What Was on the Cross with Jesus?

What was on the cross with Jesus? Seems like a simple enough question, I suppose. If you give it consideration, it seems there was very little there with Him? Let’s examine this thought a little further.

As was the practice of the Romans, they wanted to make death on a cross as miserable as could be. Crucifixion was not just the agony of being nailed to a post. Had it been no more than that, it would still qualify as one of the most horrible ways to die imaginable. No, the Roman soldiers were experts at inflicting pain and humiliation on their intended victims.

A man destined for crucifixion, would spend whatever time he had left in the squalor of a cell with little, if any, food or water or sleep. He would, for the duration, be subjected to whatever tortures and humiliations that might present themselves to his jailers. When it came time for the actual event, he would be stripped of any possessions he had, including his clothing. Then they would flay him, quite literally, alive. (Yes, you might say, they removed any covering he might have including that of his own skin.)

He would then be forced to carry his own cross to the place of his death, being abused the entire trip. His arrival meant that his hands and feet would be swiftly and securely tied and nailed to the cross and he would lifted rudely above the earth. There he would hang, in the most conspicuous place they could find, usually on some very public avenue. This of course, (as was the case with our Lord,) add to his agony by humiliating him in the eyes of passersby, often including women, children and, of course, his family. As a matter of course, they would also nail his accusation on the cross, above his head for all the world to see. Here the poor man would find himself, stripped of his clothing, naked before the gawking crowds, bereft of hope and friendship.

If you should have happened by this macabre scene of slow death, you would have seen no more than what has been described: a naked man, nailed to a cross beam, his body covered only by his own blood and his accusation hanging, like the sword of Damocles, over his head.

So, back to my question: "What was on the cross with Jesus?"

Nothing! There was nothing there, but Himself, His blood, and His accusation. He was there alone, His blood completely poured out in a Holy Libation for you and me, His body, naked and trembling as He breathed His last breaths and the accusation, which foolish Pilot actually got correct: "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews."

Could we have a more beautiful, more perfect, more complete image of the salvation that our Savior offered? Could God have shown the world any more clearly what, or rather, Who, and who alone, was needed for the deliverance of sinful man?

In conclusion: Had we required anything else for our rescue from death and hell, God, in His infinite wisdom, would have put it on the cross with His Son. Yet, all He gave us was the Son of Man, the Son of God, crucified alone, for all mankind! Hallelujah! What a Savior!
 

Nice Picture?

I always laugh to see supposed portraits of Christ hanging in churches I may visit. I often snidely remark to someone there I know: "Nice picture. Who's the hippie?"

Honestly, we know little or nothing of our Lord's physical appearance. A couple of references in Isaiah let us know that we likely would not have found him what we might call attractive and that, in accordance with Jewish tradition, he certainly was bearded. Other than that, all else is speculation. I think it's a safe bet that he didn't appear as the blue-eyed European portrayed in the more well-known portraits from the Enlightenment.

Jesus is always easy to spot in these famous, or infamous, works of art. He’s the one with the longest hair, the palest skin, the sickliest expression and, disgustingly, the most feminine in the group.
There are paintings of black Jesus and Asian Jesus. I guess there's an Irish and Italian Jesus painted out there somewhere too. Everyone seems to have his or her own interpretation of what our Savior may or may not have looked like.

I’m old enough to remember a time when Baptists wouldn’t have had “pictures” of Christ in their homes or in their churches. Alas, times have changed. It's become, if not common, then not an uncommon thing, to see artistic renderings of the Lord on our church walls, Sunday School literature and Bibles.

There was a big split among the Catholic churches a thousand years ago or so over what they called "icons." The Romans thought it a great teaching tool and the Eastern churches thought they had become nothing more than graven images. It appears to me, the latter were correct.

Have you ever seen a Catholic, God love them, bow down before a portrait or statue of Jesus or one of the Saints? Have you ever seen them kissing one of those statues’ feet? If you’ve felt disgusted at that sight, then you have a little clue of how I feel when we behave not so differently.

How so? When I see my fellow Baptists, as well as other non-Catholic Christians, give honor and reverence to a man in a sketch that most of us wouldn’t want dating our daughter, I’m not too sure if I should laugh or cry.

