The Death of Jesus

I invite you to turn with me to the Gospel of Mark and to chapter 15, where we’re going to read from the thirty-third verse. And if it is of help to you to have the page number in the Bibles that are around you there, you’ll find this reading on page 853. Page 853.

“And when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ And some of the bystanders hearing it said, ‘Behold, he[’s] calling Elijah.’ And someone ran and filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a reed and gave it to him to drink, saying, ‘Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down.’ And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, ‘Truly this man was the Son of God!’

“There were also women looking on from a distance, among whom were Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome. When he was in Galilee, they followed him and ministered to him, and there were also many other women who came up with him to Jerusalem.”

Amen.

Father, we pray now that as we look at these words, familiar to many of us, that they may enable us to see the Lord Jesus more clearly, to love him more dearly, and to follow him more nearly.[1] Amen.

Well, we find ourselves on the first day of Holy Week, for those of us who pay attention to the church calendar. Some of us have come out of a background where our lives were marked by these different days. There’s nothing wrong or unhelpful about that. Indeed, sometimes the absence of such a record diminishes the impact that it may have upon us. And beginning today and all the way through next Sunday, the events that are recorded for us in each of the Gospels, not only here in Mark but also in John and in Matthew and in Luke, they slow down, as it were, as we’ve noticed, and each of the Gospel writers gives a tremendous amount of space to these events, which have actually altered the course of human history.

And here in the section that we’ve just read, beginning in verse 33, we find ourselves at what we often refer to as the pivotal event of human history. It’s good for us just to think about that for a moment as we recognize where we are. All of us have a starting date. All of us have a shelf life. There will be a last time for every journey. We will finally come to an end of our earthly pilgrimage. We have read history; we know that the ebb and flow of life has gone on in different ways within our own nation and beyond. And by and large, the study of history has bypassed the fact that at the very heart of our history is the life and death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth—that here on a hillside outside the walls of Jerusalem, Mark is telling us that the sinless Son of God puts away sin by the sacrifice of himself. That’s what’s being recorded for us here. And that is picked up when you get to the Epistles and reinforced for us, as we discover.

I’ve often acknowledged, and freely so, that I have been helped throughout all of my life by having somebody encapsulate for me big theological ideas in short, pithy statements, and particularly if they have any kind of poetic flavor to them at all. So I am an unashamed reader of children’s hymns and songs, recognizing that despite the passage of time, my recollection of these things is enhanced as I consider even more deeply now what I learned in my youth.

So, for example, the hymn by Cecil Francis Alexander that begins “There is a green hill far away” somewhat enhances, if you like, the picture of what is really a brutal and ugly scene but essentially brings us to the essence of things:

[Outside] a city wall,
Where the dear Lord was crucified,
Who died to save us all.

And then, just in case we’re in any doubt that what he was doing was just one of a number of attempts on the part of holy individuals, as it were, to bridge the gap between God and his immensity and in his holiness and men and women in their sinfulness, she goes on to say,

There was no other good enough
To pay the price of sin.
He only could unlock the gate
Of heav’n, and let us in.[2]

That in his death upon the cross as a sacrifice for sin, Jesus brought nothing to that save himself. Every other sacrifice that had been offered leading up to the death of Jesus had been offered by a priest who brought something—a creature, an animal, a pigeon, whatever it might be—as an emblem of atonement. But when Jesus bears our sin, he does so “in his own body on the tree.”[3] And it’s also true to say that when we come to Jesus, we also come to him with nothing but our sinful selves, bringing to his offer of freedom and forgiveness only the sin that separates us from God.

The story of the resurrection is essential, because there is no salvation unless Jesus is alive. But it is equally true that the Living One is only able to be a Savior because he has died.

