Cross Thoughts

“He suffered not as God, but He suffered who was God.” – John Owen

“Let us stand beneath the cross of Calvary, and behold our Lord Jesus hanging there, and remember that His bleeding body was in alliance with the un-suffering Deity. Those wounds of His, that streaming, spear-rent side, was taken into union with the nature of the living and eternal God. The infinite merit of the Godhead was imparted to the sufferings of the manhood. Neither your sins nor mine can ever exceed the merit of the precious blood of Christ. If our sins be high as mountains, the ocean of His atonement, like Noah’s flood, covers the utmost summits of the mountains. It prevails twenty cubits upwards, till all the highest mountains are covered. Though our sins be never so crimson, the blood of Jesus Christ is more crimson, and the one washes out the other. Though our iniquities be never so dark and bitter, His death was more bitter and dark, and the black bitterness of His death hath taken away the blackness and bitterness of our sins; and therefore it is that “He is able to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him.”

Sinner, look at Jesus Christ! There is power in His atoning blood to wash away all thy sins. None can limit the efficacy of the precious blood of Christ. No sins can be too black or too numerous for that precious blood to cleanse. The blood of Jesus Christ is sufficient to accomplish all that God has purposed to accomplish by its shedding. Christ shall never fail in any respect. His cross is a battering-ram against which nothing shall stand. Before the cross of Christ, the stupendous ramparts of our condemnation must rock to and fro even to their fall; and not one stone shall be left upon another that shall not be thrown down. We need a greater confidence in the cross of Jesus Christ, a surer rest evermore on that Rock of Ages cleft for us.”

  • From C.H. Spurgeon’s sermon, “Our Suffering Substitute”

Why Crucifixion and not another form of death?

Article by J.A. Medders – original source: https://spiritualtheology.net/why-crucifixion/

We should have many questions about crucifixion.

Why crucifixion? We know how vile it was. We hear how revolting, dehumanizing, and despicable crucifixion was—so why did Jesus die this way? 

Would Jesus dying at the hands of a mugger been enough? Why couldn’t Jesus have died of old age with friends and family praying at the foot of his bed, rather than some friends abandoning him as he’s stripped naked and nailed to a cross in front of his family and a few remaining friends?1

As Peter preached in Acts 2:23, why was “this Jesus, delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God,” for crucifixion (Acts 2:23)? 

God ordained crucifixion for at least four reasons.

1. Shame

Crucifixion was reserved for the worst of the worst. Death by crucifixion was loaded with shame, embarrassment, dehumanization, mockery, brutality, and nearly unchecked wickedness. Fleming Rutledge writes in The Crucifixion: 

“Bodily functions uncontrolled, insects feasting on wounds and orifices, unspeakable thirst, muscle cramps, bolts of pain from the severed median nerves in their wrists, scourged back scraping against the wooden stipes. It is more than any of us are capable of fully imagining. The verbal abuse and other actions such as spitting and throwing refuse by the spectators, Roman soldiers, and passersby added the final touch.” (5)

Does this horror not capture the spiritual significance of sin? Crucifixion is a vivid display of what sin as done to our hearts, lives, world. Sin brings shame. Sin is subhuman—not what God created us for. We carry the stain and pain of sin, and Jesus stepped into all of it. Taking it on. Taking it away from us. Jesus humbled himself to a level that will forever serve us, teaching us, transforming us. He communicates his love for us in the deepest way imaginable. “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).

2. Criminal & Legal 

Rather than Jesus being the victim of a street crime, he was tried as a criminal. He was (falsely) indicted. For him to die as our substitute, legal proceedings were enacted, both in the case of Barrabas and us. If Jesus had died by choking on a fig, he wouldn’t have been dying for our sins. But since Jesus was dying in our place, for our sins, he needed to undergo a proceeding and a death where it was obvious that he was innocent. That this death was actually for someone else. As the Roman soldier admitted at Jesus’s death, “Certainly this man was innocent!” (Luke 23:47).

The criminal and legal aspects of crucifixion reflect the spiritual significance of our sin. We committed high crimes against the triune God. We are cosmic criminals. But by Christ’s death for us, we are declared righteous, not guilty, free. He died for us. And by faith in him, his right standing with God becomes ours.

3. Public

The public nature of crucifixion is essential. Jesus died in the presence of nearly all Jerusalem. Jewish leaders, Gentile joes, Roman soldiers, all saw what happened to Jesus. His death was non-ignorable. The whole city would have been a buzz with his trial, the mockery, the march to Golgotha, and the six hours that Jesus hung on the cross. This sets the stage for his resurrection. 

If Jesus would have died from a fishing accident or some poisoned lentils, and then his disciples claim he rose from the dead, no one would believe it. Not public enough. It would be easy to reject a private death hitched to a public resurrection. A very public death makes resurrection even more astounding. Crucifixion is the preamble for resurrection.

