Luke 23:44-49

It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour, for the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” When he had said this, he breathed his last.

The centurion, seeing what had happened, praised God and said, “Surely this was a righteous man.” When all the people who had gathered to witness this sight saw what took place, they beat their breasts and went away. But all those who knew him, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things.

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What a stunning piece of scripture, line after line confirming the immense weight of this central event in human history.

“Darkness came over the whole land … for the sun stopped shining.” What is more constant in our experience than the sun, lighting the world, giving warmth, providing the context for life and health? Luke doesn’t give us specific details of what happened here – his statement simply says the “sun failed.” But ironically, this cessation of light highlights the drama of the moment. The Light of the world is dying.

“The curtain of the temple was torn in two.” That heavy, impenetrable barrier, separating all humanity from the “Holy of Holies” – God’s own presence – is forcibly pulled apart, ripped through from top to bottom, creating a passageway which had not previously existed. The inaccessible is opened wide.

“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Such a tender cry, filled with trusting intimacy – with confident surrender. But the OT scriptures had declared that “anyone who is hung on a tree is under God’s curse” (Deuteronomy 21:23). And Jesus himself, hanging there, had earlier cried, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34). It is now clear that he was there on purpose. He became a curse for us. Long had the Father planned it. He submits himself into his Father’s hands.

“He breathed his last.” Luke’s phrase is not the usual way of declaring death. Indeed, as one of the commentators points out, none of the Gospel writers baldly state, “Jesus died.” Perhaps they are preserving the sense that this death is beyond the usual. For certainly, it was.

“The centurion … praised God and said, ‘Surely this was a righteous man.” He’d experienced many such deaths, but something about this one arrested his attention. The other Gospel writers tell us Jesus died with a loud cry echoing – a shout of triumph (John gives the words: “It is finished!”). Perhaps that, together with the calmly voiced committal to the Father which followed, caused the centurion’s conviction. Jesus died as a criminal, no doubt; but the centurion knew he was right with God.

“They beat their breasts and went away.” The crowds, gathered in curiosity – looking for entertainment – left grief-stricken. Likely many were present at Jesus’ sentencing, shouting aloud, demanding his crucifixion. Haven’t now gotten their wish, they beat their breasts in abject remorse. What had they done? Did the grief prepare them for the declaration of good news less than two months later on the Day of Pentecost? How many of these, on that day, were included in the 3000 who trusted Jesus for forgiveness and salvation?

“Those who knew him … stood at a distance, watching these things.” What helplessness. There’s a sense of numbness in the scene. The Master, who had filled their lives, was gone, expired, died. Oh, the agony that filled their hearts. Could they do anything other than stand, distantly watching?

And so the scene ends. Such a dark, weighty moment.

But, as the old preacher said, “It’s Friday … but Sunday’s a-comin’!”

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Lord Jesus, I stand in awe. I tremble at your sacrifice. I give thanks.

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Reflect:

Take one of the phrases from this scene and ponder its significance. Put yourself right there. Experience the weight of the moment. Then, speak to the Lord from your heart.

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Photo by Ricky Turner on Unsplash