Now, Mark’s description here is, as we’ve noted all way through, absent some of the details that we have in other parts of the Gospels, and he moves with relative speed to the very heart of the matter. He’s telling us that all the lines that have been moving in this direction now converge in the cross of Jesus, and at the cross of Jesus, the lines then, if you like, diverge. People stand at the cross, and they make their decision: “Do I believe that in Jesus there is the only atoning sacrifice for sin, or do I not?” As we saw it last time, it is to find ourselves at a very crossroads when we come to these things. And that’s where we are again this morning. Mark is telling us that we believe in a living God who died an atoning death; that the story of the resurrection, the story of him being a living Savior, is essential, because there is no salvation unless Jesus is actually alive. But it is also equally true that the Living One is only able to be a Savior because he has died.

And that’s why these days of Holy Week are important for us. I have for myself a little booklet that I use from the Anglican Communion that helps me through each day of the week, helping me just to stay focused, helping me to stay away from the rabbits and the bunnies and all of the other rabbit trails that go down there, not because I’m just a miserable soul but because it is so easy for me, for us, to be diverted from the essence of what is before us.

So let’s just follow Mark’s description. We’ll go only as far as verse 38. We’ll save 39–41, the account of the centurion and the women, we’ll save that for this evening.

The Darkness

First of all, then, Mark tells us of the darkness that covered the whole land for three hours, beginning at noon. That’s there in verse 33. This is a matter of significance. He doesn’t explain the significance, but it is clearly significant. Back in verse 25, you will remember that Mark has told us that it was the third hour—that is, nine o’clock in the morning—when Jesus was crucified. And he breaks this day up in these three-hour intervals, as you will see. So at nine o’clock, he is crucified, and now, at the sixth hour—that is, noon—there is a darkness that covers “the whole land.”

I’m sure you had this experience; we certainly did as schoolboys: every so often, there would be some dreadful storm that would come over Ilkley, in Yorkshire, at a point in the day that was entirely unlikely—enough for all of the lights to have to be turned on in the classroom because the place just became completely dark. Just dark. And the darkness was eerie, and it was almost palpable. And there was always somebody who, as the teacher turned the lights on, said in a loud whisper, “It’s the end of the world!” Did you have that experience? Someone saying, “I think it must be the end of the world”?

Well, it’s not as far-fetched as you might think. Because (and I need to leave you to do your own homework on this) if you read the Old Testament, you will discover that in the Bible, darkness during the day—darkness during the day—is a signal of God’s displeasure and of God’s judgment. You’ll find that, if you’re looking, in Deuteronomy 28.[4] You’ll find that also in Amos chapter 8.[5] You’ll find it in other places—that the darkness, a pervasive darkness, is a signal indication of the fact that God is displeased and is executing judgment.

Now, some of Mark’s readers, and some of you, will immediately begin to put the dots together, joining the dots. “What dots?” says someone. Well, if you don’t know the Bible, you shouldn’t feel bad that you don’t know where the dots begin. But the dots actually really would begin in Exodus and in chapter 10. And if you want to turn there just for a moment, I’ll point this out to you. Because there we discover that when the people of God were being prepared for their exodus from Egypt—you remember the plagues that God had sent upon the land of Egypt. And the second-last plague was the plague of darkness. It’s recorded in Exodus 10:21: “Then the Lord said to Moses, ‘Stretch out your hand toward heaven, that there may be darkness over the land of Egypt, a darkness to be felt.’ So Moses stretched out his hand toward heaven, and there was pitch darkness in all the land of Egypt [for] three days.”

And you will remember that on that occasion, as the final plague was executed—namely, the death of the firstborn in every home—only those who were protected by the shed blood of the Passover lamb were delivered from the angelic visitation that brought about the judgment of God. And that darkness was an indication of that impending judgment. And in the execution of judgment there was the expression of God’s mercy, as there always is. And his mercy is made available in giving instructions to the people, letting them understand that there will be a death in every home in Egypt this night. The only question is whether it will be the death of the firstborn or whether it will be the death of the Passover lamb.

