Luke 23:27–49

The procession, as we might call it, consisted of the Lord, bearing His cross, with Simon the Cyrenian, forced to bear the lighter end of it behind Him. Two others, criminals, doubtless each bearing his own cross too, formed part of the group, with the attendant soldiers completing it. But far outnumbering these who figured in the procession was a great multitude of the people, and among them many women. These last mourned and lamented Him, all their sympathy, it seems, being given to Him and none to the others who were about to suffer for their crimes, for everyone knew He was innocent. As they moved along the wailing might have been heard some distance away.

It is not that man lacks feeling: but feeling without faith comes to nothing, no less than mind, or authority, or position, were it the highest in the religious world. The affections of nature may be sweet, but can never be trusted to stand firm for Christ, however moved for a season… Jesus knew what was in man, did not despise the feelings of the women, but trusted Himself to none.

The affections are in the heart, and conscience is my responsibility for right and wrong. You may have natural feelings moved like the women of Jerusalem beating their breasts because someone was going to be put to death; but what detects the work of God is when these two go together… Where the light comes and deals with the conscience, the love attracts the heart, and both are moved.

Some who wept there might be those who had felt His healing power. Among them, perhaps, were people once deaf, dumb, blind; the woman healed of the discharge of blood; the woman made straight after Satan had bent her over for eighteen years; the woman who washed His feet with tears and wiped them with the hair of her head, whose sins were forgiven, "for she loved much." These were at least in tears, but powerless to prevent the severe judgment for such a crime — powerless, because it was "their hour, and the power of darkness."

The women of Galilee were clearly "elect according to the foreknowledge of God." But what do you say of the daughters of Jerusalem? They were not among the crucifiers. They represent, I think, the soul of the remnant later on, in the first moment of awakening.

He did not resent their sympathy, nor did He undervalue the lamentation of these daughters of Jerusalem; but, knowing the future of that unhappy city and its coming desolation, He could contrast His own sufferings with those which would soon fall on its children… calm and self-possessed, and mindful, as ever and always, of others rather than of Himself, He could pause on that terrible road, turn round, and tell these troubled mourners to weep not for Him, but for themselves. If they lamented for Him, He lamented for them. They could see what was happening to Him; He could foresee what would happen to them.

There was much human feeling in this, though not faith or real love. Why not lament for themselves? For in truth days of sorrow were coming… Jesus was the green tree; and if Jesus was treated so, what would their fate be, pictured fully by that dry tree, which was Israel? Israel certainly ought to have been the green tree of promise; but it was only a dry tree waiting for judgment.

The daughters of Jerusalem are not the women of Galilee. How do we tell them apart? Scripture keeps them apart. It is another example of the great moral variety in Scripture... They were not among the crucifiers. They represent, I think, the soul of the remnant by-and-by, in the first moment of awakening.

It is not that man lacks feeling. But feeling without faith comes to nothing. So does mind, or authority, or position — even the highest position in the religious world. Natural affection may be sweet, but you can never trust it to stand firm for Christ, however stirred it is for a time... Jesus knew what was in man, did not despise the feelings of the women, but trusted Himself to none. Tenderly He warns them of what man does not believe until it comes.

He did not resent their sympathy. He did not think little of the grief of these daughters of Jerusalem. But He knew the future of that unhappy city and the ruin coming to it. So He could set His own sufferings beside the sufferings that would soon fall on its children... He stayed calm and self-possessed. As always, He thought of others rather than of Himself. So He could stop on that terrible road, turn round, and tell these troubled mourners to weep not for Him, but for themselves. If they lamented for Him, He lamented for them. They could see what was happening to Him; He could foresee what would happen to them.

Let sinners know that His cross does not seek the compassion of men, but their faith. It does not ask them to feel that hour with human kindness. It asks them to be blessed by that hour, believing in their hearts and coming to full peace of conscience. It asks them not to pity the cross, but to lean on it.