4. Certified

Crucifixion was controlled. Rome made sure the crucified died; they knew what they were doing. And in the case of Jesus’s crucifixion, Roman soldiers were stationed and prepared to make sure Jesus and the criminals next to him were not mostly dead—they had to be dead dead. It would not have been uncommon for a Roman crucifixion to last for days, but since Jesus was crucified on a Friday in Jerusalem, Israel was particular about having dead bodies dangling from crosses on the Sabbath. The crucified had to be dead by sundown. This is why the Bible says Roman soldiers began to break the legs of those being crucified as a way to speed up their death, keeping the crucified from catching big draws of oxygen by pushing up from the cross.

But when the soldiers came to break Jesus’s legs, he was already dead. They confirmed it. They drove a spear into Jesus’s side to make sure Jesus had died and not just passed out. Blood and water spilled out, without a cry from Jesus’s voice. Dead. Certified.

“But when they came to Jesus and saw that he was already dead, they did not break his legs. But one of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, and at once there came out blood and water.” (John 19:33–34)

The certified nature of death by crucifixion set the stage for Easter Sunday. He was pronounced dead by a professional executioner. Jesus was buried that evening. Jesus rose again from the dead. He didn’t simply swoon on the cross, go into a coma, or faint. He was pronounced dead by Rome.

And on Sunday, he is pronounced alive. Shame removed, declared righteous, eye-witness accounts, hugged by friends. He lives. And so do you, if you trust him.

God’s Purpose in the Cross

This excerpt is taken from R.C. Sproul’s commentary on John.

The doctrine of limited atonement (also known as “definite atonement” or “particular redemption”) says that the atonement of Christ was limited (in its scope and aim) to the elect; Jesus did not atone for the sins of everybody in the world. In my denomination, we examine young men going into the ministry, and invariably somebody will ask a student, “Do you believe in limited atonement?” The student will respond by saying, “Yes, I believe that the atonement of Christ is sufficient for all and efficient for some,” meaning the value of Christ’s death on the cross was great enough to cover all of the sins of every person that ever lived, but that it applies only to those who put their faith in Christ. However, that statement doesn’t get at the real heart of the controversy, which has to do with God’s purpose in the cross.

There are basically two ways in which to understand God’s eternal plan. One understanding is that, from all eternity, God had a desire to save as many people as possible out of the fallen human race, so He conceived a plan of redemption by which He would send His Son into the world as the sin-bearer for fallen people. Jesus would go to the cross and die for all who would at some point put their trust in him. So the plan was provisional—God provided atonement for all who take advantage of it, for all who believe. The idea is that Jesus died potentially for everybody, but that it is theoretically possible that the whole thing was in vain because every last person in the world might reject the work of Jesus and choose to remain dead in their trespasses and sins. Thus, God’s plan could be frustrated because nobody might take advantage of it. This is the prevailing view in the church today—that Jesus died for everybody provisionally. In the final analysis, whether salvation happens depends on each individual person.

The Reformed view understands God’s plan differently. It says that God, from all eternity, devised a plan that was not provisional. It was a plan “A” with no plan “B” to follow if it didn’t work. Under this plan, God decreed that He would save a certain number of people out of fallen humanity, people whom the Bible calls the elect. In order for that plan of election to work out in history, He sent His Son into the world with the specific aim and design to accomplish redemption for the elect. This was accomplished perfectly, without a drop of the blood of Christ being wasted. Everyone whom the Father chose for salvation will be saved through the atonement.

The implication of the non-Reformed view is that God doesn’t know in advance who is going to be saved. For this reason, there are theologians today saying, “God saves as many people as He possibly can.” How many people can God save? How many people does He have the power to save? If He is really God, He has the power to save all of them. How many people does He have the authority to save? Cannot God intervene in anyone’s life, just as He did in Moses’ life, Abraham’s life, or the apostle Paul’s life, to bring them into a saving relationship with Him? He certainly has the right to do that.

We cannot deny that the Bible speaks about Jesus dying for “the world.” John 3:16 is the premier example of a verse that uses this language. But there is a counterbalancing perspective in the New Testament, including John’s Gospel, that tells us Jesus laid down His life not for everyone but for His sheep. Here in John’s Gospel, Jesus speaks about His sheep as those whom the Father has given Him.

In John 6, we see that Jesus said, “No one can come to Me unless the Father who sent Me draws him” (v. 44a), and the word translated as “draws” properly means “compels.” Jesus also said in that chapter, “All that the Father gives Me will come to Me” (v. 37a). His point was that everyone whom the Father designed to come to His Son would come, and no one else. Thus, your salvation, from start to finish, rests on the sovereign decree of God, who decided, in His grace, to have mercy on you, not because of anything He saw in you that demanded it, but for the love of the Son. The only reason I can give under heaven why I’m a Christian is because I’m a gift of the Father to the Son, not because of anything I’ve ever done or could do.

Did Jesus Die For Everyone?

Article by Eric Raymond – original source: https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/erik-raymond/jesus-die-everyone/

The atonement is central to Christian understanding and experience. We are the benefactors when we pore over the Word to better grasp Christ’s work. When doing so, we often encounter questions. One common question that comes up when thinking about the atonement is this: Did Jesus die for everyone or only the elect?