And Jesus is the Passover Lamb now, nailed upon the cross. He has explained this to his disciples, although they haven’t fully grasped it. When he takes and shares the Passover with them that we saw a few studies ago, remember, he takes the bread, and he says, “This is my body.”[6] “This is a symbol of my body.” Clearly, his body was holding the bread. It wasn’t his body body. “This is my body that is broken for you, and this cup that we now drink is my blood.”[7] It wasn’t his blood; it was the wine that they were drinking. And he was bringing them to an understanding of the fact that he was actually the one who had been expected for all of this time, that the convergent lines of the sacrificial system were now coming together in the person of Jesus. So for Mark and for his readers, it really wouldn’t be a big surprise that God would turn the lights off, if you like, in the middle of the day, expressive of his judgment being executed upon his sinless Son in order that sinful men and women, through turning to him in repentance and faith, may themselves go free.

Isaac Watts in his hymn puts it as follows:

Well might the sun in darkness hide
And shut its glories in
When God, the mighty Maker, died
For man the creature’s sin.[8]

In other words, he says, “It makes sense, doesn’t it, that the sun would be hidden, that the darkness would be pervasive? Because here is the Lamb of God taking away the sin of the world.”[9]

The Loud Cries

That’s the first thing he records for us. He then tells us of the loud cries of Jesus, first in verse 34 and then in verse 37.

Here in verse 34, we have the only saying from the cross recorded in Mark. You know from reading your Bible that there were a number of things that Jesus said from the cross; this is the only one that Mark gives to us. Once again you see how he moves his pace through his Gospel as he moves things on. It is now, we’re told—and again, he’s pinpointing the timing—“at the ninth hour” this cry came from the cross. So we’re now at three in the afternoon. So Jesus has been on the cross for six hours. It is six hours since he had faced the physical brutality of the soldiers, the scourging which had preceded it. Time has elapsed since his battle, psychologically, with the impending reality that was before him. He has faced the mental anguish that is represented in the denial and desertion of his friends. He has, as we saw last time, refused what was essentially a form of anesthetic, in verse [23]—“wine mixed with myrrh,” which he chose not to take.

But despite all that he has faced, he has not yet faced this dreadful reality—the reality from which he had recoiled in the garden of Gethsemane, when in 14:36, you remember, he says, “Abba, Father, if you’re willing, let this cup pass from me. If there’s any other way that this can be done, if there’s any other possibility…” And in the perfection of his humanity, because he is all man as well as all God, he looks ahead to what this is going to mean, and he recoils from it. But then he says, “However, it is not my will but your will that needs to be done.”[10] And then he has walked forward.

But now, this loud cry, this “loud voice,” rings out in the darkness, or the end of the darkness. And Mark tells us what this actually means. He translates for us the Aramaic. There are a number of occasions when Jesus cries out in what is essentially the vernacular. It’s his heart language. He’s actually quoting the Old Testament here. He’s quoting Psalm 22:1. Jesus knew his Bible. But he doesn’t quote it in the original Hebrew; he quotes it in the language, in the everyday language, of his life. There’s no surprise in this. It speaks to the essential passion of it all: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

From the lips of the friend of sinners comes this cry, because he now enters into a realm he’s never experienced. And there is a paradox in this, because the essential union of the Trinity is not broken, and yet here we have God forsaken by God. He is now bearing sin in the presence of the sinless God. Cranfield says, “The burden of the world’s sin, his complete [identification] with sinners, involved not merely a felt, but a real, abandonment by his Father.”[11] A real abandonment by his Father. It’s interesting, isn’t it, that he does not refer to God as his Father in this cry of desolation? He doesn’t cry “Abba” as he did in the garden. He cries, “My God, my God.” This is a cry of dereliction. It’s a cry of separation. It’s a cry of bewilderment. It is a cry of forsakenness. And it is in this cry that the essential nature of sin in all of its badness and in all of its horror is revealed. Here we are at the very essence of what it means that we are sinners before God.

