Jesus dies. And takes our sin with him.

Mark 15.33-39, Matthew 27.45-54, Luke 23.44-48, John 19.28-37.

Around noon on 3 April 33, it got dark, and stayed that way till Jesus died. Obviously God was behind it, but we don’t know how. No solar eclipses in that part of the world, that time of year, so that’s out. Volcanoes have been known to darken the sky. So has weather. Regardless of how he pulled it off, God decided he wanted his Son’s death to happen in the dark.

As Jesus was hanging on the cross, various folks were taunting him, and Matthew describes the head priests, scribes, and elders even taunting him with a bit of Psalm 22:

Matthew 27.43 KWL

“He follows God?

God has to rescue him now, if he wants him

—for he said ‘I’m God’s son.’ ”

Psalm 22.8 LXX (KWL)

He hopes for the Lord, who has to release him,

who has to save him because he wants him.

Considering this psalm was so obviously getting fulfilled by Jesus’s death, taunting him with it just showed how far the Judean leaders’ unbelief went. They really didn’t think the psalm applied to Jesus any. It absolutely did.

This is why, round the ninth hour after sunrise (roughly 2:30 PM) Jesus shouted out the first line of that psalm: Elí Elí, lamá azavettáni?/“My God my God, for what reason do you abandon me?” Ps 22.1 I know; it sounds different after the gospels’ authors converted it to Greek characters.

Problem is, by this point the scribes seem to have left, ’cause nobody understood a word he said. Jesus was quoting the original Hebrew, but only scribes knew Hebrew; the Judeans spoke Aramaic, and the Romans spoke Greek. Since Elo’í sounds a little like Eliyáhu, “Elijah,” that’s the conclusion they leapt to: He must be calling for Elijah. So they added that to their mocking. “Wait; let’s see whether Elijah rescues him.”

In our day many Christians have leapt to a different conclusion—a heretic one. They might know Jesus was quoting scripture, but think he quoted it ’cause the Father literally, just then, did abandon him. Seriously.

Here’s the theory. When the lights went out, this was the point when Jesus became the world’s scapegoat: The sins of the entire world were placed upon his head, Lv 16.20-22 so that when he died, our sin died with him. Which is totally possible, ’cause that’s how the scapegoat ritual was meant to work in Leviticus. Thing is, the scriptures never spell out just how Jesus substitutionarily atoned for our sins, nor when the transfer was made. The world going dark just feels like a good, dramatic time for such an event to happen.

Here’s where the theory goes wonky: After this sin-transfer was made to a scapegoat, someone was supposed to turn this goat loose in the wilderness to die. In Jesus’s case, he could hardly wander off; his wrists and ankles were nailed to a cross. He could hardly wander off… so these Christians figure the Father must’ve removed himself. Others insist the Father removed himself because he finds sin so very offensive. He couldn’t bear to watch, so he dimmed the lights (as if God can’t see in the dark) and turned his face away from his beloved, but defiled, Son.

Here’s why it’s all heresy: God is One, and the trinity is indivisible. You can’t separate the Son from the Father. They’re not two seperate beings; they’re One. The rest of us humans are separate beings from the Father, yet Paul stated nothing can separate us from his love. Ro 8.38-39 So if that’s the case, how in creation could anything, even sin, separate God the Son from God the Father? Nope; not gonna work.

The idea of the Father turning his face away is popular—especially since it’s wormed its way into Christian worship music—but there’s no biblical basis for it. Just a lot of Christians who hate sin, who kinda like the idea God hating it so much he’d leave… so don’t you sin, or God’ll quit on you. It’s a great way to scare the dickens out of sinners. But if it were that easy to drive God away, you’d think the devil’s work would’ve driven God entirely off the planet. Ironically I find a lot of Calvinists, folks fond of insisting nothing’s mightier than God, likewise teaching the idea that the Father turned his face away from his innocent Son—instead of meeting the defeated enemy of sin head-on.

I could rant on, but let’s step away from the really bad theology, and quote what the gospels did say happened when the lights went out.

Jesus confuses Pontius Pilate.

Mark 15.1-5, Matthew 27.1-2, 11-14, Luke 23.1-4, John 18.28-38.

After the Judean senate held their perfectly legal trial and sentenced Jesus to death, the Law instructed ’em to take Jesus outside the city, hurl him off a cliff, and throw stones down on his body till he was quite dead. But because the Romans had taken over Judea 27 years before, the Romans didn’t permit ’em to execute anyone. Only Romans were permitted the death penalty. So the Romans would have to kill Jesus for them.

This meant the Judean leaders had to convince Pontius Pilate, the Roman prætor—the military governor (Greek ἡγεμών/igemón, “ruler”) of Jerusalem—that it was in Rome’s best interests to execute Jesus. The prætor wasn’t just gonna execute anybody the Judeans recommended. Especially over stuff the Romans didn’t consider capital crimes, like blasphemy against a god the Romans didn’t understand, or honestly, respect. So what’d the Judeans have on Jesus?

Simple: He declared himself Messiah. Did it right in front of everybody.

Mark 14.61-64 NLT

61BThen the high priest asked him, “Are you the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed One?”

62Jesus said, “I AM. And you will see the Son of Man seated in the place of power at God’s right hand and coming on the clouds of heaven.”

63Then the high priest tore his clothing to show his horror and said, “Why do we need other witnesses? 64You have all heard his blasphemy. What is your verdict?”

“Guilty!” they all cried. “He deserves to die!”

Messiah (i.e. Christ) means “the anointed,” and since you only anointed kings, it straight-up means king. Jesus publicly declared himself Israel’s king. That, the Romans would consider treason: The king of Judea was Cæsar Tiberius Divi Augusti, princeps (“first citizen”) of Rome. Cæsar would have a vested interest in putting any antikings to death. So that was the charge the senate brought with them, and Jesus, to the Roman prætor.

The senators hauled Jesus to Antonia, a fort Herod 1 had built next to the temple (and named for his patron, Marcus Antonius) so soldiers could observe the Judeans in temple… just in case any riots broke out in there. The senators then presented their unrecognized true king to Pilate.

Mark 15.1 KWL

Next, in the morning, the head priests,

consulting with the elders, scribes, and the whole senate,

carry and deliver the bound Jesus

to Pontius Pilate.

Matthew 27.1-2 KWL

1As it became morning, all the head priests and people’s elders

gather in council regarding Jesus,

and how they’d put him to death.

2Binding him, they lead Jesus away

and hand him off to Pontius Pilate, the leader.

Luke 23.1-2 KWL

1Getting up, the crowd leads him to Pontius Pilate.

2They begin to accuse Jesus,

saying, “We find this man twisting our nation,

preventing taxes to be given to Cæsar,

calling himself ‘Christ’—which means king.”

In all the gospels, Pilate questioned Jesus… and came away unconvinced this man was any threat to Rome whatsoever. As Luke and John tell it, he didn’t even believe Jesus was guilty of anything. But the Judean senate wanted Jesus dead, and got plenty of the locals to say so too. In the end, Pontius pragmatically gave ’em what they wanted.

Pontius Pilate’s attitude towards Jesus.

Matthew 27.19, 24-26, John 19.7-12.

Whenever preachers talk about Pontius Pilate, I find way too many of them describe him as an uncaring government functionary or bureaucrat, who clearly didn’t care enough about Jesus to stop him from dying.

I’m not entirely sure where they got this idea. I suspect it comes from bad Jesus movies. Most of them, trying to foreshadow Jesus’s death or create dramatic tension, try to depict the people who killed Jesus as way more organized than they actually were. It works for today’s audiences, who are mainly thinking of the way their culture works, not Jesus’s. In a democracy, if rulers want to murder someone, government answers to the people, and people have rights; so it takes a lot of conspiring between corrupt officials to try to make it look like a reasonable action. But the Roman Empire was no democracy. It was a fascist dictatorship, which answered to no one. Roman citizens’ rights were recognized, but no one else’s was, and you could kill ’em simply because they were inconvenient. Jesus easily fell into that category.

The bad Jesus movies also typically depict Pilate as an unbelieving skeptic, if not nontheist. The writers must figure if Pilate were religious in any form, he’d’ve fought harder for Jesus. The most they show, is Pilate is curious about Jesus; his accusers claim he’s a revolutionary, but Jesus tells Pilate, “My kingdom is not of this world” Jn 18.36 —it’s not a political kingdom; it’s not a political threat to the Roman Empire at all. So Pilate deduces Jesus isn’t a problem, and wants to let him go because he’s not, but the Judean rulers are so insistent, and Pilate doesn’t wanna rile them up, so he throws up his hands and crucifies Jesus as the path of least resistance.

