A Journey with Jesus to the Cross and Beyond
by Tricia McCary Rhodes
DAY TWENTY-TWO -- Nailed To The Cross
And if we men and women of this latter day wish to gaze into the awfulness
of sin, we shall have to take our stand at the mystic confluence of midnight
and noonday and abide in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Warren Wiersbe
Reflect
Set your heart toward God today. Acknowledge His presence with you, thanking Him for His faithfulness. Ask Him to give you a tenderness toward His Son in these final hours.
Jesus made an amazing promise concerning His death. And I, if I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to Myself. (John 12:32) Consider this truth as you focus on Jesus being lifted up to die in today's narrative. Stop at times while you are reading, and speak this verse aloud, offering a heart of gratitude that because He died, you have been drawn to Him.
Read
And when they came to the place called The Skull, there they crucified Him . . .
Luke 23:33
The four soldiers assigned to the prisoner named Jesus move quickly into action. First they strip him of his clothing. When they reach the inner garments, blood and flesh tear from wounds already festering with grisly infection. Jesus' eyes roll back in his head in agony. The crucifixion has begun.
Women turn their heads in shame at the sight of his bare body. The extent of his wounds shocks even the soldiers who tend take their task of execution lightly. One grabs the loincloth and begins to wrap it around Jesus' waist and through his legs. If he were a Gentile, he would be hung naked. It is a small concession to the Hebrew people whose sacred beliefs abhor nudity. When they finish, they lead Jesus over to the crossbeam, instructing him to lay down and place his arms out across the rough wood.
Sometimes prisoners resist and have to be shoved to the ground, head banging on the wood. But Jesus responds with perplexing submission. His head falls back, the crown of thorns pressing deeper into his skull. Mustering his strength, he raises up level with the crossbeam. Dirt and leaves cling to the open wounds on his back and legs.
What must it be like for the Son of God to finally lay down his life? How does it feel to stretch his arms out on the crossbeam of crucifixion? Does he embrace this moment for which he entered the human race? Can he yet see the joy of victory somewhere in the vast expanse of eternity?
One soldier holds Jesus' right arm in place. The other positions the tip of an iron spike, five inches long and almost a half inch across, in the middle of his wrist. An expert in the art of crucifixion, the soldier lifts his hammer and with one strike embeds the nail through the flesh into the wood. The pinging thud echoes across the hill as the crowd watches.
When just a trickle of blood appears, the soldier is relieved that he hasn't severed any main arteries. To do so would bring death too quickly. The longer it takes, the greater the suffering, and the more likely people will see and be cowed into fearful allegiance to the Roman government.
The spike crushes numerous nerve endings, and Jesus moans. Bolts of pain shoot down the length of his arm. Before he can catch his breath, they extend his left arm. The sound of hammer against iron rings again in the ears of onlookers. Now pain radiates through both arms, up his neck, through his ears and eyes, until it feels as if his head might explode.
As they finish, the centurion gives the signal and they lift the wood above their heads, suspending Jesus in midair. The other two soldiers place forked poles under the beam, carrying it towards the empty stipe. The weight of Christ's body pulls on his wrists. Each fraction of movement wrenches him, sometimes swinging his torso forward. Every wound inflicted up till now fades in proportion to this.
A sign hangs on the center stipe, identifying Jesus and his crime. The soldiers push on their poles until the crossbeam snaps into place under it. Jesus presses his feet against the wood, trying to lift himself from the suffocating grip of the cross.
Taking hold of his left foot, a soldier places it on top of the right, pressing them down to drive the final nail through Jesus' arches. Though once again little blood is shed, an intense ache grips the muscles in Jesus' legs. He now hangs between two criminals, only a few feet from the ground. The soldier's job is done and those left to watch settle in for the long wait.
Does Jesus close his eyes, focusing on the time he'll be freed from his broken body to return to his Father? Does the agony in his feet remind him of the enemy whose head he will soon bruise? Does he look out at those who watch, making mental note of who has come, and who has not come, to his crucifixion? Or does he scan the vast city of Jerusalem and beyond, weeping once again at such spiritual poverty?
The Son of Man is lifted up and thereby will one day draw all men to himself. But for now searing spasms in his arms and legs are a tortuous reminder that death is not easy and will not come quickly. There are battles yet to fight, victories not quite won and a price not yet paid for the sins of a dying world.
Respond
Contemplate this moment when Jesus is raised up on a cross to die. Consider all he has been through up to this point in preparation for it. Spend a few minutes thinking about each of the three nails as they go into His flesh. Try to comprehend what He may have experienced as the crossbeam was attached to the stipe.
Beyond the physical agony, consider that few were there to support him. Other than Peter who betrayed him, and John who now stands near - -his closest friends have not shown their faces since Gethsemane. Also, ponder the shame of a crucifixion where friend and foe and stranger watch you, knowing the crime you are condemned for. When you feel you can identify in some small way with Christ as He is lifted up, write a prayer, a poem, a meditation, a thought to express your heart to Him.
A Prayer
Jesus, my Jesus, hanging in the wind, sun burning, body bare save for a loincloth and wounds too many to count. I wonder why you hold onto life amidst Golgotha's death-grip. You said if you were lifted up you'd draw all men to you. Is this what you meant? Lifted up like this? The perplexity of such a plan plagues me still. Yet you hang there and I am irresistibly drawn to your side. I cannot turn away -- not now, not ever.
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