You see, only the Spirit of God brings about conviction of sin. Only the Spirit of God through the Word of God confronting us with the Son of God brings us to this place, brings us to the cross, brings us to the point where we don’t say, “Well, I’ve made a few mistakes,” or “I don’t think that was the best decision I could have made,” or whatever else it might be—just ways of skating over the reality of what we are. Only the Spirit of God helps us to see that the real issue with sin is not what sin has done to me or even what my sin has done to you, but the essential issue is what our sin has done to God, and that this cry from the cross takes us to the very heart of the matter. This, my sin, must be absolutely horrendous if it takes the death of God’s only Son to fix it. Right?

My Lord, what love is this
That pays so dearly
That I, the guilty one,
May go free![12]

You see, until the Spirit of God shows me that I am the guilty one, the story of a freedom that is found in the death of Jesus means very little to me. We can pass lightly over it, as if it were simply a formula, a mathematical equation. But it’s a flesh-and-blood reality.

Only the Spirit of God brings about conviction of sin. Only the Spirit of God through the Word of God confronting us with the Son of God brings us to the cross.

That’s the first cry: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He “cried with a loud voice.” And in verse 37—let’s skip 35, 36 for the moment—and in verse 37, Jesus “uttered” another “loud cry,” and he “breathed his last.”

Mark doesn’t tell us what this cry was. He doesn’t tell us, actually, whether he’s referring here to one of the other cries that is recorded for us in one of the other Gospels. We know that Luke tells us that Jesus at this point said, “Father, into [your] hands I commend my spirit.”[13] In other words, he had descended into the very depth of it all. He had been forsaken by the Father. As he goes down into the darkness and deadness of it all—as he experiences, if you like, hell, as it says in the creed; you know, that “he descended into hell.”[14] And I think in our last Q and A, somebody said, “Well, what does that mean, ‘He descended into hell’?” Well, if hell is eternal separation from God, if the essence of hell is to be forsaken by God, then here, in his death on the cross, he is forsaken by the Father. And into that he enters, and in that he triumphs. He bears the curse of sin. He breaks the chains. He cancels the record.

And then he declares his trust as he breathes his last, not with a whimper but with a loud voice: “Father, into [your] hands I commend my spirit.” Or is it the cry of triumph recorded by John in chapter 19, in one word, “Tetelestai,” “It is finished”?[15]

Now, what is Mark telling us? He’s telling us that Jesus does not die the way other people died. You see, crucifixion was such that it sometimes took people two days to die. Two days! In order to hasten their death, the soldiers would come and break the legs of the individuals. Why would they break the legs of the individuals? Because the legs of the individuals were propped on a little plinth that gave them the only opportunity to prevent themselves from the pulmonary collapse that was inevitable for them. Because essentially, they’re dying of asphyxiation. So, their lives ebb out from them. They are going out of consciousness. They’re drifting away. They’re finally getting weaker and weaker and weaker. And Jesus cries “with a loud voice.” “With a loud voice.”

As we’ll see tonight, that was one of the things that made the centurion sit up. Because he marveled at the manner at which Jesus died. In fact, Pilate, later on in the record, is so amazed when they come and tell him that Jesus is dead, he can’t believe that he’s died so soon. Well, why are we surprised? Jesus says, “I have the power to lay my life down. I have the power to take it up again. Nobody takes my life from me.”[16] Jesus dies in full control of his faculties. Jesus dies in full control of his voice.

Curiosity with a Hint of Compassion

Thirdly, going back to verse 35, Mark tells us of the curiosity of the bystanders, and there is in this just a hint of compassion—curiosity with a hint of compassion.