All this junk worms its way into Christian sermons, because people remember movies way better than the text of the scriptures. But I’m going with the gospels, and they depict Pilate as really hesitant to have anything to do with Jesus. He’s particularly wary in John’s gospel. Here’s part of the reason why:

John 19.7-12 KWL

7The Judean leaders replied to Pilate,

“We have a Law, and according to Law,

Jesus is obligated to die,

for he makes himself out to be the son of God.”

8So when Pilate hears this word, he’s even more afraid.

9Pilate again enters the prætorium

and tells Jesus, “Where did you come from?”

Jesus gives him no answer.

10So Pilate tells Jesus, “You don’t speak to me?

Didn’t you know I have power to release you

and power to crucify you?”

11Jesus answers Pilate, “You don’t have power over me.

You have nothing—

unless it was given you from above.

This is why the one who betrayed me to you

has a greater sin.”

12ABecause of this, Pilate is seeking to release Jesus.

And in Matthew we see another part.

Matthew 27.19 KWL

As Pilate was sitting in the rostrum,

his woman sends him a message,

saying, “Have nothing between you and that righteous man.

For I am suffering greatly because of a dream about him.”

Vinegar to drink.

Mark 15.23, 26, Matthew 27.33-34, 48, Luke 23.36, John 19.28-30

Back when David was in deep doo-doo, Ps 69.2 he wrote Psalm 69 to gripe about his enemies. But when he talked about his comforters, Ps 69.20 he commented,

Psalm 69.21 KWL

They gave me bitter food,

and for my thirst, they made me drink vinegar.

It’s a memorable idea, and one which no doubt the authors of the gospels thought of when Jesus was getting crucified. ’Cause Jesus didn’t wanna drink what they provided.

Our culture might be unaware: Back then, you didn’t drink the water. You never knew where it came from, and rarely was it pure. Fastest way to get dysentery or cholera. So the ancients drank wine, either full-strength or watered-down. (Or beer, if your culture made beer.) The alcohol killed any bacteria. Ignore all those teetotalers who claim “wine” back then was actually grape juice: Grape juice was as potentially harmful as water. It needed to be wine.

The gospels aren’t consistent in how they describe the wine Jesus was offered. Mark called it myrrh-wine and Matthew called it wine with χολῆς/holís, “bile.” For Luke and John, it was really old wine, which both of ’em straight-up called ὄξος/óxos, “vinegar.”

Mark 15.22-23 KWL

22 They bring Jesus to Gulgálta Place (i.e. Skull Place).

23 They’re giving Jesus myrrh-wine, which he doesn’t take.

 

Matthew 27.33-34 KWL

33 Coming to the place called Gulgálta, called Skull Place,

34 they give Jesus wine to drink—with bile mixed in,

and on tasting it he didn’t want to drink.

 

Luke 23.36 KWL

They mock him. The soldiers who came were bringing him vinegar…

John states they added hyssop, but the KJV changes John’s account to “[a branch] of hyssop,” Jn 19.29 KJV to sync it up with Mark and Matthew’s account of putting the wine in a sponge, putting the sponge on a reed (or a hyssop stick, I suppose), and offering it to Jesus. But hyssop is also a bitter extract, and may be what Matthew meant by bile. I dunno.

Mark 15.36 KWL

One of the runners, filling a sponge of vinegar,

putting it on a reed, gives Jesus a drink,

saying, “Let me do this;

we might see if Elijah comes to take him.”

 

Matthew 27.48 KWL

One runner quickly leaves them:

Taking a sponge full of vinegar,

putting it on a reed, he gives Jesus a drink.

 

John 19.28-30 KWL

28 After this Jesus, knowing everything was now finished,

says to fulfill the scripture, “I thirst.”

29 A full jar of vinegar is sitting there.

So a sponge full of vinegar, with hyssop put on it, is brought to Jesus’s mouth.

30 When he tastes the vinegar, Jesus says, “It’s finished.”

He bends his head and hands over his spirit.

Yeah, the soldiers and their runners offered Jesus vinegar more than once.

Certain commentators claim the myrrh in the wine was meant to be medicinal. Supposedly the Romans, feeling a little bad for their victims, wanted to numb them just a little to the excruciating pain of crucifixion. Man, is that optimistic of the commentators. Ask your local supplier of essential oils: Myrrh is no painkiller. It wasn’t even a folk-remedy painkiller. The ancients used it as perfume—to keep wounds and medicines from smelling bad. From there, moderns leap to the conclusion it was kind of an antiseptic—it kept wounds from getting infected and gangrenous, right? But it didn’t do that at all: It hid the smell of wounds which were getting septic. It made you worse, not better. Despite your favorite websites, myrrh has no proven purpose in medicine.

So what was it doing in the wine? Myrrh is bitter. (So’s hyssop.) It made the wine taste like bile. And when people taste bile, what do they do? They gag: It tastes like vomit. They’ll frequently even vomit.

Yep, it was the Romans’ sick little joke. The victims got thirsty and begged for wine… so you gave ’em myrrh-wine, and watched ’em freak out. Arguably that was why they put the vinegar in a sponge on a reed: It wasn’t because the crosses were impractically tall. It’s because the soldiers didn’t wanna get puked on.

Wasn’t Jesus thirsty?

Christians sometimes think there’s a serious discrepancy in the gospels’ stories of Jesus’s crucifixion. ’Cause in Mark and Matthew, Jesus refused to drink anything. But in John, he declared “I’m thirsty!” and drank the vinegar. Or wine, depending on the translation—and upon whether the translators could imagine Jesus willingly drinking vinegar.

I’ve heard interpreters claim Jesus refused the wine because he didn’t wanna be numbed. He wanted to really suffer all the pain he was going through, with senses entirely intact. (Or as intact as they could be, considering all the blood loss.) He was dying for our sins here, and he wanted sin to suffer on its way down. So no alcohol, no myrrh, no nothing. Bring on the pain!

There’s a bothersome amount of sadomasochism in this interpretation, which says all sorts of creepy things about the preachers. There’s plenty of suffering involved in public rejection, flogging, and crucifixion. Jesus was going down hard. Bad wine and a mild sedative weren’t gonna make things better.

But again, that wasn’t the Romans’ motive at all. They weren’t trying to be light on their victims. They figured every crucified person was an annoyance or danger to Rome, and deserved what they were getting. They’d just beaten Jesus up for fun. They were still having fun at his expense, gambling for his clothes, mocking the title which Pilatus had fastened to the cross. Myrrh-wine wasn’t a mercy. It was more sick fun.

So you can see why Jesus initially wouldn’t touch the stuff. Of course he was thirsty. But not that thirsty.

That is, till the very end. John said he decided to drink the vinegar to fulfill the scriptures. Jn 19.28 Maybe he meant the Psalms passage, where David’s enemies made him drink vinegar. But maybe it’s also this passage:

Mark 14.24-25 KWL

24 Jesus tells them, “This is the blood of my relationship, poured out for many.

25 Amen: I promise you I’ll never drink of the fruit of the vine again—

till that day when I drink it new, in God’s kingdom.”

I admit that’s a stretch though. John never quoted that statement, and you know he totally would have if it were relevant. I have nonetheless heard it preached that Jesus was willing to drink the wine because it was finished: He was dying, God’s kingdom was coming into the world, and all things were being made new. He drank it in victory… though it sure didn’t look like any victory at the time. But meh; I don’t buy it.

Is there an inconsistency between Jesus’s declaration, “I’ll never drink of the fruit of the vine again,” and drinking the vinegar? Maybe. But I expect, and most Christian expect, Jesus was speaking of proper wine. The festal stuff, which you drink at Passovers and holidays. Not the awful swill the Romans were providing.

In any event he probably did have the Psalms passage in mind when he drank the vinegar. Here the Romans were, offering him phony comfort. But it was deliberately made bitter, and was just another form of torment.

So Jesus put it off till the very last minute, did the deed and fulfilled the verse… then gave up the ghost.

What became of Judas Iscariot.

Matthew 27.3-10, Acts 1.15-26.