My answer to this question is this: I believe Jesus died on the cross for the elect. He did exactly what he intended to do and accomplished redemption for all who would believe, and not every person who ever lived.

One might answer back, But when you read John 3:16 we see that God “loved the world” and then in Hebrews 2:9 “Jesus taste death for everyone,” and finally in 1 John the Bible says that Jesus was the propitiation “for the whole world” (1 John 2:2). In light of this, how can anyone say that Jesus did not die for everyone?

These are important verses and questions. In this post I want to think this through biblically, theologically, and logically.

First, let me start by saying that everyone limits the atonement. Everyone, that is, except for the heterodox theology of the universalist (the view that all will be saved). The Arminian limits the power of the atonement, saying that the cross did not definitively save anyone but made salvation possible for all. The Calvinist, on the other hand, limits the extent of the atonement, that it does not save every person, but only the elect.

As a Calvinist, I limit the extent of the atonement. But by doing so, I am not limiting the value of the atonement; it is infinite. There is no way to improve upon the work of Christ—it is infinite and perfect. To be clear, when Calvinists speak of limited atonement, we are not speaking in terms of its value but rather the extent of it.

When we are thinking about this limiting, we have a choice. As B. B. Warfield says, “The things we have to choose between are an atonement of high value or an atonement of wide extension. The two cannot go together.”

Jesus Christ either died for everyone, nobody, or the elect.

Nature of the Atonement

The Old Covenant sacrifices anticipate the death of Christ through types and shadows. They were patterned after their substance, the supreme sacrifice, the Lamb of God (Heb. 9:11-14; 13:10-13). When we read a passage like Leviticus 16, the Day of Atonement, we find innocent animals beating the sin and guilt of the people. The priest was transferring the guilt of the people to the chosen animal by imputation. The sacrifice is then made with the offering of the animal in the place of the people. The Day of Atonement dealt with the sins of the people (even if only for a year). But the point is clear; they are not offering the animals as a potential redemption for every person who is alive that year. Instead, it is an accomplished atonement for the people of Israel. 

Further, Jesus death was substitutionary. He offered himself in our place. He suffered and died vicariously in place of sinners. 

He made him who knew no sin to be sin on our behalf so that we might become the righteousness of God in him. (2 Cor. 5:21)

Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us (Gal. 3:13)

For Christ also died for sins once for all, the just for the unjust, so that he might bring us to God, having been put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit; (1 Pet. 3:18)

John Murray in his book Redemption Accomplished and Applied writes:

If we concentrate on the thought of redemption, we shall be able perhaps to sense more readily the impossibility of universalizing the atonement. What does redemption mean? It does not mean redeemability, that we are placed in a redeemable position. It means that Christ purchased and procured redemption. This is the triumphant note of the New Testament whenever it plays on the redemptive chord. Christ redeemed us to God by his blood (Rev. 5:9). He obtained eternal redemption (Heb. 9:12). “He gave himself for us in order that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify to himself a people for his own possession, zealous of good works” (Tit. 2:14). It is to beggar the concept of redemption as an effective securement of release by price and by power to construe it as anything less than the effectual accomplishment which secures the salvation of those who are its objects. Christ did not come to put men in a redeemable position but to redeem to himself a people.”

The real question comes down to this: did he or didn’t he?

Did Jesus Christ satisfy divine wrath upon that cross or didn’t he? If he didn’t, then who will? And when? But if he did, then for whom?

It would be unbiblical to conclude that Jesus satisfied the wrath of God and bore the sins for those already suffering in hell. If he did pay their penalty, why is God punishing them a second time? 

Intent of the Atonement

What was the intent of the atonement? I like how Steve Lawson answers the question,:“The intent of the atonement is the extent of the atonement.”

What was Jesus’s intention? What was his plan for the atonement? He tells us that he would lay his life down for his sheep—and his sheep alone. 

I am the good shepherd, and I know my own, and my own know me, even as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep. (John 10:14-15)

I have other sheep, which are not of this fold; I must bring them also, and they will hear my voice; and they will become one flock with one shepherd. (John 10:16)

Do you sense his design and resolve here? “I must bring them . . . they will hear my voice” Or if we may shorten it: “I must . . . and they will.” Jesus Christ is going to the cross with the certainty of what he will do and how his sheep will respond. 

As he talks about the intent of his death, Jesus is interacting with some of the Jewish leaders. Amid their questions, Jesus tells them that the atonement is not for them. He limits the extent of his sacrifice.

But you do not believe because you are not of my sheep. (John 10:26)

Remember, Jesus has already told us that he is dying for his sheep (John 10:15). But right here he tells them that they cannot hear his words (they do not believe) because they are not of his sheep. The Lord is saying that his death is for those who are his sheep, and they will hear his voice. In other words, Jesus’s death is for the elect and not for those who will not believe.

He applies a similar limit in his High Priestly prayer the night before his death: 

I am praying for them. I am not praying for the world but for those whom you have given me, for they are yours. All mine are yours, and yours are mine, and I am glorified in them. (John 17.9-10)

Jesus prays for those who are his. That is, he prays for his sheep, those who will believe upon his word.