The "green tree" in this scripture is Christ Himself, and the "dry" is the Jewish nation... That is, look at what was done to Him who was like a green tree: wicked malice, hypocrisy, unjust judgment, and a degrading death. If that fell on Him, what would be done to the people? They were like a dry tree, morally dead before God, without fruit or even leaves. And they were now committing their crowning sin in rejecting their Messiah. For such a state, symbolised by a dry tree, there remained nothing but the axe and the fire.

If He, the green tree, suffered like this at the hands of both Jew and Gentile, what would happen to Israel, the dry and sapless stock? What fate awaited it when the Roman power let loose its full fury on it?

The dry tree is the state of Israel in the time of the end. It is desolate and withered after long years of determined refusal of the grace of God in Christ.

They are in sore need, but what is it they want? It is a place of refuge, of security, a shelter... The world panics and turns to prayer, but it is too late. You can find shelter from that wrath now in the arms of Jesus. Not in the mountains and the hills, but in Jesus — Jesus who died on Calvary.

They wept, but their consciences were untouched. They did not understand the ruin that was waiting for them. The Lord, in calm and holy concern for them, and at least no stranger to their position as daughters of Jerusalem, says to them: "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for Me, but weep for yourselves and for your children."

Jesus knew what was in man. He did not look down on the feelings of the women, but He trusted Himself to no one. He warns them gently of what people do not believe until it arrives. Man counts it wisdom to treat the future as uncertain, even when God has spoken it, because the future is uncertain to man. Had they believed the Lord and their own prophets, they would not have refused Him. Had they received Him, days of heaven would have dawned on the earth, and on Israel above all.

He answers the women's weeping with weeping of His own. They have more reason to weep for themselves and their children than for Him. The day of their sorrow was close, and in it the blessing would belong to those who had no children... He is not speaking here of divine wrath, though divine wrath might indeed give them up to it. He is speaking of what they would inflict on one another. The sufferings of those shut up in that besieged city are matters of common history.

He was showing that after His death the Romans would destroy Jerusalem (21:23), and that more trouble will still fall on that nation and that city (Matt. 24:15-21). Messiah, the Shepherd of Israel, was cut off. So the Jews have felt, and will yet feel, the bitterness of His absence in their hours of trial — and He alone can shield them.

There is a solemn day of retribution coming. Do not think that God has forgotten the murder of His Son. Do you suppose God forgets that His Son was here in this world, and that the world threw Him out?

He stood within a few yards of the place of execution and of an agonizing death. He knew everything that lay ahead of Him, just as He felt every effect of the mockery, insult, cruelty and flogging He had already been through. Yet He was calm and self-possessed, and mindful, as always, of others and not of Himself. He could stop on that terrible road, turn round, and tell these troubled mourners to weep for themselves and not for Him. If they mourned for Him, He mourned for them. They could see what was happening to Him. He could see ahead to what would happen to them.

His words were no threat, no empty demand for the punishment men deserved. They were the calm statement of One who knew every event beforehand. He was Man, and at the same time God. In the short space of a few minutes' relief, at the first shock of crucifixion, He could say: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Not a trace of retaliation or revenge!

He did not resent their sympathy, or think little of the weeping of these daughters of Jerusalem. But He knew the future of that unhappy city and the ruin coming on it. So He could contrast His own sufferings with those that would soon fall on its children. These are His only recorded words on that short journey. He stood within a few yards of the place of execution and of an agonising death. He knew all that lay before Him... Yet He stayed calm and composed, and thought, as always, of others before Himself. So He could pause on that awful road, turn round, and tell these troubled mourners not to weep for Him, but for themselves. If they lamented for Him, He lamented for them. They could see what was happening to Him; He could foresee what would happen to them.

