The mock trial was over, He had been condemned to death, though He was innocent. His betrayer was now dead. He was scoffed at and spat upon; beaten and flogged to within an inch of His life, thirty-nine lashes. Our blackest, vilest sins had been heaped upon Him; He now was sin. For the first time in eternity He felt the pain and loneliness of the absence of His Father God.
On the Third Hour (9am) Our Lord was nailed to the cross. Seven-inch spikes were driven into his ankles and his wrists. He hung high above the ground, between two thieves, fighting excruciating pain just to draw a breath. And yet, after all this, Jesus prayed, “Father forgive them for they know not what they did.”
One the Sixth Hour (Noon) the sun went black. He had hung on the cross for three hours. Alone. Lonely. His mother, John and Mary stood at his feet; all others had run in fear. He grew weaker with each agonizing breath. His legs trembling, his ankles on fire with pain, His shoulders dislocated, His face barely recognizable as a man. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He cries. The sin He bore on our behalf caused God to turn His face from His Son. Jesus was alone.
One the Sixth Hour (Noon) the sun went black. He had hung on the cross for three hours. Alone. Lonely. His mother, John and Mary stood at his feet; all others had run in fear. He grew weaker with each agonizing breath. His legs trembling, his ankles on fire with pain, His shoulders dislocated, His face barely recognizable as a man. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He cries. The sin He bore on our behalf caused God to turn His face from His Son. Jesus was alone.
The Ninth Hour finally came (3pm). “Into your hands I commit my spirit,” Jesus gasped and breathed His last. His eyes closed. His head dropped. A great earthquake shook the ground. The veil was torn. “It is finished.” Our Lord and our Savior hung from his rugged cross. Dead. His mother wailed at His feet, John and Mary at her side. It had happened. Just as Jesus had said it would.
His limp body was lowered from the cross and into his mother’s loving arms. He was wrapped and laid in a borrowed tomb, a stone rolled in front to prevent his body from being moved. “It was finished.”
His limp body was lowered from the cross and into his mother’s loving arms. He was wrapped and laid in a borrowed tomb, a stone rolled in front to prevent his body from being moved. “It was finished.”
It was Friday. A day of suffering and despair: a day of fear and grief; a day when the world held its breath. It had all happened as prophesied. It had happened as Jesus had foretold. But it was still Friday.
Jesus’ followers, his mother and loved ones went into hiding, consumed with grief and questions. His promise to return seemed impossible, to all except possibly his mother. It was still Friday—but Sunday would soon come. Until then the world holds its breath…
Please take a minute to watch the Music video below: Carry My Cross, by Third Day. Some of the scenes are graphic, but our Savior's death was graphic.
Jesus’ followers, his mother and loved ones went into hiding, consumed with grief and questions. His promise to return seemed impossible, to all except possibly his mother. It was still Friday—but Sunday would soon come. Until then the world holds its breath…
Please take a minute to watch the Music video below: Carry My Cross, by Third Day. Some of the scenes are graphic, but our Savior's death was graphic.
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