I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, (John 17.20)

Christ’s atonement has a vicarious, substitutionary nature. Jesus lived, died, and was raised for our sins (1 Cor. 15:3-5). This happened at a point of time that will never to be repeated again (Heb. 10:10). Therefore, Jesus accomplished the necessary redemption for all of his sheep. He fully satisfied and removed divine wrath while earning divine favor for his people. When we speak of limited atonement, we are referring to a limited scope, not a limited value or power. This is why many theologians prefer the language of particular redemption or definite atonement.

Some Supposed Unlimited Atonement Passages

Hebrews 2

But we do see him who was made for a little while lower than the angels, namely, Jesus, because of the suffering of death crowned with glory and honor, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone (Heb. 2:9)

Context is important. Who is the everyone? Verse 10 tells us that he brings “many sons to glory,” verse 11 calls them “brethren,” verse 14 calls these people “the children,” v.16 says that they are the descendants of Abraham, v.17 says that they are “his brethren,” and again “the people.” I do not believe that everyone here refers to everyone who ever lived, but rather to this particular group of people already mentioned: the many sons, the children, the descendants of Abraham, his brethren, and the people. In other words, it is referring to his sheep or all who would believe.

John 3

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish, but have eternal life. (John 3:16)

This verse clearly says that God loves the world. But while the Son came into the world, the verse doesn’t say that the entire world will be saved. It limits the scope of salvation to those who would believe, “that whoever believes in him shall not perish.”

God loved the world in this particular way, that those who believe (the participle is in the present tense), who keep believing (i.e., the believers) will have eternal life. We could put it is a bit more literally, “God loves the world in this particular way, that he gave his only Son that the believing ones will not perish but have eternal life.” The verse says that those who believe will be saved. Loving and saving are united by believing. John is not talking about the extent of the atonement but the motive behind (love) and the means of accessing it (faith). We sometimes think of “whosoever” as exceedingly broad (arms open wide) instead of the particularity with which John seems to point here (to believers).

1 John 2

He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world. (1 John 2.2)

I think there is a good reason for the debate about this passage. It’s this last phrase that’s caused people fits when understanding what John is talking about. The question is simply this: in what sense is Jesus the propitiation for the sins of the whole world?

We have three main questions to answer:

  1. What does propitiation mean? Propitiation means the act of making God favorable to sinners by satisfying his wrath against them and removing their guilt before him.
  2. When did the propitiation happen? Propitiation is something that happened in the past, at the cross. But, Jesus’s work as an advocate for his people is an ongoing reality. Having the timing down is important.
  3. What does “world” mean? 

Sometimes it refers to all of creation, and sometimes it can refer to a broader group of people than initially focused upon.

If propitiation is accomplished and not every person who ever lived will be saved, then how can we understand John’s use of this word? Again, I think this is a harder passage. A rule of interpretation is to allow the more clear passages to shed light on those that we find to be less clear. Therefore, I’m okay with marshaling in many other passages that speak to the nature and extent of the atonement to help me understand this verse.

At the same time, I think there is a possible answer in John’s other writings. In the first-century Jewish world, you have the Jews and then the world—everyone else. John is a Jew and enjoyed a ministry primarily to Jews (Gal. 2). There was anticipation throughout the Old Testament that the Messiah would save not only the Jews but also the whole world, that is Gentiles (Gen. 12:1-3; Is. 56:8; Ezek. 34:23; 37:24Luke 2:22-38).

We see this conclusion somewhat surprisingly articulated by Caiaphas in John’s Gospel:

But one of them, Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, said to them, “You know nothing at all. Nor do you understand that it is better for you that one man should die for the people, not that the whole nation should perish.” He did not say this of his own accord, but being high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus would die for the nation, and not for the nation only, but also to gather into one the children of God who are scattered abroad. So from that day on they made plans to put him to death. (John 11:49-53)

This sounds like Jesus in John 10:16, “And I have other sheep that are not of this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.”

When I read 1 John 2:2 I think of what the word propitiation means, what Jesus did, and what else John teaches us about the nature and intent of the atonement, particularly with respect to non-Jews, it causes me to conclude that just as Jesus is the advocate for his people he is also the propitiation for the sins of his people. This includes all types of people, not just Jews, but people from every tribe and tongue (Rev. 5). I think by using the word “world” here, John is referring to a group of people from the nations, not just the nation of Israel.

John Owen’s Helpful Questions

I remember wrestling through this doctrine and trying to think through a number of biblical texts. As I was studying, I came across John Owen’s concise puzzle.

The Father imposed his wrath upon the Son, and the Son was punished for:

1. All the sins of all men.

2. All the sins of some men.

3. Some of the sins of some men.

In which case, it may be said:

a. That if the last be true, all men have some sins to answer for, and so none is saved.

b. That if the second be true, then Christ, in their stead suffered for all the sins of all the elect in the whole world, and this is the truth.

c. But if the first be the case, why are not all men free from the punishment due unto their sins?