Recently, I received a picture in a text that contained a rendering of Jesus praying on a rock. So, I decided to have a bit of fun with it. I conducted a little experiment by asking several people I know if they could help me figure out exactly who the “hippie” in the picture is. I was amazed and somewhat aghast at the “conservative” Christians who were offended by my query. Worse yet, some seemed fearful that I was being, shall we say, blasphemous.

Hey, people! That’s not my Lord! He did not pose for that drawing. It is not holy! Sheesh!


Now, I'm not accusing anyone of worshiping these conceptual portraits of our Lord. (At least not any among my Baptist brethren…maybe.) I'm only saying we don’t require ample thought before swallowing an idea. We accept far too much without applying enlightened reason.

Isaiah 50:6
I gave my back to the smiters, and my cheeks to them that plucked off the hair: I hid not my face from shame and spitting.


Isaiah 53:2
For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.

Why So Serious?

I had to apologize recently to this hedonist I know for telling her how terrible she was for pooh-poohing the death of Christ. She repeatedly said, “It's not that big of a deal. God knew Jesus would be back.” She had made similar arguments before in more or less differing ways.

Frankly, the many times I’ve tried to get through to her, I’ve met with no apparent success. She continually argues that since God knew He would raise His Son from the dead, it wasn’t the sacrifice that we Christians make it out to be.

I tried then, as before, to express the awful agony and anguish that the man, Christ Jesus, experienced in the hours leading up to the cross, the crucifixion itself and the abandonment by His friends and His Father. I explained my belief that the latter was the worst part of the entire ordeal. For Jesus, the Only Begotten Son of God, God’s most favored, the one He loved, shall I say, the most, to become the very thing that He hated most…sin!

“He who knew no sin became sin…” II Corinthians. 5:21

It had zero effect! As usual, her jaded heart reflected every dart of Gospel I fired her way.

The conversation was interrupted and it seemed it would not continue. (I wasn’t unthankful for that.) At least, at that moment, I thought not.

Some minutes passed and my thoughts were roving between the previous conversation and a thousand other things before me that day. Whatever path my mind was wandering in was suddenly at a standstill. I had what I believe to be an epiphany. I also knew I had to share it with her the first chance I had or, at least, the first chance I could make.

Several minutes later, at the first opportune moment, I called her by name. I then told her I owed her an apology. She looked at me knowingly. She recognized that something was coming. She had seen me in action before. She bit and inquired as to why.

I told her that I was sorry that I had been scolding her for being so complacent over the death of Christ, when, in actuality, she sounded, to me, much like your typical Baptist. I told her that most Baptists really didn’t take the crucifixion all that seriously either.

She laughed half-heartedly and tried to reiterate some of the silly points she had previously made, but I was past the moment. I chuckled and thanked her for helping me to understand, so to speak, and went on my way.

Through our previous conversations, it had never really occurred to me how off base I actually was. I was directing my displeasure toward the wrong person. I should have been angry with someone else or, rather, another group of individuals.

We fuss and carry on about sinners who don’t seem to give a wit about the love of God or the eminent damnation of their own souls. We seem to be shocked that they care so little. We are astounded that they care not at all!

Funny thing about it, though. They probably are so little affected by the thought of Christ’s agony and their own impending doom because we Christians are so very little affected by it ourselves. It’s much like so many things in our Christian lives: We talk the talk, but we often don’t quite walk the walk.

I remember a story a former pastor of mine once told. It went something like this:

A little boy was sitting in the pew next to his mother one Easter service. The man behind the pulpit was bringing a message that was very apropos for the particular holiday in celebration. As he talked, he went into some detail about the crucifixion itself and concerning the great pain and suffering our Lord endured at the hands of His oppressors.

After some time had passed with the minister detailing the arduous events taking place on that day of days, the mother noticed the sounds of quiet whimpering in the pew beside her. She turned her head to see her little boy with his face in his hands and tears flowing down his cheeks.

Astonished, the mother inquired of her child, “What’s wrong, son?”

