Only a few hours have passed since the nails were first driven through Jesus’ wrists and feet. With each grueling moment it becomes harder to hang on. But He has a cup to drink, and the final dregs of sin’s poisonous nectar await Him.

Clenching his teeth, Jesus tightens the throbbing muscles in His arms in order to raise Himself once again. The nails have torn at His wrists, and blood is beginning to ooze from the gaping holes. Before He can catch His breath, He slips and must push Himself up again. After several tries He manages to extend Himself long enough to exhale and replenish His lungs with fresh air.

Then, as if from nowhere, an inky film spreads across the gray sky, turning it completely black. Panic breaks out at Golgotha as people stumble around, bewildered by the strange phenomenon. The soldiers grope their way to the crosses, making sure no one tries to free the condemned. With such a bizarre turn of events, anything seems possible. The crowd huddles in small groups, afraid to move, unable to see even one foot in front of themselves. It is as if the sun has disintegrated.

What goes through the mind of Christ as light leaves the land? Does He remember the days of creation when the earth was formless and void and darkness hovered over it? Does the memory of an eternal expanse undefiled by a people destined to sin call Him back to the Father’s side? Does He long to shout, “Let there be light,” and end this noontime terror?

Hearts pound fearfully in those left on the mount. The blackness is almost palpable, and it seems the sun will never shine again. Though the air is hot and muggy, a chill engulfs the soldiers and priests. The absence of light at midday fills them with despair.

With every second, Jesus swallows more of humankind’s sin. Every disobedient deed, every lustful stare, every evil longing, every act of hatred, every transgression ever perpetrated and every sin yet to be committed, flows like poison into His very soul—drink after drink, until He reaches the dregs of the cup.

Like a disease-infested swamp, the teeming waters of depravity bring a fatal contamination to the very soul of Christ. He who has never known sin becomes the epitome of evil. Darkness oozes in and around Him, its tentacles dragging Him down into the swirling depths of Satan’s vile dominion.

And the Light of the world is extinguished for a few hours on a hill called Calvary. Men who love darkness rather than light demand a sign, and God gives them a sky that matches the blackness of their own hearts. No greater horror has ever existed in the history of the world than this day when darkness fell upon all the land.

Respond

Try to imagine the blackness that descended on Calvary. Contemplate the physical impact of it first. Then, reflect on a world where Light—every vestige of God’s presence—is gone, and only the darkness of evil remains. Place yourself in the midst of the most vile circumstances you can imagine where sin reigns and no good exists—no kindness, love, joy, compassion, trust, gentleness, or peace.

The atmosphere is terrifying—hatred, bitterness, lust, greed, rage, lying, cheating, murder, rape, gossip, backbiting, hopelessness so severe people gnash their teeth and rail at one another. This is what reigns on Calvary when Jesus drinks in the sin of the world and becomes a curse for you and for me. Give yourself enough time to feel this. Envision your own sins—yesterday’s, today’s, and tomorrow’s in the cup Jesus drank there.

When you think you have even a tiny grasp of the price Jesus paid for you in those three hours of darkness, read these verses: “He rescued us from the domain of darkness, and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins” (Colossians 1:13–14 NASB).

Feel the relief of this truth, rejoice in the wonder of it, and worship your Redeemer with a heart of pure and overwhelming gratitude.

A Prayer

O my God, the darkness frightens me even now. My hands shake and I scream for light. I cannot live except You illumine my sinful soul. How can You drink this cup? I cannot comprehend it, but this I know—had You stopped short and refused even one final drop, I would dwell forever in the hopelessness of eternity’s dark night. Oh, my God, I fall on my knees.

Reprinted by permission. Contemplating the Cross: a Forty Day Pilgrimage of Prayer, Tricia McCary Rhodes, 2004, Thomas Nelson, Inc., Nashville, Tennessee. All rights reserved. Copying or using this material without written permission from the publisher is strictly prohibited and in direct violation of copyright law.

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