You answer, Because of unbelief. I ask, Is this unbelief a sin, or is it not? If it is, then Christ suffered the punishment due unto it, or he did not. If he did, why must that hinder them more than their other sins for which he died? If he did not, he did not die for all their sins!

Patience and Precision

I started by saying that we are the benefactors when we pore over the Word to better grasp the work of Christ. As we do this to help ourselves and others learn, it must be done with a sense of humility. One should only have to think for a moment about how insensitive it is to find personal pride when arguing about atonement for our sins!

A conversation like this should be characterized by the gentleness, patience, and precision it demands.

“Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani!”

BY F. W. KRUMMACHER (1796-1868)

Once, when a voice spoke from heaven to the people who were assembled around Jesus, the evangelist relates, that “some said it thundered; others, that an angel spoke to him.” No one exactly knew what to make of the wondrous sound, although all were affected, amazed, and thrilled by a secret awe. Such are our feelings on the present occasion, on hearing the echo of the cry, which sounds down from the cross; and I confess that my soul trembles at the idea of approaching the unfathomable depth of suffering, from whence the cry of “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani” proceeded. How much rather would I lie prostrate on my face in silence before this awful incident, than write or speak upon it! You know what happened to Luther, when he plunged himself in profound meditation on this most enigmatical and affecting part of the whole of our Savior’s sufferings. He continued for a long time without food, and sat wide awake, but as motionless as a corpse, in the same position, on his chair. And when at length he rose up from the depth of his cogitation; as from the shaft of a mysterious mine, he broke into a cry of amazement, and exclaimed, “God forsaken of God! Who can understand it?” Yes, who is there that is able? We find ourselves surrounded by an impenetrable darkness. But if the understanding has here reached the boundary of all human comprehension, yet faith finds a path amid these mysterious shades. A holy light precedes it, and that light is derived from the Savior’s Mediatorship. Enlightened by it, let us now contemplate, more closely, the awful cry of the dying Redeemer.

It is about twelve o’clock at noon that we again meet on Mount Calvary. The Savior has hung bleeding on the tree for nearly three hours. No change has meanwhile taken place in his vicinity, except that, in the little faithful group, we miss the disciple John and the mother of Jesus, the cause of which we know. A momentary silence has ensued in the crowd surrounding the place of execution. We may suppose that even on them the sublime behavior of the Divine Sufferer under his torture has not failed in producing feelings of emotion and shame. They look up to the cross with silent seriousness. The moaning of the two malefactors in their agony strikes their ears, and the trickling of the blood of the dying men is heard as it falls to the ground. From time to time, also, the grief and half-stifled sobs of the little faithful group is heard, whom we now, in spirit, join, asking with anxious hearts, if the Father of heaven will continue forever silent concerning his Son, and not at length make it known by some sign, which shall be obvious to all the world, that he, who was apparently rejected both by earth and heaven, was no transgressor, but in reality the Holy One of Israel, and his, the Father’s elect and well-beloved Son.

Lo, a sign appears! But what kind of one? Who could have anticipated anything of the sort? Our surprise increases to horror, our amazement to dismay. The sun, just arrived at the meridian, withdraws its beams, as if the earth were no longer worthy of its light, and begins visibly, in a clear sky, to grow dark. First, twilight commences, as at the decline of day; and this is followed by the obscurity of evening. Gloomy night at length spreads itself like a funeral pall, not only over the land of Judea, but over the whole of the enlightened part of the earth. The animal creation are terrified. The herds of the field crowd bellowing together. The birds of the air flutter, alarmed, to their retreats, and the masses of the people who surround the place of execution, hurry back with loud outcries, to Jerusalem, wringing their hands and beating their breasts. Trembling and lamentation extend into palaces and cottages, as if the world were menaced with destruction. The primitive fathers, as for instance, Origen and Eusebius, were acquainted with heathen records, some of which were from distant countries, such as that of Phlegon, a freedman of the Emperor Adrian, which mentions an eclipse of the sun at the same time with the crucifixion of Christ, and that one so entire, terrific, and wonderful had never before been seen in the world. An ancient tradition also states that Diogenes witnessed, in Egypt, the solar darkness which preceded the death of Jesus, and exclaimed, “Either the Deity himself suffers at this moment, or sympathizes with one that does.”

We, my readers, also stand amazed at this terrific phenomenon, in which even the blindest cannot mistake the finger of the Almighty. But what does this gigantic hieroglyphic on the pillars of the world denote? Some have supposed it to convey a symbolical manifestation of the wrath of God against the murderers of Jesus. But such an interpretation is not in accordance with the event that is taking place on Calvary, and in which God, by the giving up of his only-begotten Son, evinces, not merely his judicial severity and avenging justice, but especially his compassion for the murderers. The inference has also been drawn from the darkness that nature must have suffered in the death of Christ. But there seems little ground even for this explanation, since Christ, by his vicarious death, became, in an especial manner, the prop, support, and renovator of nature.

