800 years before Jesus, the Hebrew prophet Amos spoke of a coming day of darkness and
gloom, a day when God would remove his merciful presence from his stubbornly rebellious people.
On that day, declares the Lord God, I will make the sun go down at noon and darken the earth in broad daylight.
I will turn your feasts into mourning and all your songs into lamentation. I will make it like the
mourning for an only son and the end of it like a bitter day. What has been your darkest hour,
your most bitter day? Have you ever looked out upon a world from which every sign of God's merciful
presence? Every glimmer of hope, every promise of justice, every expression of love seems to have
vanished. Maybe your faith in God has been shaken since coming to college. The simple trust in a
good and powerful God that you once had as a child has been chipped away, eroded by persistent,
unanswered questions that you can't figure out how to resolve and can't seem to get out of your head.
Where God once seemed vivid and personal, now he seems abstract and distant. Where once the Bible
was your food for daily living, now its stories seem fanciful and foreign to your daily experience.
Other things seem far more real and compelling, like the conclusions of modern science or
your prospects for summer internships or perhaps simply the parties going on this weekend.
Maybe your faith has been shaken. Or maybe your hope in God has been weakened by prayers that seem to
have gone unanswered. Maybe you've prayed earnestly for a broken marriage to be restored,
or for a dying relative to be healed, or for a job prospect to finally come through, or for relief
from unrelenting stress, or for a companion in loneliness. But what you prayed for has not come to pass.
Maybe your love for other people has been poisoned by the pain of betrayal, or rejection, or abandonment.
And you feel like an empty shell, hollowed out, with nothing left to give. Maybe you've looked upon
the tragic horrors of this world and wondered, where is God? The Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel,
in his book Night, described the evening when he lost his faith. When alongside two grown men,
a young Jewish boy was publicly hanged on the gallows of the concentration camp. And every prisoner
was compelled to march past the gallows and to look. And he wrote of his experience that night.
He said, a voice behind me said, where is merciful God? Where is he? For God's sake, where is God?
And from within me, I heard a voice answer, where is he? This is where, hanging here from this gallows.
How do we respond when almost every sign of God's merciful presence, every bit of justice and beauty and love
seems to have vanished? When we feel not only hurt by other people, but forsaken by God himself.
I think our natural response in situations like this is to become increasingly focused on ourselves.
Perhaps we become angry and vengeful because we feel entitled to something that we're not getting.
We deserve respect. We haven't harmed others, or we deserve to be recognized for our efforts to help them.
We deserve to be better paid for our hard work. We deserve a chance to prove ourselves instead of simply being rejected.
Perhaps our anger manifests itself in complaining or gossiping or occasional bursts of rage.
Or maybe we just withdraw. We become resigned and cynical.
Part of our soul becomes hardened. Part of our soul becomes hardened. Our vision for the world becomes shrunk.
We keep our distance from God.
Maybe we don't pray very much anymore because it seems that our prayers haven't been answered.
Or maybe we distance ourselves. We separate ourselves from people who are needy and difficult to deal with.
From situations that call us to sacrifice and pour ourselves out because we don't want to make ourselves vulnerable and get hurt again.
Perhaps we take comfort in self-pity.
Well, the passage we've read tonight in Mark 15 describes a dark and bitter day.
It began early in the morning with Jesus put on trial before the political authorities, falsely accused by the religious leaders,
and sentenced to death without a just cause.
It continued with him being physically beaten and tortured by the soldiers,
mocked by the crowd, stripped of his clothing, and hung on a shameful cross.
The night before, he had been betrayed, abandoned, and denied by his closest friends.
And at noontime, darkness fell over all the land,
as if the God who had spoken light into the darkness at the beginning of creation,
who had brought order into the chaos,
had withdrawn his presence in an act of divine judgment,
as the prophet Amos had threatened.
And Jesus cried out,
My God, my God,
why have you forsaken me?
You see, everything had been stripped away from Jesus.
Every physical provision, every social support,
every emotional comfort,
and finally every tangible sign
of God the Father's merciful presence.
The presence and fellowship that he had known from all eternity as the Son of God
was removed.
Jesus cried out,
and there was no response.