Technically Judas bar Simon of Kerioth, the renegade follower of Jesus whom we know as Judas Iscariot, isn’t part of the stations of the cross. Whether we’re using St. Francis or St. John Paul’s list, neither of ’em figured his situation is specifically worthy of meditation. Although we should study Judas some, ’cause he’s an example of an apostle gone wrong—an example we really don’t wanna follow. Nor repeat. But Jesus was too busy going through his own suffering to really focus on what was happening with Judas.

Judas came up when he handed Jesus over to the authorities… and in three of the gospels, that’s the last we ever hear of him. The exceptions are Matthew—and since the author of Luke also wrote Acts, it’s kinda in another gospel, ’cause Acts is about how the Holy Spirit and apostles started Jesus’s church. But that’s a whole other discussion.

Here’s the problem: For the most part, the Matthew and Acts stories contradict one another.

Not that inerrantists haven’t tried their darnedest to sync them up, and I’ll get to how they’ve tried it. But first things first: The passages.

Matthew 27.3-10 KWL

3 Upon seeing Jesus is condemned,

a repentant Judas his betrayer returned the 30 silvers

to the head priests and elders,

4 saying, “I sin by betraying innocent blood.”

They say, “What’s it have to do with us?

It’s your problem.”

5 Throwing the silver into the temple, Judas leaves,

and goes off to hang himself.

6 The head priests, taking the silver, say,

“We can’t put this in the treasury,

since it’s the value of blood.”

7 Convening, they decide to buy with it the potter’s field,

for burying strangers.

8 Thus that land is called Bloodfield to this day;

9 then the saying of the prophet Jeremiah is fulfilled,

saying, “They take the 30 silvers,

the value of the one they valued,

who was valued by Israel’s sons.

10 They give it for the potter’s field,

just as the Lord directed me.”

 

Acts 1.15-20 KWL

15 In these days, Simon Peter gets up

in the middle of the family to say,

“The crowd is more than 120 people I can name.

16 Men! Family!

We have to fulfill the scripture

the Holy Spirit foretold through David’s mouth

about Judas, who became the guide of those who arrested Jesus.

17 Judas was counted among us.

He received a place in this ministry.

18 He thus got himself a plot of land

from his unrighteous reward,

and was found face-down,

burst open, his innards all spilled out.

19 All Jerusalem’s dwellers came to know it,

so the plot’s called in their dialect Khaqal-Dema,” i.e. Bloodfield.

20 “It’s written in the book of Psalms:

‘Make his house desert, and don’t let settlers in it.’ Ps 69.25

And alternately, ‘Another person: Take his office.’” Ps 109.8

The sepulcher guards.

Matthew 27.62-66 KWL

62 In the morning,

which is [the Saturday] after preparation,

the head priests and Pharisees

assembled with Pontius Pilate,

63 saying, “Master, we remember this imposter said while alive,

‘After three days I rise.’

64 So command the sepulcher to be secured for three days,

lest his coming students might steal him,

might tell the people, ‘He’s risen from the dead!’

and the last imposture will be worse than the first.”

65 Pilate tells them, “You have a guard.

Go secure it as best you know.”

66 Those who go, secure the sepulcher,

sealing the stone with the guards.

 

Matthew 28.2-4 KWL

2 Look, a great quake happens,

for the Lord’s angel, which comes down from heaven,

upon coming, rolls away the stone

and is sitting down upon it.

3 Its appearance is bright as lightning,

and its clothing white as snow.

4 The sepulcher guards shake in terror of it,

and become like the dead.

 

Matthew 28.11-15 KWL

11 As the women leave, look:

Some of the guards, coming into the city,

report to the head priests everything that happened.

12 Getting together for a meeting with the elders,

taking enough silver to give the soldiers,

13 the priests were saying, “Say this:

‘His students, coming at night, stole him as we slept.’

14 And when this is heard by the governor,

we’ll convince him, and you needn’t worry.”

15 Those who took the silver, did as the priests taught,

and spread this word throughout the Judeans

until this very day.

There’s some debate among Christians as to who these soldiers are. Did Pontius Pilate send his own soldiers to secure the sepulcher? Or were these Senate police?—the same guys who secured the temple for the priests; the same guys who arrested Jesus; the same guys who handled Senate security? When Pontius said, “You have a guard,” did he mean “You can have my guards,” or “You already have guards, and don’t need any of my guys”?

I lean towards temple guards. Here’s why.

Simon the Cyrenian, the man who carried Jesus’s cross.

Mark 15.21, Matthew 27.32, Luke 23.26.

Enroute to Golgotha, leading Jesus to the place they’d crucify him, the Romans decided he was inadequate to carry his crossbeam.

Movies and art, following St. Francis’s lists of the stations of the cross, depict Jesus falling over a bunch of times. The gospels don’t, but who knows?—maybe he did. He had been up all night and flogged half to death. Between sleep deprivation and blood loss, carrying a hundred-pound crossbeam would’ve been too much for anyone. (No, not the 300-pound full cross we see in paintings, such as the El Greco painting in my “Stations of the Cross” image. Even healthy convicts would’ve found that unmanageable.)

The Roman senate made it legal for soldiers to draft conquered peoples—basically anyone in the Roman Empire who lacked citizenship—into temporary service. Jesus referred to this law when he taught us to go the extra mile. Mt 5.41 So the Romans grabbed an able-bodied passerby to carry Jesus’s crossbeam. And since he later became Christian and his sons became bishops, the writers of the gospels mentioned him by name: Simon the Cyrenian (or “of Cyrene”).

Mark 15.21 KWL

The Romans draft a passerby,

a certain Simon the Cyrenian who’s coming from the fields,

the father of Alexander and Rufus,

so he’d carry Jesus’s crossbeam.

 

Matthew 27.32 KWL

Coming out, the Romans find a Cyrenian person named Simon.

This man, they compel

to take up Jesus’s crossbeam.

 

Luke 23.26 KWL

While the Romans lead Jesus away,

taking hold of Simon, a certain Cyrenian coming from the fields,

they lay the crossbeam upon him

to carry behind Jesus.

Jesus given a robe and crowned with thorns.

Mark 15.16-20, Matthew 27.27-31, Luke 23.11, John 19.2-3, 5-6.

People became Roman soldiers for all sorts of reasons. Some because the Roman army was a path to Roman citizenship. Some as punishment: It was either military service, or slavery and prison. Some for the adventure, or to get rich, or because they couldn’t imagine any other job options. Some because how else are you gonna get to crucify barbarians?

So it’s safe to figure the soldiers under Pontius Pilatus weren’t there to make friends with Judeans. On the contrary: Over time they likely grew more and more tired of Judeans. Especially those Judeans who were bigoted against gentiles, or were outraged over the Roman occupation. The Romans gave ’em legitimate reasons for not liking them: Soldiers tended to abuse their power so they could steal and extort. Lk 3.14 And bullies look for any excuse to justify themselves, so they were happy to return the hostility.

Given the opportunity to abuse a Judean and have some evil fun at his expense, the soldiers took advantage of it. That’s why they beat the crap out of Jesus. Crucifying him wasn’t enough for them: First they had to play a little game they called “the king’s game.”

Mark 15.16-20 KWL

16 The soldiers lead Jesus inside the courtyard,

which is the Prætorium.

They summon the whole unit.

17 They dress Jesus in “purple,”

and place a braided garland on him—of thorny acacia.

18 They begin to salute Jesus: “Hail, king of Judeans!”

19 They strike Jesus’s head with a staff,

and spit on him,

and bending the knee, they’re “worshiping” him.

20 While they mock Jesus, they strip the “purple” off him,

dress him in his own robe,

and send him away to crucify him.

 

Matthew 27.27-31 KWL

27 The leader’s soldiers then, taking Jesus into the Prætorium,

called the whole unit to him.

28 Undressing Jesus,

they drape him in a crimson coat.

29 Weaving a garland of thorny acacia,

they put it on Jesus’s head,

and a reed in his right hand.

Kneeling before him, they ridicule him,

saying, “Hail, king of Judeans!”

30 Spitting on him, they take the reed

and strike Jesus on the head.

31 While they mock Jesus, they take the coat off him,

dress him in his own clothes,

and lead him away to crucifixion.

 

Luke 23.11 KWL

Considering Jesus worthless,

Herod with his soldiers mockingly dressing him in campy clothing,

send him back to Pilate.

 

John 19.2-3 KWL

2 The soldiers, braiding a crown of thorny acacia,

force it on Jesus’s head.