It has also been supposed that the nocturnal darkness typified the fact that with Christ, the light of the world was extinguished. But it was just in Christ’s vicarious death that the light of consolation and of real life rose upon the world. A sympathy also of the irrational creation with the pangs of its Lord and Master, has been spoken of; but there is no room here for such poetic speculations. The sun did not obscure itself, but it was the Almighty who clothed it in that mourning-dress.

The import of the sudden darkness lies incomparably deeper than the above-mentioned attempts at explaining it. Even the mournful cry of the sufferer does not leave us for a moment to doubt that the darkness stood in immediate relation to his sacred person, and the situation in which he was at the time. It is true, indeed, that the miraculous event, according to the purpose of God, was intended to intimate to the world the wondrous nature of the fact about to be chronicled in its history, that the Eternal Son, the source of all life, became himself a prey to death. But the chief object of the appalling phenomenon was to shadow forth, by a stupendous figure, the mysterious position and inward state at the time, of him who bled on the cross. The Lord withdrew himself from the eyes of men behind the black curtain of appalling night, as behind the thick veil of the temple. He hung there full three hours on the cross, his thorn crowned head thoughtfully drooping on his bosom, involved in that darkness. He is in the Most Holy Place. He stands at the altar of the Lord. He performs his sacrificial functions. He is the true Aaron, and at the same time the Lamb; but the sacrificial fire that burns around him, I have no need to mention.

That which, during this time, passed between him and his Father, lies, for the present, sealed as with seven seals, hidden in the depths of eternity. We only know so much, that behind that veil, he was engaged in the most arduous conflict, gained the most brilliant victory, and adorned his representative obedience with its final crown. We know that the grave of our sins was then dug; the handwriting that was against us taken out of the way; the curse which impended over us blotted out; and the wall which separated us from our God removed. Call the sight of the Redeemer weltering in his blood, and in total darkness, heart-rending if you will; we know not a more delightful scene than that in heaven or on earth. The man on the cross is to us the fairest star in the horizon of the world. We behold it, and feel delivered from every evil. When Moses came forth from the darkness in which God dwelt, his face shone in such a manner, that the astonished Israelites could not bear the sight. The radiance which we wear upon our brow from the darkness of Calvary, as far as we enter believingly into it, is milder and more pleasant; for it is the radiance of a peace of which the world is ignorant, and the reflection of an inward and triumphant joy of which even the angels might envy us.

But I hear you say, “Explain to us the meaning of the awful darkness; decipher the terrific and ambiguous hieroglyphic, and unfold to us the state it indicates.” Listen, then. That phenomenon signifies the withdrawing of another sun than the earthly one—the obscuring of an inward world. It shadows the going down of a day of comfort and joy. It points to a night of the soul, in which the last bright star is about to disappear. Imagine to yourselves, if possible, a man free from sin, holy; no, of divine nature, who calls the Almighty his light, God’s nearness his paradise, and God’s love his bliss. Imagine him deprived of all this; no longer refreshed with any experience of the gracious presence of his heavenly Father, and although exclaiming, “Whom have I in heaven but you?” banished into dreadful and horrifying visions of hell, and surrounded by nothing but images of sin and death. Imagine such a one, and then say if his state is not strikingly depicted by the midnight darkness which overspreads the earth.

The third hour of this appalling and universal gloom is drawing to a close. The sun again begins to cast off his obscuring veil. The Sufferer then breaks his long and anxious silence, and, like some cry of distress from the shaft of a mine, but at the same time, like the trumpet-sound of victory, the incomprehensible and heart-affecting exclamation breaks forth, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!” Under the influence of reverential awe, the evangelists give us this cry in the same language in which it was uttered by the Divine Sufferer. It is as if they were apprehensive lest a rendering of it into Greek might detract somewhat from its import. Like us, my readers, have all believers for eighteen hundred years stood amazed and astonished before these words, and have sought in vain to fathom their depth. You are aware that the words, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me!” form the commencement of the twenty-second Psalm, in which David, impelled and guided by the Holy Spirit, describes, while connecting with it his own sufferings, the lot of a Righteous One sojourning in a sinful world. His description, however, expands in the sequel so much, that the Psalmist’s personal state and circumstances lose themselves in it; and a child must perceive that more stupendous and important events than those in the life of David mingle in the expressions made use of by him. The portrait of a guiltless sufferer gradually increases to a sublimity, which has found its perfect antitype in the life of the holy Jesus. In the picture, features appear, of which we meet with only slight traces in David’s history, and which, therefore, call upon us to seek their literal fulfillment elsewhere. For the sufferer in the Psalms is not only represented as the offscouring of the whole world, not only do those who see him say to him, “He trusted in the Lord that he would deliver him; let him deliver him, seeing that he delighted in him”—not only must he agonizingly exclaim, “I am poured out like water; all my bones are out of joint; my tongue cleaves to my jaws, and you have brought me into the dust of death”—but he must also see what David never experienced, that his hands and feet were pierced, and that his enemies parted his garments among them, and cast lots upon his vesture. Besides this, his passion ends in such a manner as no other man’s sufferings; for a glorious crown of victory at length adorns the head of this tried and faithful One, yes, he receives the testimony that his sufferings shall result in nothing short of the salvation of the world, and the restoration, enlightening, and beatifying of the Gentiles. Who is so blind as not to perceive that this just man, who is so severely tried, and who comes forth so triumphantly from the conflict, as depicted by the Spirit in this twenty-second Psalm, is no other than the promised Messiah in the person of Jesus of Nazareth? This is beyond a doubt, even if the New Testament had not expressly given that Psalm such an application. Even one of the champions of modern infidelity, prophesying like Balaam, has called the twenty-second Psalm “the program of the crucifixion of Christ;” and another, against his will, is carried away to use these words, “One might almost think a Christian had written this Psalm.”