Now, the bystanders we’ve already seen back in verse 29: “And those who passed by derided him, wagging their heads” and so on. And in this section, their preoccupation with Elijah has to do with the fact that there was a kind of superstitious notion that Elijah would fulfill the role of the kind of patron saint of sufferers—that if you were really in a real mess, then Elijah could show up and help you. And so they are very interested now to see whether, in fact, that is actually going to happen. And it is in that context that you have this very interesting little statement in verse 36 concerning the individual with the sponge and the sour wine.

I think there is a hint of compassion in this. Many of the commentators say that this is malevolent, and who’s to know? We know that it happened; we’re not told the motivation of the individual who did it. If you read John’s Gospel, you will discover that John tells us that there was a jar of this sour wine, which was essentially a form of vinegar—it was a thirst-quenching drink—which was present at the foot of the cross, presumably there to assuage the thirstiness of the soldiers as a result of their exertions and so on. And so they were able to drink out of it. One individual has presumably asked permission to go into that, and in an expression, I’m suggesting to you, of a measure of compassion, motivated in part by their desire to see whether they can prolong the life of Jesus—as if they could—to see whether Elijah is going to come and take him down. So you have this picture.

Now, John also tells us that Jesus said, “I thirst.”[17] “I thirst.” So we’ve noticed that he refuses the anesthetic potion, but he doesn’t refuse this.

Those of you who have sat with a loved one as they have died, depending on the circumstances, will be familiar with this kind of picture. You’ll be familiar with the fact that eventually, there is no feeding tube. There is no yogurt. There is no ice cream. There are only ice cubes. Ice cubes, and then eventually that little stick with the square sponge on the end. And that little stick with that square sponge becomes the only mechanism whereby an expression of tenderness and kindness may be granted from the caregiver to the one whose life is ebbing away. And you’ve taken that sponge, you’ve dipped it in those ice cubes, you’ve created some of that moisture, and you have placed it on their lips. And it may even have been just sufficient for them, just sufficient moisture, so that they might be able to say one final thing before they expire.

I wonder: Did Jesus express his thirst, in all of his humanity, in order that he might have expressed to him this kind of care, so that he might have the power and capacity in his voice to say what he says in finishing? “And someone … filled a sponge with sour wine” and “put it on a reed and gave it to him to drink, saying, ‘[Now,] wait, let[’s] [just] see whether Elijah will come to take him down.’”

This for me is one of the saddest parts of the whole record. This for me is so representative of a kind of person that comes to Parkside: a kind of person that is a nice person that I meet, that you meet (you may be one of them); the kind of person who, when brought face-to-face with the story of the cross, when brought face-to-face with this reality that Jesus now is bearing the punishment of sin, instead of saying, “Now, that is absolutely remarkable and wonderful, and I certainly need a Savior, because I am a sinner”—instead of the person saying that, they say, “You know, that’s very interesting. I read a thing just the other day in such-and-such a magazine. It was about a Gospel—not one of the four Gospels, but about…” And they will launch off into all kinds of strange, esoteric, and superficial diatribes concerning the nature of Jesus and God and so on. They’re standing, as it were, before the very cross of Christ, and they can’t see it. These people were right there. They are at the epicenter of God’s intervention in the world, and they’re more intrigued by their superstitious notions that Elijah may show up than they are in seeking to find a Savior for their sins.

“All you that pass by,” writes Wesley,
All you that pass by, to Jesus draw nigh:
To you is it nothing that Jesus should die?
[Our] ransom and peace, [our] surety he is;
Come, see if there ever was sorrow like [this].[18]

You remember that poem by the old English guy, you know, “When Jesus came to [Calvary],” you know, they hung him up on a cross, but “when Jesus came to [Cleveland],” they didn’t do any of that; they just “passed him by” and left him hanging “in the rain.”[19] They didn’t get into any of the badness: “No, we would never do those bad things.” You see, it’s only the Spirit of God that allows a person to look at this scene here in Mark chapter 15, and the Spirit of God says, “It was [your] sin that held him there until it was accomplished.”[20]

