The Cross

The resurrection would come later. First, death.

The empty tomb would come later. First, crucifixion.

The Eternal One became mortal, the Divine became dirt, for this purpose: to confront our necrotic nature and make life in its place.^[1] The prophets called Him Wonderful^[2]; flesh-bound as He was, there was no better name. Incarnate God — what beauty in that paradox! — invited Himself to our planet, our people, our places. This was no dispassionate chartered tour but intimate, messy, personal work to undo the final curse.

He knew the cross was coming and chose it anyway. Make no mistake: it was a deliberate, conscious choice. There was no happenstance with the slain Lamb^[3], no resignation, no wish or wash. His face set like rock^[4] as He marched toward the sinners that would murder Him. Angelic legions stood watch, ready to strike if their beloved King so much as sighed wrong.^[5] Yet despite the blood-soaked sweat, the anguished cry for a different way, He never faltered from the will of His Father. The Son insisted that it had to be this way.^[6]

We talk about last meals as if we had a choice in the matter. We may wish for an impeccable eight-course serving, but do we know our appointed moment to face death? There is one granted this choice: the criminal, sentenced to capital punishment. And as God sat down for His last supper, this was the conviction He would face in a matter of hours. It would be a meal of treachery, not loyalty. An enemy, eating at that table, would sell mankind’s redemption for less than five hundred dollars. Knowing the betrayal that would come, fully aware of the torture that would devastate His flesh, the Consolation of Israel curated this final dinner.

Perhaps we forget the weight behind the most reverent sacrament. The Maker of wheat and grapes broke bread and poured wine, explicitly declaring that His own body would undergo the same fate. Humanity’s fate was on the line and Divinity Himself was establishing a ritual — arcane as it was for the moment — that billions would follow. Why? Memory. The most basic elements of the communal dinner table were forever transformed into chisels, repeatedly etching one word into hearts and minds: remember.^[7]

That night, God would be arrested by humans and put on trial in their courts for blasphemy. Somehow, with that in view, His final acts as a free man were to heal the enemy before Him^[8] and save the friend behind Him^[9]; were it not for the torches and swords, you’d be forgiven for assuming this was Messiah’s average workday.

Today, the cross has been sanitized down to two perpendicular strips of wood or metal, ranging in shades from Spartan to decadent, preferably tucked behind a shirt collar. Not in that day. Gnarled, rugged, bloody, and nauseating, there was nothing elegant about it. This was Yahweh’s electric chair. This was the Son of God, the Son of Man, the Son of a carpenter, pinned to timber by spikes and sin.

Darkness reveled in this moment. Death had written the terms and Life had signed on the dotted line. This was divine folly, a blunder of indescribable proportions. To mortalize the images of God was trivial; to execute the immortal Creator was the final victory. Hell won. Heaven lost.

The Firstborn^[10], Beloved of the Father^[11], encountering fratricide at the hands of the very orphans He came to adopt.

The King, Son of David, crowned with thorns.

The ultimate Holder of governments^[2], Defender of the defenseless, deemed a justifiable casualty by the calculus of politics.

The Prince of Peace^[2], the Merciful, beaten mercilessly and tormented by criminals.

The Giver of life, assassinated by His creation.

There’s no spin that can change this headline. Man murdered God.

Look at this cross. Not the flat, polished, diamond-studded necklace version. Look at the one with your lifeless Savior. Do you feel that? Do you feel rage at the injustice of an innocent man’s death? The horror of the realization that you played a role? The sorrow over the finality?

Look up to the hill, stained and spattered wine-red^[12] with holy hemoglobin. This was the vengeance of mercy.^[13] This was the cost of love. Now, look at your debt. Where is it?^[14] Search for your accusers. Can you find them?^[15] Do you feel that? Do you feel the magnitude of the price that was paid for you? The gratitude for the immeasurable love of a boundless Lover? The wonder of divine blood washing over common dirt?

Eternity met mortality in the ugliest way imaginable at the cross. It was a fatal collision between our unworthiness and the Worthy One, but a miracle came out of that rubble. We were made free. For centuries, lambs and calves were silhouetting this moment. The Sacrifice declared the end of sacrifices and stamped an expiration date on His atonement: never.^[16]

In the beginning, the Gardener planted a garden.^[17] After His death, His body was buried in one. The mirrors to His birth are unmistakable. The shepherds ran to tell the news of the Savior’s arrival^[18]; now, His disciples would flee from His death. The swaddling cloth of the newborn^[19] gave way to the simple wrap of clean linen.^[20] The stench of decomposition was smothered by the wood-toned aroma of costly myrrh.^[20] He deserved this lavish gift and a thousand times more, but Sabbath was closing in fast — it was time for God to rest.^[21]

Remember this cross often. Don’t take it lightly. The blood cannot be repaid in any measure, which strips us of all self-righteousness. Instead, we are called to something different: endless thanksgiving and daily mortification.^[22] If you have been forgiven much, love much.^[23] Respond with your whole being to this grace. Weep, laugh, kneel, dance, whatever it takes. Stay close to the tomb of Jesus. You’ll find forgiveness of sin, healing of sickness, and deliverance from death. And if you listen closely, you’ll hear a sound.

Heaven’s counting to three.^[24]

---

Holy Week is an invitation to meditate on the greatest truths of our belief system, the very hinges upon which the story of creation turns. There is so much more to the cross than I visited in this essay; dive in and you’ll uncover beauty. (For example: the crown of thorns goes back to Genesis, the tomb and the stable, the Shepherd imagery throughout.)

I only used the name of Jesus once, at the very end. That’s intentional. Our modern focus on Jesus’ humanity has come, I feel, at the expense of His divinity. I introduced Him by as many different names as I could to cement the fact that He was undeniably God. Therefore, the cross was not simply the brutal murder of a good man; it was the peak of mankind’s wickedness in the face of their loving Creator.

Notes