We will not entirely reject the idea that our Lord, in his distress of soul, bore this Psalm in mind. But if he uttered his exclamation with a conscious reference to it, he certainly did not do so simply in order that the words might be fulfilled; but only because that prophetic Psalm was now being fulfilled in him. That mournful cry, as it proceeded from his lips, was the genuine expression of the most perfect personal reality and truth. “But was Christ really forsaken of God while on the cross?” Not a moment, my dear readers. How could he be forsaken of God, who was essentially one with him, and when just at the moment of his unconditional obedient self-sacrifice on the cross, he was the object of his supreme and paternal good pleasure? But in the depths of suffering into which he had then sunk, and through which his cry of “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!” darts like a flash of lightning—such distress overpowered him, such horrible and death-like terror appalled him, and such infernal temptations roared around him, that a feeling came over him, as if he were exiled from the fellowship of God, and entirely given up to the infernal powers. Not only did all the horrors which were produced in the world from the dreadful womb of sin expand themselves before him, but he also entered, with his holy soul, in a manner incomprehensible to us, into the fellowship of our consciousness of guilt, and emptied the whole of the horrible cup of the wages of sin—that is, of the death involved in the curse, which was threatened in paradise.

And no one stood by him. No greeting of affection descended toward him from heaven. No vision of angels refreshed him in his great agony. The Father had really withdrawn himself from his inward consciousness. In the sphere of his feelings, the latter stood opposed to him. If the trials in Gethsemane brought the Lord Jesus to the extreme boundary of obedience—those of the cross brought him to the utmost extent of faith. Not a step, no, nor a line more was between him and despair. According to Psalm 69:15, the horrible idea entered his soul as with a vulture’s claws, that these floods of suffering might swallow him up, and the pit shut her mouth upon him. It was then that the cry of “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!” was wrung from his agitated bosom.

But be very careful, in explaining this expression, that you make no mistake. It is not a charging God with having forsaken him, but rather a powerful defense against infernal incitement to such an accusation. By the repetition of the words, “My God,” he makes it evident that solely by means of his naked faith he had struggled through all opposing feelings; and that God was still his God. Does he not, in these words, still cling with filial fondness to his heavenly Father, and say—although the words, “My God,” instead of “My Father,” leave us to infer a superiority of inward reverence in the presence of the Eternal Majesty—”Between you and me there can never be any separation!”

Perhaps some one may say, “But we hear him inquire why God had forsaken him?” That is true; but consider that the words do not, in the first place, ask the reason of his passion in general. Of this he was clearly conscious every moment on the cross. The question rather refers exclusively to the personal bearing of his heavenly Father toward him, especially during the three hours of darkness; and the inquiry is a filial one, synonymous with “Why are you so far from me, and hide your face from me?” But at the very moment in which he is threatened with the horrible idea that the hell which blazed around him might close over him, and when the nameless misery of being eternally rejected entered, as far as it was possible, into his consciousness, he fled from this horrible mental phantom, and from the fiery darts of the wicked one, holding the shield of faith against them, into the arms of God; and hence the following results as the real meaning of his mournful cry, “My God, why do you forsake me, and withdraw your aid from me? Have I acted contrary to your commands? Am I not still your child, your only-begotten Son; in whom is all your delight? And you are still my God; for how should you be able to forsake me? You can not; you will help me out of this distress. You will cause your face again to shine.” Thus, complaint—not accusation—a cry for help, and a victorious child-like confidence are the three elements which mingle in the exclamation, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!”

But let this suffice respecting a subject which, inaccessible to human comprehension, discloses, even to believing presentiment, only a small part of its sublime signification. But so much must be clear to every one, that without the doctrine of mediation, Christ’s mournful cry on the cross would be altogether inexplicable. But, viewed in connection with it, the words become the solemn announcement of our eternal redemption. May God in mercy grant that as such, they may find a mighty and increasing echo within us!

Thus, as far as it was possible—and with reference to the mysterious connection into which Christ as the second Adam entered with our race, we must not imagine the limits of this possibility too narrow—the Lord tasted the bitterest drop in the accursed cup—the being forsaken of God. The words, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” were certainly the warrior’s cry, with which he overpowered and victoriously overcame, by faith, the inward feeling of abandonment. But, nevertheless, it was a manifest proof that Christ had really to endure an arduous struggle with this horrible feeling.