He is dying on that cross because you are a sinner, because I am a sinner. He is taking that punishment that God must execute upon sin if he’s going to be true to himself as a just God. He’s taking that punishment which God executes upon sin for God to be true to himself as the God who “loved the world” so much “that he gave his one and only Son.”[21]

Divine Vandalism

And finally, Mark tells us in verse 38 of what I want to refer to as an incident of divine vandalism: “And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.” If this was the large outer curtain, it would have been eighty feet high. We’re not talking about some flimsy curtain here. We’re talking about a curtain that defines what it means to be a curtain. It would be impossible even for the strongest human being to take that curtain from the bottom and tear it apart. You know that, ’cause you’ve tried to open a bag of peanuts lately. There’s no way that you’re going to take that curtain and tear it apart, an eighty-foot-high curtain.

It isn’t torn from the bottom to the top. It’s torn from the top to the bottom. Who tore it? God tore it. Tore his own curtain? Wrecked his own temple? Chastised his own Son? Rendered obsolete the sacrificial system? Opened up the doorway? Disbarred the gate of heaven? Welcomed all who would come with the open arms of the cross? Yes! Yes!

Mark, you see, doesn’t tell us the significance of it. He’s expecting once again that his readers will have also understood what the writer to the Hebrews makes perfectly clear: that Jesus was dying in the place of sinners. He’d told his disciples—Jesus had—that the temple was going to come down; it was going to collapse.[22] They couldn’t get it. The Jews resented it. And here, at the very moment when Jesus utters a loud cry and breathes his last, the curtain of the temple was torn in two.

I finish where I began, with a children’s song:

There’s a way back to God from the dark [path] of sin;
There’s a door that is open and you may go in:
At Calvary’s cross is where you begin,
When you come as a sinner to Jesus.[23]

We’re not talking about a religious person beefing up their religiosity. We’re not talking about a well-meaning soul trying to add a little spirituality to their life. No, we’re talking about somebody who says, “When I look upon that cross, I see why it was that Newton finally encapsulated his Christian experience with the two statements ‘I know two things: that I am a great sinner, and that Christ is a great Savior.’”[24] That is the statement of the converted man or woman: a whole new view of Jesus, a whole new understanding of mercy, a whole new appreciation for what was happening on the cross.

And what about for those of us who believe? What is the takeaway from this incident? Well, we don’t need to be in any doubt about it. In fact, the writer of Hebrews tells us that since these things have happened—“since,” he says, “we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus…” Why do we “have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus”? Because previously, the Holy Place was barred. The gentiles certainly couldn’t come in. Jewish people couldn’t come in unless they brought a sacrifice for sin; unless a high priest went in in front of them; unless somebody, a holy person, could do something on their behalf. But we now “have confidence to enter the holy places.” How come? “By the blood of Jesus.” His blood has made atonement for our sins. What has happened? Well, it’s by a “new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain.” And he’s mixing his metaphors here: “That is,” he says, “through his flesh.” And “since we have a great priest over the house of God,” here’s what? One: “draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.”[25]

I need no other [sacrifice],
I need no other plea,
It is enough that Jesus died,
And that he died for me.[26]

So when the devil tells you during the week, “You know, you are a miserable wretch, and it’s the third time you kicked the cat this week, and I can’t believe you thought that and you did this and you said that, and what are you going to enter in your defense?” there’s only one thing you can enter in your defense:

Because the sinless Savior died,
My sinful soul is counted free;
For God the just is satisfied
To look on him and pardon me.[27]

As I was inviting somebody to the Easter services this past Sunday, as I drove with him in the car, the man asked me, he said, “Now what is the difference between this kind of church and that kind of church?” And I said, “Well, this kind of church says, ‘Try and do all of this, and maybe you’ll be accepted.’ And this kind of church, understanding the gospel, says, ‘In Jesus, you are accepted. Now go out and do all this.’”