They put a “purple” robe on him.

3 They’re coming to Jesus and saying, “Hail, king of Judeans!”

—as they give him punches.

The crowd shouts for Barabbas.

Mark 15.6-11, Matthew 27.15-21, Luke 23.17-25, John 18.39-40.

We actually have nothing in the Roman records about this custom the Roman governors had of releasing a prisoner every Passover. Doesn’t mean they didn’t do it; just means they kept it off the books. Which is understandable. Fleshly people tend to think of mercy and forgiveness as weakness, not strength; of compassion and generosity as something that other people will take advantage of, not benevolence. “If you give a mouse a cookie” and all that.

Anyway we have four historical records which indicate the Romans totally did free a prisoner every Passover: The gospels. Apparently Pontius Pilate had on hand an guy named Jesus bar Avvá, who’d been arrested during “the riot.” We don’t know which riot, and Christians like to speculate it was one of the more famous ones, but it had to have been fairly recent: Romans didn’t keep people in prison for long. They either held them for trial, flogged and released them, or crucified them.

Pontius wanted to free Jesus. But, probably ’cause Jesus is totally guilty of calling himself Messiah, Pontius didn’t wanna free him on his own authority. It might get back to Caesar Tiberius that he freed a self-proclaimed king. So he wanted an excuse, or to pass the buck to Herod. Likely that’s why he went with the whole free-a-convict-for-Passover thing: “Hey, why not Jesus?”

Well because they didn’t want Jesus; or at least that was the sentiment of the crowd the head priests brought in. Pontius gave them the option of Jesus the Nazarene, or Jesus bar Avvá. They went with bar-Avvá.

Mark 15.6-11 KWL

6 During the feast Pilatus would release one prisoner to them; whomever they asked.

7 There was one called bar-Avvá among the insurrectionists, imprisoned during the riot for committing murder.

8 Rising up, the crowd began to ask, as usual, for Pilatus to do for them.

9 In reply Pilatus told them, “You want me to free for you ‘the Judean king’?”

10 —knowing the head priests turned Jesus in out of envy.

11 The head priests incited the crowd to instead ask that bar-Avvá might be released to them.

 

Matthew 27.15-21 KWL

15 During the feast the prefect was accustomed to release one prisoner to them; whomever they wanted.

16 He then had a famous prisoner, called Jesus bar Avvá.

17 So Pilatus told the people who’d gathered for him, “Whom do you want me to release to you?—Jesus bar Avvá, or Jesus called Messiah?”

18 —knowing the head priests turned Jesus in out of envy.

19 (As he was sitting on the dais, his wife sent him a message:

“Keep away from that righteous man, for I saw many things in a dream about him.”)

20 The head priests and elders convinced the crowd to ask for bar-Avvá, and for Jesus’s destruction.

21 In reply the prefect told them, “Whom of the two do you want me to release to you?” They said, “Bar-Avvá.”

 

Luke 23.17-25 KWL

17 [He had to release one prisoner to them during the feast.]

18 The Judeans shouted out together, “Take this man away and release bar-Avvá to us!”

19 Bar-Avvá was thrown into prison because of a certain riot in the city, and murder.

20 Pilatus addressed them again, wanting to release Jesus,

21 and the crowd shouted back, saying, “Crucify! Crucify him!”

22 Pilatus told them thrice, “Why? Did this man do evil?

Nothing worth death was done by him. So I will punish and release him.”

23 The crowd insisted with loud voices, calling for Jesus to be crucified, and their voices prevailed.

24 Pilatus sentenced Jesus to have done as the crowd requested.

25 He released the one they requested, who was thrown into prison for riot and murder,

and Jesus was surrendered to the people’s will.

 

John 18.39-40 KWL

39 It’s your custom that one prisoner might be released to you on Passover,

so do you want me to release to you ‘the Judean king’?”

40 So they shouted again, saying, “Not him, but bar-Avvá!” (Bar-Avvá was a looter.)

Who’s bar-Avvá?

The gospels don’t give us much on who bar-Avvá is, mainly because they don’t really care.

The word in our bibles is Βαραββᾶς/Varavvás (KJV “Barabbas”), which is a transliteration of the Aramaic בַּר אַבה/bar Avvá, “son of Avvá.” Yes, Avvá was a proper Hebrew name back then, but loads of Christians like to make much of the fact the word also means “father,” and therefore “bar-Avvá” literally means “son of a father.” And hey, isn’t Jesus’s dad our heavenly Father? What an interesting contrast! But nah, it’s not all that interesting.

In some copies of Matthew, bar-Avvá’s given name is Jesus. Mt 16.18 NIV True, “Jesus” isn’t in the earliest copies of Matthew, and the earliest reference is the Codex Vaticanus, written in the early 300s. The reason it was probably dropped from those early copies is because the New Testament copyists tried to avoid referring to anybody other than Christ Jesus as “Jesus.” But tradition preserved bar-Avvá’s given name—and again there’s that interesting contrast between the two Jesuses. One’s a murderer; the other offers to save everyone from death. Jn 3.16

Bar-Avvá was arrested during a recent riot, for murder Mk 15.7 and looting. Jn 18.40 He was imprisoned among the insurrectionists, and that’s led various people to jump to the conclusion he was an insurrectionist; possibly one of the nativists who called themselves “Canaanites,” Mk 3.18, Mt 10.4 KJV or in Greek ζηλωτής/zilotís, “Zealots,” Lk 6.15, Ac 1.13 who wanted the Romans gone, and were willing to kill to get it. Bar-Avvá did commit murder after all; maybe he murdered a Roman.

But likely not. Pontius wouldn’t have suggested his name, or even considered him a possibility, if bar-Avvá murdered a Roman. He’d have been crucified the same day. More likely bar-Avvá took advantage of a riot and confusion to murder someone, and probably someone prominent, which is why he was now famous. Or maybe he was already prominent—a celebrity’s kid, or otherwise had prominent connections, which might explain why the Romans hadn’t yet crucified him.

Of course the Jesus movies like to depict him as a hardened criminal, a highwayman and bandit, a tough guy who was thrilled the crowd was shouting for him instead of that pacifist Nazarene sissy. Or maybe he took a look at Jesus and was magically struck with conviction—“why, this man is clearly innocent, even though I’ve never met him before and someone beat the tar out of him and all my cultural biases should be telling me the universe is punishing him”—or however the screenwriters like to play with the character. Me, I’m more interested in historical accuracy. Human nature dictates bar-Avvá really didn’t wanna get crucified, and didn’t care who took his place so long that he got to live. Beyond this story, we never hear of him again.

Jesus’s suffering.

Now of course Jesus didn’t wanna get crucified either. But he had accepted his coming death as an inevitability. The chance he might be pardoned, only existed in Pontius’s mind—and in the worries of the senators who wanted Jesus dead. Didn’t exist in Jesus’s. So really all this free-a-convict-for-Passover thingy did was delay the inevitable.

But you know Satan would’ve used it as a temptation: “Look, there’s a chance you might get freed! You won’t have to go through crucifixion! You’ll only get off with a flogging; shouldn’t that be enough?” Assuming the devil understood Jesus was trying to achieve atonement though his death; I don’t know what it knew or didn’t know, but it’s a good bet the devil wanted to frustrate anything Jesus was up to, or at least prolong the misery. If Jesus was determined to die, may as well dangle the possibility he might not.

And no, it’s not fun to hear a crowd reject you in favor of a really undeserving, truly bad guy. No matter the situation.

The crowd shouts for crucifixion.

Mark 15.8-14, Matthew 27.20-23, Luke 23.18-25, John 18.38-40.

When Jesus stood trial before Pontius Pilate, the Roman prefect quickly realized Jesus was no insurrectionist. Jesus’s claim of being Judea’s king was no political threat to the Roman senate and emperor. Case dismissed.

Except it wasn’t, because the Judean senators had somehow got a crowd together which was calling for Jesus’s death. And the easiest way to get Romans in a murdery mood is to disturb their peace. That’s the one thing Romans valued most: Social stability. Not actual peace, like Jesus gives us; just the appearance of peace, where nobody grumbles too loud, would do for them. And if they didn’t get it, they’d crucify everybody till they did.

The head priests knew this, so of course they got a crowd together, and made sure they were good and noisy.

