“And the governor said, ‘Why, what evil hath he done?’ But they cried out the more, saying, ‘Let him be crucified,’” (Matt. 27:23).
Because of what the cross represents for the believer in terms of our redemption, it is a symbol of sacrificial love both near and dear to the heart of a Christian. Yet at the time of Christ, the cross was the most despised and vilest means of punishing the worst of society’s criminals.
The Jews had multiple means of putting someone to death (by way of stoning or the sword, for example), but none were considered tortuous enough for this Christ, their mortal enemy. Because to the Jewish people, being hung on a cross was a death that – for the pain, the shame, and the curse it carried – was far worse than all others.
Besides being an unspeakably tortuous death, it was associated with shameful nakedness and being made a spectacle of. It was designed to make the accused vulnerable by exposing them to the ridicule of the people. To die on a cross was ugly, vile, and disgraceful. And for these reasons it was reserved for the most wretched of criminals, those that were deemed subhuman, unfit to participate in society.
The curse of this death was worse than the shame, however, for it struck at the very soul of the sufferer. Hundreds of years previous God established with his people that this form of capital punishment indicated that the criminal was cursed of God. Deuteronomy 21:22-23 says, “if a man has committed a sin worthy of death, and he be to be put to death, and you hang him on a tree, his body shall not remain all night upon the tree, but you shall bury him that day, (for he that is hanged is cursed of God).”
Referencing this command of God, Paul in Galatians 3:13 ties the crucifixion of Christ directly to the gospel, “Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us: for it is written, ‘Cursed is every one that hangs on a tree.’” This explains why Paul reiterated this means of death in Philippians 2:8 explicitly, “he became obedient to death, even the death of the cross.” And yet, as Jerome distinguishes very well, Christ is not accursed because he hangs, but he hangs because he is accursed. In other words, our Savior hung on the accursed tree because he bore the curse of all our sins all on himself at that moment in time.
The curse of the cross also explains why Jesus was not crucified inside Jerusalem, the “holy city.” The Jews would never have allowed such a brutal death to take place inside their city walls. Thus Jesus had to carry his cross outside the gates to Mount Calvary.
The cross was not only considered the vilest of deaths by the Jewish people; death by crucifixion was also the most despicable means of death to the Roman citizenry. The Roman writer Cicero described crucifixion as: “a most cruel and disgusting punishment…. It is a crime to put a Roman citizen in chains, it is an enormity to flog one, sheer murder to slay one; what then shall I say of crucifixion? It is impossible to find a word for such an abomination…. Let the very mention of the cross be far removed, not only from a Roman citizen’s body, but from his mind, his eyes, his ears.”
But it wasn’t just about the curse and the shame Christ bore on that cross; the pain he suffered was beyond description. Barbarous and inhumane hangmen stripped him of his blood-soaked garments, leaving him naked. Along with the clothing came pieces of battered and shredded flesh that had stuck themselves securely to his clothes by way of dried blood and fluid from his tissues. They drove spikes through the least fleshy and most sensitive extremities – that of his hands and feet – to sustain the weight of the rest of his body. As a result, the pulling weight stretched these painful wounds still wider, causing continual torture. And just to be sure he was dead, before removing him from the cross one of the soldiers thrust a sword through the core of his body, causing the last remaining blood and water to drain from him.
It was not enough to crucify him as a reprehensible thief; they had to disfigure him to the point where he looked like a monster. And it was not enough that he be cut with whips while he was still alive; he must also be pierced through with a sword while he hangs dead. No wonder the prophet Isaiah said of him, “He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not,” (Isa. 53:3). David’s prophetic messianic psalm further describes the pain, “I may tell all my bones,” (Ps. 22:17), and “all my bones were out of joint.” How could it possibly be otherwise, with such a violent distortion?
This is a scene much more fit for meditation than speech. To fully express the realities of the crucifixion requires both the eloquence and experience of him that felt it. How can I continue, without my tears blotting out what I write? For he that was so abused has thereby blotted out that handwriting of ordinances against me (Col. 1:14). I can only bow before him with a thoroughly worshipful, and utterly thankful, heart.
Contemplations:
- O Lord, how much did my sins disfigure you at Mount Calvary? No wonder your prophet said there was “no form left in you, nor beauty for which you should be desired,” (Isa. 53:2). What else can be said for such broken and bleeding veins, bruised shoulders, raw scourged flesh, furrowed back, (Ps. 129:3), punctured temples, butchered hands and feet, distorted and disfigured limbs (Ps. 22:17), not to speak of the depths of shame and burden of the curse of God, your dear Father, that you bore for me?
- O Lord, it was for me that you died, and it is in you that I live. You suffered none but the worst of deaths for me; how can I now live anything but the best of lives for you? How happy an exchange have the merits of your sufferings made with those of my sins? Instead of death I now know life. Instead of shame, I now know glory. Instead of pain, I have the promise of the pleasures of your right hand forevermore (Ps. 16:11). Instead of bearing the curse of sin, I am blessed with righteousness itself. How far is this from “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth?” (Exod. 21:24). And how much like Samson’s riddle, “out of the eater comes meat, out of strength, sweetness?” (Judges 14:14). Out of devouring death comes the bread of life. Out of the strength of malice comes the sweetness of mercy. Out of the darkness of sin shines the light of your glory.
- It is true that I cannot number my sins that caused you to suffer such a gruesome death, but teach me to number my days that I may apply my heart to wisdom (Ps. 90:12). Your wounds, Lord, are both the treasure (Matt. 13:44) and foundation of your church. In those rich mines of your wounds, let me by a lively faith dig for this invaluable everlasting treasure of your merits, and on this foundation let me build my house.
Further References for Matthew 27:23:
Mark 15:25; 1 Cor. 2:2; Gal. 2:20; Rev. 11:8