“Since … draw near …. Hold fast …. Consider how to stir … one another [up] to love and [to] good works.”[28] How can I stir you up to love and good works? Well, here’s his application: “Don’t neglect meeting together.”[29] Try the evening service for once in your life. There’s a point of application! “Consider how to stir … one another [up] to love and good works.” “Well, I don’t really go in the evenings.” I know you don’t go in the evenings. Have you ever considered what your presence in the evening means to others? To young people when they see your example? To teenagers? To those who are struggling on the sea of life? “Consider how [you may love and encourage one another], not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some”—perfectly obvious—“but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.”[30]

So, the takeaway is straightforward. If you have never come to trust in Jesus, then today would be a great day to do that—to once again take the words of Wesley and make them your own:

[For sinners like] me he prayed on the tree;
[Through his intercession,] the sinner [goes] free.
That sinner am I, who on Jesus rely,
And come for the pardon God cannot deny.[31]

That’s the starting point. And for those of you who believe, since this is true, make the application of Hebrews 11. And then tonight we’ll take a look at the centurion and these fantastic women.

Father, thank you for the Bible. Thank you that it is a lot clearer than some of our sermons, and thank you that the Spirit of God opens our eyes to grasp what we have never seen, even though we’ve read it many times. Thank you that the Spirit of God convicts us of our sin not in order that we might be condemned but in order that we might be forgiven, set free, liberated, transformed. Thank you that the Spirit of God inclines us to a consideration of the death of Jesus, so that we might know that he is our Great High Priest; so that we might know that he has made a complete atoning sacrifice for sin; so that we might then hold fast our profession of faith, assured of the fact; so that we might then continue to encourage and exhort one another; so that in generations yet unborn, they may arise to hear this wonderful story and come to trust in Jesus also.

Hear our prayers, O God. Let our cry come unto you. For Jesus’ sake. Amen.

[1] Attributed to Richard of Chichester, “Day by Day, Dear Lord, of Thee Three Things I Pray.”

[2] Cecil Frances Alexander, “There Is a Green Hill Far Away” (1848).

[3] 1 Peter 2:24 (KJV).

[4] See Deuteronomy 28:29.

[5] See Amos 8:9.

[6] Matthew 26:26; Mark 14:22; Luke 22:19 (ESV).

[7] Luke 22:19–20; Matthew 26:26–28; Mark 14:22–24 (paraphrased).

[8] Isaac Watts, “Alas, and Did My Savior Bleed” (1707).

[9] See John 1:29.

[10] Mark 14:36 (paraphrased). See also Matthew 26:39; Luke 22:42.

[11] C. E. B. Cranfield, The Gospel According to Saint Mark, Cambridge Greek Testament Commentary (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), 458.

[12] Graham Kendrick, “Amazing Love (My Lord, What Love Is This)” (1989).

[13] Luke 23:46 (KJV).

[14] The Apostles’ Creed.

[15] John 19:30 (ESV).

[16] John 10:18 (paraphrased).

[17] John 19:28 (ESV).

[18] Charles Wesley, “Faith’s Claim” (1741). Language modernized.

[19] Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy, “Indifference” (1929).

[20] Stuart Townend, “How Deep the Father’s Love for Us” (1995).

[21] John 3:16 (NIV).

[22] See Matthew 26:61; 27:40; Mark 14:58–59; John 2:19.

[23] E. H. Swinstead, “There’s a Way Back to God.”

[24] John Newton, quoted in John Pollock, Amazing Grace: John Newton’s Story (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1981), 182. Paraphrased.

[25] Hebrews 10:19–22 (ESV).

[26] Eliza E. Hewitt, “My Faith Has Found a Resting Place” (1890).

[27] Charitie Lees Bancroft, “Before the Throne of God Above” (1863).

[28] Hebrews 10:21–24 (ESV).

[29] Hebrews 10:25 (paraphrased).

[30] Hebrews 10:24–25 (ESV).

[31] Wesley, “Faith’s Claim.”