Mark 15.8-14 KWL

8 Rising up, the crowd began to ask, as usual, for Pilatus to do for them.

9 In reply Pilatus told them, “You want me to free for you ‘the Judean king’?”

10 —knowing the head priests turned Jesus in out of spite.

11 The head priests incited the crowd to instead ask that bar-Avvá might be released to them.

12 In reply Pilatus again told them, “So what ought I do with the one called ‘the Judean king’?

13 The crowd shouted again, “Crucify him.”

14 Pilatus told them, “Why? Did he do evil?” But they shouted “Crucify him” all the more.

 

Matthew 27.20-23 KWL

20 The head priests and elders convinced the crowd to ask for bar-Avvá, and for Jesus’s destruction.

21 In reply the prefect told them, “Whom of the two do you want me to release to you?” They said, “Bar-Avvá.”

22 Pilatus told them, “So what will I do with Jesus called Messiah?” All said, “Crucify.”

23 Pilatus said, “Why? Did he do evil?” But they shouted “Crucify!” all the more.

 

Luke 23.18-25 KWL

18 The Judeans shouted out together, “Take this man away and release bar-Avvá to us!”

19 Bar-Avvá was thrown into prison because of a certain riot in the city, and murder.

20 Pilatus addressed them again, wanting to release Jesus,

21 and the crowd shouted back, saying, “Crucify! Crucify him!”

22 Pilatus told them thrice, “Why? Did this man do evil?

Nothing worth death was done by him. So I will punish and release him.”

23 The crowd insisted with loud voices, calling for Jesus to be crucified, and their voices prevailed.

24 Pilatus sentenced Jesus to have done as the crowd requested.

25 He released the one they requested, who was thrown into prison for riot and murder,

and Jesus was surrendered to the people’s will.

 

John 18.38-40 KWL

38 Pilatus told Jesus, “What’s ‘truth’?”

This said, he went out again to the Judeans and told them, “I find nothing in him of cause.

39 It’s your custom that one prisoner might be released to you on Passover,

so do you want me to release to you ‘the Judean king’?”

40 So they shouted again, saying, “Not him, but bar-Avvá!” (Bar-Avvá was a looter.)

41 So then Pilatus took Jesus and flogged him.

More about bar-Avvá another time.

The crowd’s constitution.

Preachers are mighty fond of claiming the crowd which asked for bar-Avvá to be freed, and for Jesus to be crucified, was the very same crowd which hailed Jesus on Palm Sunday. We have no evidence of that whatsoever, but these preachers love the idea of the crowd turning on Jesus; praising him one day, rejecting him the next, much like the students who rejected him after he told them to eat him. Denouncing hypocrites is fun, so this old claim manages to worm its way into every Holy Week message. But it’s likely rubbish.

Ancient Jerusalem was a big city. Ordinarily 40,000 people lived there, which means you could put together a dozen massive Jesus-denying crowds with entirely different people in ’em, same as such a population nowadays can easily host a dozen Jesus-affirming churches. But y’might remember Passover was going on, which every adult male Israelite was commanded to attend. Ex 23.17 During the Jewish War, which started during one of the mandatory festivals, Josephus stated the city physically held more than 125,000 people. Granted some people might’ve been in both crowds, but certainly not all. And if the head priests gathered this crowd, these definitely wouldn’t be Jesus fans.

Also bear in mind the Romans’ fort, Antonia, couldn’t hold a crowd of thousands. The temple, which Antonia overlooked, could; but no matter how much the head priests wanted Jesus dead, it’s extremely unlikely they’d have used the temple courts to host a crowd shouting “Crucify him!” So the size of this crowd wasn’t as vast as the Jesus movies make it look; we’re only talking 300 people at the very most. Even without shouting they’d make a lot of noise, but they only needed to be just noisy enough to sway Pontius. Which they did.

The other consideration is this was Friday, 3 April 33, the day before Passover and the day before Sabbath, and therefore a day you were super busy getting ready. You had to get your lamb killed and skinned and roasted; you had to go to temple for your ritual sacrifices (and get in line, ’cause there were tons of other Israelite families with Passover sacrifices, but only so many priests, and just the one altar); and if you had to go to temple it meant you had to get ritually clean the day before, and stay ritually clean till you got to temple, and couldn’t risk becoming ritually unclean by gathering in a crowded Roman fortress where there’d be a bunch of uncircumcised pork-eating soldiers who touched dead things and blood and didn’t wash their hands. So the crowd had to consist of people who finished their temple rituals first thing in the morning… and who wouldn’t mind getting ritually unclean for a little while, and do the head priests a favor.

Likewise people who didn’t have a problem getting one of their fellow Israelites crucified by the Romans. Who didn’t really have a problem with the Roman occupation period; who might’ve even profited off it. Who didn’t just reject the idea of Jesus as Messiah, but may not have even believed any Messiah was coming, like Sadducees. And since the head priests were Sadducees themselves, maybe they handpicked a crowd of fellow Sadducees. The gospels don’t say… but if the entire crowd would Sadducee, they absolutely wouldn’t have among the crowd cheering Jesus at Palm Sunday, ’cause shouting Hosanna to an incoming Messiah is way more of a Pharisee thing.

Jesus represents a total overhaul of the status quo. (Including our own.) If the crowd had more to lose by such changes, they’d shout all the more for Jesus’s destruction. And so it appears they did.

Jesus’s suffering.

In these stations of the cross articles we’re looking particularly at how Jesus suffered. And of course he suffered in hearing the crowds call for his death. He didn’t wanna die. Definitely didn’t wanna be crucified. But this was the sort of death he knew was coming; it was part of the Father’s plan, and the Father’s plan is his plan too.

And he came to save this crowd too. He wants everybody to be saved, 1Ti 2.4 even the ones who wanted him dead, even the people today who want him and Christianity gone, and would crucify him again if they could get their hands on him. It’s a pity they resisted his grace; it’s a pity people still resist it. It just goes to demonstrate how messed up humanity is. Obviously we need a savior—who isn’t gonna let us, killing him, stop him from saving us regardless.

Jesus is put in his sepulcher.

Mark 15.42-47, Matthew 27.57-61, Luke 23.50-56, John 19.38-42.

On the afternoon of Good Friday, after a flogging and crucifixion, Jesus died. Roman custom was to just leave the corpse on the cross for the birds to pick at, but Jewish custom was to bury people immediately. On the very same day they died, if possible. And since the next day was Sabbath—and in the year 33, also Passover—they especially needed to get everybody off the crosses and buried posthaste.

Now in previous generations, “buried” means buried: Dig a hole in the ground deep enough for animals to not get at the corpse, put the body in, fill the hole back in. In Jesus’s day, Jewish custom had changed. Now what they did was wrap the body in moist linen strips, and put it on a stone slab in a sepulcher. This way the body would rot quickly—and after a year or so, there’d be nothing left but bones, which were then collected and put into an ossuary. (They figured in the resurrection, all God needed was the bones—same as in Ezekiel’s vision.)

So whenever people make a big deal about Jesus’s empty tomb… well frankly, at one point or another, every Judean sepulcher would be empty. ’Cause they’d take the bones away.

So that’s what happened after Jesus died. Joseph of Ramah (Greek Ἀριμαθαίας/Arimathaías, Hebrew רָמָתַ֛יִם צוֹפִ֖ים/Ramataym-Chofím, KJV Ramathaimzophim), a senator who hadn’t agreed with the vote to condemn Jesus, Lk 23.51 took it upon himself to take care of Jesus’s body. All the gospels give him his due credit.

Mark 15.42-47 KWL

42 When evening came—because it was Preparation, the day before Sabbath—

43 respected senator Joseph from Ramah, who was also awaiting God’s kingdom, came.

Daring to enter Pontius Pilate’s house, he asked for Jesus’s body.

44 Pilate was surprised Jesus was already dead.

Calling the centurion, he asked him if Jesus was already dead,

45 and learning it from the centurion, Pilate gave the corpse to Joseph.

46 Buying linen, taking Jesus down, Joseph wrapped him in linen.

He put the corpse in a sepulcher hewn from rock, and rolled a stone over the sepulcher’s door.

47 Mary the Magdalene and Mary mother of Joses saw where the corpse was put.

Matthew 27.57-61 KWL

57 Come evening came a wealthy man from Ramah named Joseph, who himself was a student of Jesus.

58 This Joseph went to Pontius Pilate to ask for Jesus’s body. Then Pilate commanded it be given.

59 Taking Jesus’s body, Joseph wrapped it in pure linen

60 and put it in Joseph’s own new sepulcher, cut from rock,

rolled a large stone against the sepucher’s door, and went away.