If we now inquire what fruits have resulted to us from this conflict, the fact itself is encouraging and consolatory for us, that in our Lord’s inquiry why he was forsaken, the consciousness of his perfect righteousness before God is so clearly manifested. For in default of it, how could he have ventured the bold question to the thrice holy God, why he had forsaken him? But the most essential benefit which we derive from his conflict is a very different one. How did those mistake, who, beneath the cross, said to one another, in wretched misunderstanding of his words, “This man calls for Elijah!” Primarily, this remark was intended for anything but mockery. On the contrary, the feeling again broke in upon the murderers that the exalted one who was bleeding on the cross might be the Messiah. But as they knew from the prophecies of Isaiah and Malachi that Elijah, as the forerunner, was to precede the great one who was to come, the idea occurred to them that possibly the Divine Savior was invoking the aid of that powerful herald of God from the invisible world. But what a misunderstanding of the great Redeemer lay at the bottom of this idea of his crucifiers! It was not of himself that he thought; but of the sinners whom he was representing, when he exclaimed, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!” and his primary intention in it was to reconquer the heart of the living God for them. For if God forsook him, he had also forsaken them whom he represented. If God rejected the Surety’s work as insufficient, the redemption of the whole world was frustrated. It was chiefly this consideration which forced from our Lord the cry of “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” and hence his question contains this meaning in it also—”No, you do not forsake me, you accept my work, and I, therefore, cleave firmly to you as my God, and consequently, also, as the God of those whose cause I have undertaken.”

But his heavenly Father did not suffer the cry of his Son to remain without his “Amen.” He uttered it symbolically, by immediately dispelling the darkness, and restoring to the sun its full mid-day splendor. The being thus forsaken, essentially belonged to the cup which our great High Priest was obliged to empty for us. Hence there can be no idea that those who are united to Christ by the bonds of a living faith, can be really forsaken of God. Even as for us, no somber cloud any longer darkens heaven, and as we at all times behold the face of God unveiled, and every moment may enjoy free access to his throne of grace, so God will never more depart from us, whatever else may forsake us. Though we may be abandoned by the world’s favor, the friendship of men, earthly prosperity, and bodily strength, though we may even be bereft, as may possibly be the case, of the feeling of God’s nearness, and the freshness of the inward life of faith; yet God himself always continues near and favorably inclined to us in Christ. However strangely he may sometimes act toward us, into whatever furnace of affliction he may plunge us, however completely he may withdraw himself from our consciousness, yet in every situation the blissful privilege belongs to us, not only courageously to approach him, and say, “Why do you forsake me, your child, for whom your Son has atoned?” but also to say to him with still bolder confidence, “You will not, can not, and dare not forsake me, because the merits of your only-begotten Son forever bind you to me.”

At this very time, the corpse of a pious female, who was one of the most costly pearls which, from this great city, will eventually adorn the Redeemer’s crown, is being carried to its final resting-place. Who knew her, except her children and a little group of like-minded friends, whom the Lord had conducted to her? Who, except these, ever heard her name? She lay two whole years in the concealment of a gloomy attic, sick of a grievous and painful disease, as if on thorns, but she was thought to be lying on a bed of roses, so full was she of heavenly peace and cheerful resignation. The cause of which was, that Christ had become her life. The more her body wasted, the more was her spirit visibly strengthened in God. The more her outward man decayed, the more gloriously did her inner man unfold and transfigure itself. If, occasionally, the flood of suffering penetrated into her soul, we never heard her sigh, much less despond. If her faith grew dark, her eyes were immediately directed to Calvary, and beneath the echo of “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!” the cloud on her brow was rapidly dispelled. “He cannot forsake me,” said she, with a smile, “after forsaking him for me, who paid my ransom.” And once, when in the days of her last agony, compassion forced from me the words, “O that it might please the Lord in some measure to alleviate the cross of suffering!” she replied, waving her hand, and with solemn and serious emphasis, “O be silent! not one drop less! each of them is carefully measured out by his wisdom and love.” She left the world adorned with the heavenly chaplet of the firmest faith, the sincerest humility, the most persevering resignation and patience, and the most self-denying love, a triumphant conqueror over death and the grave. She now sings the great “Hallelujah” with the host of those glorified spirits who have come out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. God has wiped away the tears from her eyes, and placed in her hand the palm of a never-fading triumph. As her last will, she left behind her the earnest request that nothing might be said at her grave, except what had reference to the grace of Christ and the power of his blood. Nor will we boast of anything else over her tomb than the mercy of God in Christ, and add the prayerful wish that our last end may be like hers!

I have inserted this incident in order to give my readers a fresh proof that God has still his people among us, and that he still sues for souls in the midst of us, as well as to afford them an instance how the mystery of the cross in general, and that of God’s abandonment of the Mediator in particular, should be taken advantage of. May we be enabled to appropriate, in this manner, the fruits of the cross of Christ, and may the words of the hymn be increasingly realized in our happy experience—

“O, the sweet wonders of that cross 
On which my Savior loved and died!
Its noblest life my spirit draws 
From his dear wounds and bleeding side.”

—–

From The Suffering Savior: Meditations on the Last Days of Christ 
by F. W. Krummacher