There was no encouraging word,
no confirming sign,
no divine intervention.
He was bruised and crushed,
bearing the weight of human rebellion against God.
And of God's righteous indignation against our rebellion.
But in his deepest darkness,
in his most bitter agony,
Jesus did what none of us would or could have done.
He did not turn inward in self-pity.
He did not collapse in despair.
He did not burst out in vengeful anger.
He persevered
in complete trust
and obedience to God.
And he extended unfailing love
even toward his enemies.
He cried out
in the words of Psalm 22,
My God,
Why have you forsaken me?
On the surface,
it might sound like an accusation
against God.
And certainly it was an honest cry
of one from whom all
conscious awareness
of God's love
and favor
was removed
as he bore
the awful punishment
for human rebellion.
But his cry
was also
an expression of trust
in God.
He says,
My God,
My God.
He claims the God
of Psalm 22
as his God.
Psalm 22
is written 900 years
before Jesus
by King David.
It's a song
about a righteous
sufferer,
one who endures
excruciating torment,
but who continues
to rely on God
through it.
I encourage you
to read Psalm 22.
If you want to turn there,
it's page 457.
Because it's striking
how a psalm,
a poem,
a prayer
written hundreds
of years
before Jesus
describes Jesus'
specific sufferings
so well.
Let me read
just a few verses.
Psalm 22,
verse 7.
All who see me
mock me.
They make mouths
at me.
They wag their heads.
He trusts in the Lord.
Let him deliver him.
Let him rescue him,
for he delights in him.
Verse 14.
I am poured out
like water,
and all my bones
are out of joint.
My strength
is dried up
like a potsherd,
and my mouth,
my tongue sticks
to the roof
of my mouth.
You lay me
in the dust of death.
A company of evildoers
encircles me.
They have pierced
my hands and feet.
I can count
all my bones.
They stare
and gloat over me.
They divide my garments
among them,
and for my clothing
they cast lots.
What an exact description
of Jesus' sufferings.
But in the midst
of his torment,
the psalm
also expresses trust
and complete reliance
on God.
Verse 3,
or verse 2,
says,
Oh my God,
I cry out by day,
but you do not answer,
and by night,
but I find no rest,
yet
you are holy.
enthroned upon
the praises of Israel.
In you,
our fathers trusted,
they trusted,
and you delivered them.
Further down,
verse 9,
you made me
trust in you,
even at my mother's breast.
Verse 19,
Oh Lord,
do not be far off.
Oh you,
my help,
come quickly
to my aid.
Jesus cried out to God
in the words
of this psalm,
in utter agony,
and in complete trust.
You see,
unlike the rest of us,
when we endure
such bitter agony,
Jesus was not
consumed by himself.
He was not focused
on how terrible
his circumstances were.
Even while he hung
on the cross,
he extended himself
to others
in love.
from the gospel
of Luke,
we learn that
Jesus looked upon
those who crucified him
and said,
Father,
forgive them,
for they know not
what they do.
And from the gospel
of John,
we learn that
Jesus looked upon
his mother,
about to be bereaved,
standing nearby,
along with John,
the only one
of his male disciples
who remained.
And he spoke to her
and provided a home
for her,
saying,
Woman,
behold your son,
son,
behold your mother.
Jesus looked out
upon a world
from which every trace
of God's merciful presence
seemed to have vanished.
And he persevered
to the end
in perfect obedience
to God
and in unfailing love
for us.
In this book,
The Screwtape Letters,
C.S. Lewis wrote
that the kingdom
of darkness
and evil
is never
in greater danger
than when a human being,
no longer feeling
any desire,
but still utterly
committed
to do God's will,
looks out
on a world
from which every trace
of him
has vanished,
asks why
he has been forsaken,
but still
obeys.
He said,
this obedience,
trustful obedience,
is the supreme
canceling
of Adam's fall,
the movement
by which we retrace
our long journey
away
from paradise.
It is the untying
of the old hard knot
of distrust
and disobedience
and divine judgment
in which the human race
is bound up.
The point is this,
Jesus' faithful
obedience to God
and his unfailing
love for us
on the darkest
day
of human history
won
for us
salvation,
deliverance,
hope,
life.