61 Mary the Magdalene and another Mary were there, sitting opposite the tomb.

Luke 23.50-56 KWL

50 Look, a man named Joseph, using his position as a senator—

a good and righteous man; 51 this Joseph hadn’t agreed with the senate and its action—

from Ramah, Judea, who awaited God’s kingdom—

52 this Joseph went to Pontius Pilate to ask for Jesus’s body.

53 Taking the corpse down, he wrapped it in linen

and put it in a stonecut sepulcher in which no one had yet laid.

54 It was Preparation Day, and Sabbath was beginning.

55 The women who had come together with Jesus from the Galilee, followed Joseph.

They saw the sepulcher and how Joseph arranged Jesus’s body.

56 On returning, they prepared spices and myrrh,

and once it was actually Sabbath, rested according to the command.

John 19.38-42 KWL

38 After these things Joseph from Ramah, who was Jesus’s student (secretly, for fear of the Judeans),

asked Pontius Pilate that he might take Jesus’s body.

Pilate allowed it, so Joseph came and took Jesus’s body.

39 Nikodemus, who had first come to Jesus at night, also came

bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloe vera weighing 100 Roman pounds [72.5 English pounds, 32.9 kilos].

40 So they took Jesus’s body and tied the spices to it with strips, as is the Judean burial custom.

41 A garden was in the place where Jesus was crucified,

and in the garden, a new sepulcher in which no one had yet laid.

42 So there, on the Judean Preparation Day,

because it was near the sepulcher, they arranged Jesus’s body.

“My God, why have you forsaken me?”

Mark 15.33-36, Matthew 27.45-49.

Before he died, Jesus shouted out something in a language his bystanders didn’t recognize. And a lot of present-day commentators don’t recognize it either. We know it was Psalm 22.1, but some of us say Jesus quoted it in Aramaic; some say Hebrew. Which was it?

The reason for the confusion is that Mark and Matthew don’t match. Both of ’em recorded Jesus’s words as best they could—but they did so in the Greek alphabet, which doesn’t correspond neatly to Hebrew and Aramaic sounds. So here’s what we got. (And if your web browser reads Unicode, you might actually see the original-language characters.)

VERSE	ORIGINAL	TRANSLITERATION
Ps 22.1, Hebrew	אֵלִ֣י אֵלִ֣י לָמָ֣ה עֲזַבְתָּ֑נִי	Elí Elí, lamá azavettáni?
Ps 22.1, Aramaic (Syriac)	ܐܠܗ ܐܠܗܝ ܠܡܢܐ ܫܒܩܬܢ	Elahí Elahí, lamaná šavaqtaní?
Mk 15.34, Greek	ἐλωΐ ἐλωΐ, λεμᾶ σαβαχθανί;	Elo’í Elo’í, lemá savahthaní? (or σαβακτανεί/savaktaneí in the Codex Sinaiticus.)
Mt 27.46, Greek	ἠλί ἠλί, λεμὰ σαβαχθανί;	Ilí ilí, lemá savahthaní?

Just based on how the gospels’ authors wrote the word for “my God,” Elí in Hebrew or Elahí in Aramaic, it kinda looks like Mark was quoting an Aramaic translation of the psalms, and Matthew the Hebrew original.

But it seems to me the most likely Jesus would quote bible in Hebrew. For three reasons:

1. That is the language King David wrote his psalm in.
2. It’d explain why the people who heard Jesus quote it, didn’t understand him. Judeans and Galileans spoke Aramaic; that’s what the New Testament meant by Ἑβραϊστί/Evrahistí and Ἑβραΐδι/Evra’ídi, “Hebraic.” Jn 5.2, Ac 22.2, 26.14, Rv 9.11 In the first century Hebrew was a dead language, only spoken by scribes like Jesus.
3. It’s way easier to confuse Elí with Ἡλίας/Ilías, the Greek version of אֵלִיָּה/Eliyyáhu, “Elijah,” than it is Elahí.

Regardless, in my translation the words in Jesus’s mouth are Aramaic in Mark, and Hebrew in Matthew. ’Cause that’s what the authors were apparently going for.

Mark 15.33-36 KWL 33 When the sixth hour since sunrise—noon—came, darkness came over all the land till the ninth hour. 34 At the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Elahí Elahí, lamaná šavaqtáni?” which is translated, “My God my God, for what reason have you left me behind?” Ps 22.1 35 Some of the bystanders who heard it said, “Look: He calls Elijah.” 36 One of the runners, filling a sponge of vinegar, putting it on a reed, gave Jesus a drink, saying, “Let’s see if Elijah comes to take him.”

Matthew 27.45-49 KWL 45 From the sixth hour since sunrise—noon— darkness came over all the land until the ninth hour. 46 Around the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Elí Elí, lamáh azavettáni?” That is, “My God my God, why did you leave me behind?” Ps 22.1 47 Some of the bystanders who heard it said this: “This man calls Elijah.” 48 One runner quickly left them: Taking a sponge full of vinegar, putting it on a reed, he gave Jesus a drink. 49 The others said, “Let’s see if Elijah comes, and will save him.”

Awright, now that we have the language sorta squared away, let’s get to what was going on here.

The “unbelieving” thief.

Mark 15.27, 32, Matthew 27.38, 44, Luke 23.32-33, 39.

Okay. Did the believing thief, now the unbelieving thief.

The gospels state two thieves were crucified with Jesus—

Mark 15.27 KWL

They crucified two thieves with Jesus: One on the right, one at his left.

 

Matthew 27.38 KWL

38 Then two thieves were crucified with Jesus, one at right and one at left.

 

Luke 23.32-33 KWL

32 They brought two others with Jesus, evildoers to be done away with.

33 When they came to the place called Skull, there they crucified Jesus and the evildoers,

who were at right and at left.

—but they never did identify them, so Christian tradition named ’em Dismas and Gesmas. Never did say which one was on the right, and which was on the left. All we know was at first, both were railing at Jesus—

Mark 15.32 KWL

“Messiah, king of Israel, has to come down from the cross now, so we can see and believe him.”

And those crucified with Jesus insulted him.

 

Matthew 27.44 KWL

Likewise the thieves crucified with Jesus insulted him.

—and then Dismas had a change of heart, asked Jesus to remember him, and Jesus offered him paradise.

Whereas all Gestas has gone down in history for doing is saying this:

Luke 23.39 KWL

One of the hanging evildoers was slandering Jesus, saying,

“Aren’t you Messiah? Save yourself and us!”

Popularly this is interpreted as Gestas’s unbelief. Because he was slandering Jesus: He was calling him things he’s not. Most folks misinterpret ἐβλασφήμει/evlasfímei as “hurled insults,” like the NIV has it. (It’s similar to the KJV’s “railed.”) But the proper translation is to blaspheme, or slander. Gestas wasn’t simply cussing Jesus out. He was saying stuff he deep-down knew wasn’t so. He knew Jesus is Messiah—but was too angry, too much in pain, to confess it.

Same as a lot of antichrists. They know who Jesus is. They realize he’s not exaggerating; his followers haven’t just taken an obscure Galilean rabbi and made up stuff about him; Jesus is on the level, and he’s Lord. But they don’t wanna follow him. Don’t wanna repent. Don’t wanna submit. Don’t wanna let go of their rage and bitterness. They’d rather die first. As Gestas literally did.

“Why isn’t God granting my wishes?”

Part of the reason Gestas was furious with Jesus is in his demand, “Save yourself and us!” He was nailed to a cross, same as Jesus. Not just tied to it, like the movies and art depict, as if only Jesus got the worst of it; nailed. Four spikes through the wrists and ankles, through the most sensitive nerves in the body, guaranteed to be non-stop agony till he died—sometimes days later. (Although because Sabbath was at sundown, the Romans “mercifully” killed the victims later that day—by breaking their legs so they could no longer pull themselves up to breathe.) Every minute was suffering.

Gestas didn’t want to end his suffering by dying, but by getting rescued. And here right next to him… was Messiah! The anointed king of Israel. The guy who’d rescue Israel from Rome, if Pharisees were to be believed. So if he’s really Messiah, shouldn’t his followers come rescue him so he could achieve the Pharisee End Times prophecies? Since Jesus was widely known for his miracles—curing the sick, multiplying food, throwing out devils—shouldn’t he have access to God’s supernatural might in this situation too? Why on earth was he permitting the Romans to kill him?—he should be able to speak a word and end his own pain! What was wrong with him?