The boy looked up at her through red eyes and sobbed, “Don’t you hear, Momma? Don’t you hear what they did to Jesus?”

Alas, his mother reached down to him with tender hand and stoic voice replying coolly to her weeping offspring, “Oh, child. Don’t take it so seriously.”

Isn’t that our problem? We don’t take the price for our salvation “seriously”. Are we so used to the Gospel that it can hardly bring a tear to our eye much less a shout to our lips? Have we become so accustomed to the “Old, Old Story” that we don’t even get excited about telling it anymore?

Even Lazarus got up and walked when the Lord called his name. We sit in our pews afraid to spiritual death that someone will think we might be the least bit out of our own control.

Worse yet, we, who forget the Passion of the Christ who bore our sins, bear little or no compassion for the millions who are starving for someone to truly, sincerely and simply care about them. Instead, we treat them as lepers! We treat them as if they are beneath us. We treat them as sinners, forgetting that we ourselves are only sinners saved by grace. When will we learn? When will we care as Christ cares?

Let us not stop at mere sentiment. Let us not get so caught up in our own therapeutic bouts of emotion where we zealously express our yearning for some enigmatic something and forget that the “greatest of these” is what we should desire.

When will we care? More importantly to me, when will I care?

Our preacher was preaching about Barabbas and the exchange that was made for him when a thought occurred to me that may explain a little of why we are so complacent about the cost for our salvation.

He remarked that he didn’t know if, later in his life, Barabbas was ever saved. The Bible doesn’t really address the prospect. I’m guessing he was. Why? Because if the Lord died for anybody, He died for Barabbas! (No, that doesn’t prove anything, but it’s an argument for my reasoning.)

Did he recognize that he was given a second chance at living? Did he witness the crucifixion? Did he understand that it surely, easily and even should’ve been him on that cross instead of Jesus of Nazareth?

If he did, he certainly would’ve had a different perspective than we. He certainly would’ve had a different testimony that any of us might’ve. I can’t help but think that if Barabbas were standing before your average Baptist congregation today, he, of all people, would be able to look us all in the eye and say, “If you’re not excited about the crucifixion, well, I guess you just haven’t been where I’ve been!”

A Kinder Gentler Crucifixion

I published this post a couple of years ago, I think, but, while editing, I lost it. By a long story, I found it but am having to republish it. So, while the dating is out of context, the thesis, I think, still remains current.

************************************************************************************

Mel Gibson is set to release his new version of “The Passion of The Christ.” The skuttle-butt is, that it has deleted/edited the more graphic scenes to make the movie more accessible to the young or squeamish.

Now, I'm not about to accuse Brother Mel of going belly-up to the critics or coveting the almighty dollar. I sincerely will give him all the benefit of the doubt. I know that this movie has been criticized for its graphic violence and nauseating bloodshed. My very own ten year old daughter, by my choice, has yet to see what I would call the greatest feature film ever made.

Still, it’s so entirely hypocritical of the nay sayers who decried this movie because of its purposeful intensity. The very fact that they have such a problem with the blood and gore shows that they, because of their darkened hearts, missed the whole point of the affair.

Christ suffered one of the most violent, painful deaths ever devised by man. We can never fully realize what must’ve been the indescribable agony of one so unfortunate. In our society, many judges are inclined to think that a needle prick is “cruel and unusual punishment” for a multiple murderer. Our revulsion at the depiction of what was surely only a fraction of the suffering that a criminal convicted to death by crucifixion must’ve endured is understandable, but to have an inkling of it’s value, requires closer scrutiny than most are willing to invest. Not to mention, the added suffering of our loving Savior, who not only was abandoned by his closest friends, but also by His Heavenly Father.

I’ll never forget how jovial we were before entering the theater and how somber we were upon our exit. I remember smiling wryly, as I saw the blithe faces of those who were waiting their turn and thinking, “Just wait. You’ll be changed soon enough.”

Brother Mel, I think, gave us only a passing glance at the passion that Jesus suffered for us poor sinners. I fear a sanitized version of the film may only weaken it’s impact and undermine the disturbing quality that made this not just a film, but an experience. I know that I was certainly disturbed by my viewing of The Passion. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.