Jesus began
by quoting
the first
verse
of Psalm 22,
my God,
why have you
forsaken me?
But the psalm
doesn't end
there.
The psalm
begins with a cry
of abandonment,
but it ends
with a cry
of victory.
Verse 24
of the psalm
is a turning point.
It says,
God has not
despised
or abhorred
the affliction
of the afflicted.
He has not
hidden his face
from him,
but has heard
when he cried
to him.
All the ends
of the earth
shall remember
and turn
to the Lord.
Verse 30
and 31,
the concluding
verses say,
they shall come
and proclaim
his righteousness
to a people
yet unborn,
that he
has
done it.
Jesus began
by quoting
the first
verse of the psalm.
My God,
my God,
why have you
forsaken me?
But he concluded
by alluding
to the final
verse.
He has done it.
It is
finished.
Mark doesn't
record these words,
but the Gospel
of John
does.
Jesus'
last words,
his last cry,
it is finished.
In other words,
the righteous
sufferer
has remained
faithful all
the way to
the end.
Without
wavering,
without
turning away,
he has
delivered
the perfect
sacrifice
of pure
trusting
obedience
to God
the Father.
He has
accomplished
the work
that he came
to do
to offer
himself
on behalf
of us
who have
turned away.
And his
work
is complete.
He has
done it.
It is
finished.
It's a
triumphant
cry,
a cry
of victory.
As I said,
Mark doesn't
record the
words,
but he does
record the
tone.
Verse 37
of Mark
15 says,
Jesus uttered
a loud
cry
cry and
breathes
his last.
Now that
would have
been
extremely
unusual
for a
crucified
man
to die
with a
shout.
And the
Roman
centurion,
who is the
military
officer,
the policeman
responsible for
supervising the
execution,
he noticed
it.
Verse 39
says,
the centurion
saw that in
this way he
breathed his
last.
And he
said,
truly this
was the
son of
God.
You see,
the Roman
centurion knew
how a
crucified man
would usually
die by
suffocating.
because he
couldn't hold
himself up
long enough
to breathe,
being nailed
to the
cross.
He would
often drift
in and out
of consciousness
for even
one or two
days,
barely able
to utter
an intelligible
syllable
until he
would gradually
suffocate.
But Jesus
was different.
The way
that he
died
was utterly
different
from anyone
else that
centurion
had ever
seen.
Jesus
looked out
upon a
world
from which
every trace
of God's
merciful presence
had vanished.
He bore
on his
shoulders the
weight of
our rebellion
against God
and the
judgment we
deserved.
And he
persevered
in trusting
obedience to
God and
in unfailing
love for
us until
in his
last breath
he could
say,
it is
done.
It is
finished.
Truly,
this man
was the
son of
God.
Let us
pray.
God
I invite you
to pray
with me in
response to
three words
of scripture.
First,
for God
so loved
the world
that he
gave his
one and
only son
so that
whoever
believes in
him will
not perish
but have
eternal life.
Lord Jesus,
as we look
upon the
cross where
you died,
may we
believe
in you
the son
of God
and receive
this life
that you
have promised.
God
shows his
love for
us in
that while
we were
still sinners,
Christ
died
for
us.
Lord
Jesus,
may we
rest
in the
completeness
of your
sacrifice
for us.
May we
see in
your death
the most
convincing
proof
of your
love
for
us.
Let us
run with
endurance
the race
set before
us,
looking
to Jesus,
the founder
and perfecter
of faith,
who for
the joy
set before
him
endured
the cross,
despising
the shame,
and is
seated at
the right
hand of
the throne
of God.
Consider
him
so that
you may
not grow
weary
or
faint-hearted.
Grant
us,
O Lord,
in Christ
the
endurance
that we
do not
have
within
ourselves,
that even
in our
darkest
hour
and our
most bitter
days,
that we
may look
to you
and not
grow weary
or lose
heart.
May we
know
that you
have gone
before us
through a
greater
darkness,
through a
far more
bitter day.
And may we
look forward
to the joy
that you
have won
for us,
that you
have promised
us.
We pray
all these
things in
Jesus' name.
Amen.
word
?
What?