See, very few of us have the patience to tolerate a moment of what Jesus did. If we could put a stop to it, we absolutely would. If we could put a stop to others’ pain, we absolutely will. We’ll give them the very best painkillers there are. We’ll give ’em morphine, heroin, whatever. We’ll even kill them, and justify it by saying it was out of mercy.

So Gestas was in agony—and wanted to know why Jesus, who had the power to immediately stop it, wouldn’t. It’s basic theodicy: Why does a good God put up with such evil things in his universe?

But when people are in great pain, they don’t truly want an explanation. They only want the pain to stop. Gestas didn’t care what Jesus’s thinking or plan was. Didn’t care that, as the thief on the other cross pointed out, they totally deserved crucifixion. He wanted off the cross. Jesus could get him off the cross, but wouldn’t. So to Gestas’s mind, Jesus sucked.

And how often do other people, Christians included, think the very same way? When we’re suffering—even when the suffering is our own fault, the natural or legal consequence of our own sin or stupidity—we don’t care God tried to warn us away from it, never promised us a suffering-free life, frequently lets things naturally unfold, or is even gonna make something redemptive out of what we’re going through. We don’t care about God’s will. We want our will to be done.

Gestas isn’t any different than most of humanity. Let’s not judge him as if we’re any better than he. If we were in his shoes—or on his cross—we’d likewise be screaming for Jesus to get us out of there. Really, we’d be nuts if we didn’t.

But the fact we’d even be screaming at Jesus means, to some tiny degree, we do believe. Otherwise we wouldn’t waste our breath. (Especially considering how painful it was to even get a breath when you’re being crucified!) We believe enough… to be majorly disappointed in God.

Of course we oughta have more faith than that. Enough to trust God regardless. So we’d better pray. Because, God forbid, we may one day find ourselves in Gestas’s type of situation, where things look terrible and we’re furious at God for not giving us an obvious escape. We’d better pray for the faith strong enough to overcome even that. ’Cause we never do know when we’ll need it.

Jesus comforts the believing thief.

Mark 15.27, 32, Matthew 27.38, 44, Luke 23.32-33, 39-43.

Jesus was crucified at about “the third hour [after sunrise],” Mk 15.25 and died at the ninth. Mk 15.34-37 Sunrise on 3 April 33, in that latitude (and before daylight-saving time was implemented), is at 5:24 AM. But “third hour” and “ninth hour” are hardly exact times; figure roughly from 8:30 AM to 2:30 PM he was on that cross. Six hours, slowly suffocating.

His cross was in between that of two evildoers Lk 23.33 or thieves. Mk 15.27 Christians like to imagine these guys were worse, like insurrectionists, or highwaymen who murdered their victims. ’Cause karma: If you’re getting crucified, it’d better be for murder or something just as awful. One of these guys implied they were getting their just desserts, Lk 23.41 so shouldn’t that make ’em murderers? Death by crucifixion sounds like way too extreme a penalty for mere thieves.

But we have to remember we’re dealing with Romans here. For them, everything merited death. They didn’t care the penalty didn’t fit the crime: They just wanted thievery to stop. So, one strike and you’re out. Thieves knew this was the risks of the job. But like all criminals, they figured they were smarter than the authorities, and they, unlike their dumber colleagues, would get away with it. These guys didn’t: The Romans caught ’em and crucified ’em. And that’s the way the game is played.

We don’t have their names. But you gotta call ’em something, so Christian tradition calls these guys Gestas and Dismas. Meh; whatever. Since Dismas was the guy who turned to Jesus and got into paradise, he’s now St. Dismas. (And 25 March is even St. Dismas’s Day. How ’bout that.) Whatever his actual name is, that idea isn’t wrong: He’s in the kingdom now.

Two of the gospels make it sound like they neither thief had any love for Jesus. They joined right in with all the non-crucified folks mocking Jesus.

Mark 15.27 KWL

They crucified two thieves with Jesus: One on the right, one at his left.

 

Matthew 27.38 KWL

38 Then two thieves were crucified with Jesus, one at right and one at left.

 

Luke 23.32-33 KWL

32 They brought two others with Jesus, evildoers to be done away with.

33 When they came to the place called Skull, there they crucified Jesus and the evildoers,

who were at right and at left.

 

Mark 15.32 KWL

“Messiah, king of Israel, has to come down from the cross now, so we can see and believe him.”

And those crucified with Jesus insulted him.

 

Matthew 27.44 KWL

Likewise the thieves crucified with Jesus insulted him.

But at some point during those six hours, Dismas had a change of heart, and when Gesmas was sniping at Jesus, Dismas decided to stand up for him.

Luke 23.39-43 KWL

39 One of the hanging evildoers was slandering Jesus, saying,

“Aren’t you Messiah? Save yourself and us!”

40 In rebuking reply, the other said, “Have you no respect for God? We’re under his judgment!

41 And we rightly so, for we got the consequence for what we practiced.

But this man did nothing wrong.”

42 He said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

43 Jesus said, “Amen! I promise you’ll be with me in paradise today.”

Paradise? What about heaven?

Popular culture insists when we die, we go to heaven. Popular Christianity tends to do likewise. And it’s sorta true… but it skips an awful lot of stuff which happens inbetween now and heaven.

See, heaven isn’t the place of the dead, but the living. There are no dead people in heaven. Jesus is there—but as you recall, he’s not dead. He got resurrected. The Father is there; angels of various species are there; plus people whom God decided to take to heaven early. Like Elijah. And, according to some traditions, Jesus’s mom.

When we die, we go to the afterlife. Which gets called by various things in the bible. Usually ἅδης/ádis, “hades,” or as the KJV confusingly and inaccurately puts it, “hell.” It’s what the Apostles’ Creed means when it states Jesus “descended into hell”: He went to the afterlife. Not the burning pool of fire and sulfur; that doesn’t exist yet. Hades isn’t necessarily a place of torment. For those who reject God, yes it’s gonna suck. For those who trust God, it’s gonna be peace and comfort as we await our resurrection. It’s going to be, to use Jesus’s word, παραδείσῳ/paradeíso, “paradise.”

But paradise is gonna be temporary. ’Cause once Jesus returns, he’s raising all us Christians from the dead. 1Th 4.16 And at the very End, he’s raising everyone else from the dead. Rv 20.12 Those who reject God are going into the fire, Rv 20.15 and those who don’t will live forever with God in New Heaven. Rv 21.1-4 That’s when we go to heaven. Not right away. But eventually.

People don’t always wanna hear that. They much prefer the pop culture idea: “We’re going to heaven! To be with Jesus forever!” And maybe even become angels, like the pagans believe; and watch over our loved ones, and listen to them whenever they talk at our graves. Unless they’re boring and ramble on and on and on, ’cause I’ve been to the cemetery and heard people talk to dead spouses; if they’re listening to that day in and day out, they’re clearly not in any good part of the afterlife. Egad.

Most of us figure when people are in mourning, now is not the time to correct their theology. Problem is, they never correct it any other time, and let ’em keep on believing heaven is the afterlife. And that we never leave this afterlife.

Well. The Pharisees taught there is an afterlife, and paradise within it. They even located it in the “third heaven,” 2Co 12.2 seven heavens below the place where God dwells (and five below the stars in the seventh heaven), so technically it’s not the heaven, God’s heaven. But it’s not on earth either.

This is the paradise Jesus spoke of. He and Dismas would die that day: Jesus from running out of strength due to his flogging and blood loss and sleep deprivation, and Dismas from the Romans breaking his legs Jn 19.32 so it’d be impossible to pull himself up to breathe, and he’d suffocate quicker, and be dead before sundown. But they’d be in the afterlife together—in the good part of the afterlife, in paradise.

I know; plenty of Christians have explained paradise away as a “spiritual paradise,” as Thomas Aquinas put it: He meant heaven, right? ’Cause everybody knows when people die they go to heaven. And thus we embrace our favorite beliefs instead of what Jesus likely meant. As usual.

Was this the answer the thief wanted?

Realistically, I doubt Dismas ever heard Jesus’s statements to his students that he was gonna die yet rise on the third day. So if he knew anything at all about the resurrection—that Jesus would die that day, but rise once Sabbath was over and take possession of his kingdom—this info had to have come directly from the Holy Spirit. There’s no possible way Dismas could’ve deduced it.

