soldiers were very familiar with the process. It would take hours or even days for someone to die on the cross. If they wanted to hurry up the dying process, they would hit the victim’s legs with a large mallet and shatter the leg bones, most likely causing compound fractures, intense pain, and quick death. Rome preferred the slow deaths, though.
There, on a cross, shamed and suffering, was the King of Glory. Abandoned by almost all of His disciples, betrayed by Judas, denied by Peter, Jesus was attended by His mother, some of the other women who had followed Him, and the youthful John. They watched in horror as His life was steadily extinguished.
His enemies came by to taunt. The distance 2,000 years and two languages has taken some of the edge off the insults, but His enemies came to Him with the cruelest invectives they could imagine. In reading the text, I think the insults sounded a little like this: most likely hearing Jesus sing Psalm 22 they mocked, “Eli, Eli… Oh, He is calling for Elijah. Hey, stand back everyone, let’s see if Elijah will help Him.” “Hey, You want people to believe You are the Messiah? Come on down from there!”
His enemies now had the complete track record of cruelty. They would not let Jesus live in peace. They would not let Him teach in peace. They would not let Him heal in peace, and they were not about to let Him die in peace. They went to the cross to vent the hatred rotting in their soul on the King of Kings. Somehow seeing Him die in the most awful way gave them happiness; they were enjoying this. Few things distort the soul like hatred.
Hours pass. His legs shaking, His feet throbbing, Bleeding profusely from the scourging and the crown of thorns, His tongue most likely beginning to stick to the roof of His parched mouth, Jesus was thirsty. Not even then was there compassion. The concoction He was offered had only one purpose: to prolong His suffering.
There, on a bare hill outside Jerusalem, the Lord Jesus Christ cried out and died. The evil of that moment was so great even the cosmos flinched in revulsion. It was now dark, although the sun should have been shining brightly. The earth shook causing terror among those gathered in Jerusalem for the feast.
The death of Jesus is a scandal. We Christians, however, can call this day, the day on which Jesus died, “good.” It is good because the cross of Christ Jesus was the payment for my sin. The death of my Savior destroyed death’s power in me. For my sake He suffered. For the sake of His people, He endured the cross. For the sake of the world, He died. In His death, evil is exposed and defanged. In His death, the sins of all are rectified. In His death, forgiveness is possible; grace is extended. In His death, salvation is no longer a theory. Salvation is real. It is real for everyone, including you; including me.
It is the great contrast. In His horrible death, we have eternal life. On the darkest day, we find our hope. The worst day, the most painful day, is Good Friday.
Thank God for this horrible, good day.
God be with you and bless you as you remember our Lord’s sacrifice for you.
The Father Loves You
The Son’s grace is with You
The Spirit’s fellowship will be with you
Now and Forever.
Amen.
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