It was on this day, in fact at this very hour, that Jesus died.
One Thousand Nine Hundred Seventy Seven years ago, on the 14th day of Nisan, in the Jewish year 3791, which corresponded to April 25th, 31 AD, Jesus Christ gave his life on the cross for me. It was a Wednesday afternoon in late spring, and the high desert climate was probably pretty warm by 9 AM in the morning as they led him from Pilate's judgment hall.
He'd been tried through the night, first by Annas the patriarch of the priests, and then by Caiaphas the High Priest. He was slapped around, blindfolded, and punched. His beard was pulled out by the fistfuls. He was mocked, ridiculed and spat upon. One of his closest disciples took an oath and swore in front of witnesses that he did not know Jesus. Another who had betrayed him into the hands of the priests went out and hung himself. Once the whole council was convened, they condemned Jesus on his own admission that he was indeed the Son of God and their promised Messiah.
Taken before the governor Pontius Pilate, then King Herod, and then Pilate again, Jesus was mocked and scorned. Herod dressed him in a royal robe. Pilate had him severely scourged. The Roman soldiers pressed a crown of thorns into his head, beat him with a rod, and bowed down to him in jest as to a king. But still it was not enough; the cry of the bloodthirsty mob was for death and Pilate was bent to please them. He ordered Jesus to death by crucifixion with two thieves.
They led him by way of the Via Dolorosa, one of the steepest thoroughfares in Jerusalem, from the Praetorium to Calvary, but when he was unable to carry his own cross, they conscripted an bystander to bear it and marched Jesus on ahead. At the place of the skull, they ripped Jesus' clothes from him, stretched his badly beaten body out on the rough hewn cross pieces, and nailed him there by his hands and his feet. At last they pulled the apparatus upright, putting Jesus on display for all to see. Hanging there in the torture of his condition and position, Jesus spent the next six hours dying under a sign that read, "King of the Jews."
His enemies passed by wagging their tongues and shaking their heads, calling out sarcastically for him to save himself. His executioners gambled for his clothes at the foot of his cross while dogs licked at his blood. His family and friends stood nearby, unable to do anything as they watched him die a horrible death. And in his final hours, he thought mostly about them. His final words ring through the ages:
One Thousand Nine Hundred Seventy Seven years ago, on the 14th day of Nisan, in the Jewish year 3791, which corresponded to April 25th, 31 AD, Jesus Christ gave his life on the cross for me. It was a Wednesday afternoon in late spring, and the high desert climate was probably pretty warm by 9 AM in the morning as they led him from Pilate's judgment hall.
He'd been tried through the night, first by Annas the patriarch of the priests, and then by Caiaphas the High Priest. He was slapped around, blindfolded, and punched. His beard was pulled out by the fistfuls. He was mocked, ridiculed and spat upon. One of his closest disciples took an oath and swore in front of witnesses that he did not know Jesus. Another who had betrayed him into the hands of the priests went out and hung himself. Once the whole council was convened, they condemned Jesus on his own admission that he was indeed the Son of God and their promised Messiah.
Taken before the governor Pontius Pilate, then King Herod, and then Pilate again, Jesus was mocked and scorned. Herod dressed him in a royal robe. Pilate had him severely scourged. The Roman soldiers pressed a crown of thorns into his head, beat him with a rod, and bowed down to him in jest as to a king. But still it was not enough; the cry of the bloodthirsty mob was for death and Pilate was bent to please them. He ordered Jesus to death by crucifixion with two thieves.
They led him by way of the Via Dolorosa, one of the steepest thoroughfares in Jerusalem, from the Praetorium to Calvary, but when he was unable to carry his own cross, they conscripted an bystander to bear it and marched Jesus on ahead. At the place of the skull, they ripped Jesus' clothes from him, stretched his badly beaten body out on the rough hewn cross pieces, and nailed him there by his hands and his feet. At last they pulled the apparatus upright, putting Jesus on display for all to see. Hanging there in the torture of his condition and position, Jesus spent the next six hours dying under a sign that read, "King of the Jews."
His enemies passed by wagging their tongues and shaking their heads, calling out sarcastically for him to save himself. His executioners gambled for his clothes at the foot of his cross while dogs licked at his blood. His family and friends stood nearby, unable to do anything as they watched him die a horrible death. And in his final hours, he thought mostly about them. His final words ring through the ages:
To those who crucified him he said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do."
To the penitent thief he said, "Today you will be with Me in Paradise."
To his grieving mother and his beloved disciple he said, "Mother, this is your son. And this is your mother."
In his agony he cried honestly, "I thirst!"
In his horror he cried in desperation, "My God, why have you forsaken me?"
In his pain he cried with finality, "It is finished!"
With his last breath he whispered, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit."
And then he died for me...and for you.
He was wounded for our transgressions,
bruised for our iniquities.
The chastisement of our peace was upon him,
and by his stripes we are healed.
All we like sheep have gone astray,
yet God laid on him the iniquity of us all.
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