But if the Spirit had told Dismas no such thing, what could we reasonably expect him to think? Two possibilities.

• He imagined Jesus was gonna get rescued (miraculously or not), survive crucifixion, and see his kingdom come.
• He was delirious from pain, and didn’t know what Jesus’s condition was—but deep down believed Jesus is Messiah, so it was only a matter of time before he took possession of his kingdom.

Either way we’ve got faith there. Wrong or wack, but still faith.

But Jesus’s response referred to paradise, not the kingdom. The afterlife, not the present, nor even the age to come. Death, not life. He and Dismas were gonna die; he to come back in a few days, and Dismas to come back once Jesus takes his kingdom. Either way, it’s not a timeline Dismas expected. Heck, even Jesus’s students had it wrong, and he’d told them how many times he was gonna die and come back?

So Dismas may not have expected to hear this response from Jesus. But I believe Jesus meant it as comfort, and I expect it was comforting. Dismas had every reason to assume he’d never make it to a good afterlife. More likely something hotter, something which stank more than crucifixion. But instead, thanks to God’s grace, he was gonna be with Jesus, and receive comfort instead of torment. So there’s that.

It probably bugged Jesus that he couldn’t offer Dismas anything more at that time. Usually Jesus didn’t just offer kind words and nothing more, like some pathetic chaplain who doesn’t really believe in miracles (and frankly, won’t always mean it when they offer stale platitudes): Jesus cured the suffering. But at the time, the healer couldn’t heal. Just like his enemies taunted.

The women who watched Jesus die.

Mark 15.40-41, Matthew 27.55-56, Luke 23.49, John 19.25.

Various Christians like to point out, “There were actually two groups of people following Jesus: There were the disciples, and there were the women.” Though y’notice they seldom bring up the women till we get to one of the stories in the gospels about the women.

With some due respect to these Christians, there were not two groups following Jesus; there was one. His students. The people who supported him, served him, and listened to his teachings. The Twelve were a special group of students whom Jesus singled out, and of course there were plenty of students who didn’t stick around after Jesus taught something too hardcore for them. But everyone who followed him, he considered a student. That includes the women.

Yes, history describes Pharisee rabbis as only instructing young men—and I remind you in Jesus’s culture you were “a man” at age 13, which is why I keep referring to his students as kids. That was their expectation, anyway: If men were gonna live under the Law, they needed to be trained, while still young, how Pharisees interpret the finer points of the Law. But let’s be blunt: The rabbis taught ’em all the Pharisee loopholes. This way they could appear religious, but not have to struggle all that hard when it comes to the things which really tempt people. It’s what Jesus called straining out the gnats, but swallowing camels. Mt 23.24 Basically lessons in hypocrisy. And as we know, Jesus taught no such thing; he totally expected his students to be authentic God-followers. Still does.

But rabbis didn’t just get teenage students. Friday nights, when they held Sabbath synagogue, people of any age showed up. And sometimes throughout the week, these same people might show up and listen to a lesson. And bring questions.

Synagogues segregated women in the back, and in open-air classes like Jesus taught, they’d still customarily sit in the back or on the sidelines. Ostensibly they were waiting for their brothers or spouses or kids, or were only there to tend to the rabbi’s needs. In reality they were also getting an education. They weren’t permitted to ask questions, and in so doing spoil the cultural illusion. They weren’t allowed to sit up front with the boys, like Mary of Bethany totally did, Lk 10.39 and be overt students. But Jesus was totally fine with Mary’s behavior. Lk 10.42 And most rabbis approved of the women listening in. (After all, mothers were expected to raise good Pharisee kids, and how’re you gonna do that if you don’t know what Pharisees teach?)

So the women were Jesus’s students too. Same as the boys. So they weren’t among the Twelve; why should this stop anyone from likewise sharing Jesus with the world? Or stop Jesus from sending ’em on their own missions?

Okay. This said, I oughta point out the women who were at Jesus’s cross, the women who watched him die, were not necessarily students. One certainly was: Mary the Magdalene. But the others who were listed by name, were actually Jesus’s family members: His mother and aunts.

Mark 15.40-41 KWL

40 There were women watching from far away,

among them Mary the Magdalene, Mary mother of little James and Joses, and Salomé.

41 When in the Galilee, these women followed Jesus and served him.

Many other women had traveled with Jesus to Jerusalem.

 

Matthew 27.55-26 KWL

55 There were many women there, watching from far away,

who followed Jesus from the Galilee, who served him.

56 Among them was Mary the Magdalene, Mary mother of James and Joses,

and Salomé mother of Zebedee’s children.

 

Luke 23.49 KWL

Everyone who knew Jesus were standing far away, watching this,

including the women who followed him from the Galilee.

 

John 19.25 KWL

Standing by Jesus’s cross were his mother, his mother’s sister Salomé,

Mary wife of Clopas, and Mary the Magdalene.

So according to John, Jesus’s mother was there. And according to all the gospels, so was Mary, the wife of Joseph’s brother Clopas, the mother of his apostle James “the less”; and Salomé (some ancients called her “Mary Salomé,” maybe mixing the aunts together), Jesus’s mother’s sister, the wife of Zebedee and mother of his apostles James and John.

Yep, family. Now you see why they stuck around.

Watching from afar.

Since various Christians don’t recognize the family connections, they make various other assumptions as to why the women stuck around but the men didn’t. And maybe—maybe—there’s some legitimacy to some of them. But probably they’re just reading their own cultural assumptions into things.

Fr’instance cracks about their level of commitment. Because the boys all fled, or pretended not to even know him, but the women stuck around. So people like to make statements about the women’s loyalty, devotion, boldness, fearlessness… traits we do honestly see more often among female Christians than male Christians. But this casual observation misses and ignores several things in the gospels. First of all Jesus wanted the kids to get away, Jn 18.8 and not be arrested and crucified with him. Second, some of the boys did stick around to see what happened, like Simon Peter, John, and Judas Iscariot; and possibly others. And third, the women’s loyalty wasn’t based on what they believed; they were family. They didn’t have to believe in Jesus (though they did); they’d be there for him regardless, because that’s what family does. Should do, anyway.

I’ve heard people claim the men had to go into hiding lest the Romans suspect them of being fellow revolutionaries; but the women could be out in the open because the Romans would never suspect them. It’s a profoundly naïve statement. Have none of them read about Yaél?

Judges 4.17-22 KWL

17 Siserá fled by foot to the tent of Yaél, Khevér the Qeyni’s woman.

(There was peace between king Yavín of Khachór, and Khevér the Qeyni’s house.)

18 Yaél went out to meet Siserá, and told him, “Master, come in; don’t fear.”

He went inside her tent. She covered him with a rug.

19 Siserá told Yaél, “Please give me a little water to drink; I’m thirsty.”

She opened a skin of milk, gave him a drink, and covered him again.

20 Siserá told Yaél, “Stand at the tent door.

If a man happens to come and ask you—to say, ‘Is there a man here?’ you say no.”

21 Then Yaél, Khevér’s woman, took a tentpeg, and put a hammer in her hand.

She came to Siserá quietly, and pounded the peg through his temple into the ground.

He was sleeping soundly, and weary. He died.

22 Look, as Barák pursued Siserá, Yaél came out to meet him,

and told him, “Come. I’ll show you the man you’re seeking.”

He came into her tent, and look: Siserá lay dead, the peg in his temple.

If you’ve never read the apocrypha, it’s understandable if you’ve never heard of Judith, who likewise killed an enemy general. Women make some of the fiercest insurgents. The Romans had plenty such women in their own history, and would’ve been stupid to disregard them. That’s why the women wisely kept their distance. Frankly those people who think the women were beneath noticing, are letting their own sexism distort their interpretation.

The women wisely stayed back, not just ’cause of the Romans, but because they likely knew themselves: They‘d want to intervene, interfere, and get killed for their efforts. All they could really do was stand back and watch the horrifying spectacle.

It had to be hard for Jesus to know they were watching. He knew the end of the story—and really so should they, ’cause he foretold it more than once. But like his other students, the women likely didn’t believe it. And either way, watching Jesus die had to be awful. Christians who watch Jesus movies are fully aware how the story ends, but watching movie-Jesus die still makes us weep. ’Cause that’s someone we love getting beaten to death. So how much worse was it for the women who knew Jesus best?