There are four prayers spoken of in this chapter. The prayer of hatred, "Crucify him" (v. 21); the prayer of fear, "Mountains, fall on us" (v. 30); the prayer of love, "Father, forgive them" (v. 34); and the prayer of faith, "Lord, remember me" (v. 42). The prayer of hatred has been answered. By and by there will come the prayer of fear, "Mountains, fall on us: hills, cover us" (see Rev. 6:15-17). Anything to keep men out of the sight of God; anything under the sun to keep them out of the reach of God, and from the wrath of the Lamb.

They are in sore need, but what is it they want? It is a place of refuge, of security, a shelter. "The great day of His wrath has come, and who can stand?" (Rev. 6:15-17.) The world is frightened and turns to prayer, but it is too late. Oh, beloved one, you can find a shelter from that wrath now in the bosom of Jesus; not in the mountains and the hills, but in Jesus — Jesus who died on Calvary.

The "green tree" in this scripture is Christ Himself, and the "dry" is the Jewish nation... That is, if men did such things to Him — wicked malice, hypocrisy, unrighteous judgment, and a degrading death — when He was like a green tree (compare Psalm 1:3; Jeremiah 17:7-8), what would be done to the people? They were like a dry tree, morally dead before God, without fruit or even leaves, and they were now committing their crowning sin in rejecting their Messiah. For such a state, pictured by a dry tree, there remained nothing but the axe and the fire. (Compare Matthew 3:10.)

It is not that man lacks feeling: but feeling without faith comes to nothing. So do mind, authority, and position, even the highest in the religious world. The feelings of nature may be sweet, but you can never trust them to stand firm for Christ, however moved for a season... Jesus knew what was in man, did not despise the feelings of the women, but entrusted Himself to none. He warns them gently of what man does not believe until it comes. It is part of man's wisdom to treat God's word about the future as uncertain, because the future is uncertain to man.

Those days did come. I admit that the Lord's prophecy was only partly fulfilled, and that it will have a fuller fulfilment later. But if you want to read a dark and bloody page of history, sit down and read the account of the sack of the city of Jerusalem by the Romans under Titus. You will look on horrors that will strike to the very bottom of your soul. Only one thing will exceed them: that time of terrible tribulation which is still to come.

It is not that man lacks feeling. But feeling without faith comes to nothing — and it is the same with mind, or authority, or position, even the highest in the religious world. Natural affection may be sweet, but it can never be trusted to stand firm for Christ, however moved it is for a time… Jesus knew what was in man. He did not despise the feelings of the women, but He trusted Himself to no one. He warns them tenderly of what man does not believe until it comes.

One may be moved by the comparison, as if one were superior to Christ, and still fall under the judgment that follows His rejection and death… Judgment was coming not only on Pilate and Herod, and not only on the chief priests. It was coming on the women who wept for Him too. They did not see their own state, and that state was under condemnation. Natural conscience, natural religion, and natural feelings will not do. Nothing less than the glory of God in Jesus will do.

Who was the green tree? Why, Christ, of course. Sap, life, green growth, and fruit — all were seen in Him. God looked down from above and saw that one fruitful green tree. Then He looked everywhere else. What did He see? Dry trees!… A dry tree is lifeless. Christ was the green tree, always showing the freshness and fruit that suit God.

Wicked malice, hypocrisy, unrighteous judgment, a degrading death — all this came on Him who was like a green tree (compare Psalm 1:3; Jeremiah 17:7-8). If such things were done to Him, what would be done to the people? They were like a dry tree: morally dead before God, without fruit or even leaves, and now committing their crowning sin by rejecting their Messiah. For such a state, symbolized by a dry tree, there remained nothing but the axe and the fire. (Compare Matthew 3:10.)

He is the living and true vine, and He truly bore fruit to God. If men treated Him like this, what must be the lot of the fruitless and useless? Such branches were they. Where will the ungodly and the sinner appear? Man rejects the green tree, and God rejects the dry.

Our sins, if unforgiven, must take us into the very place where Christ's love for us led Him. The holy, spotless Lamb of God became the substitute of sinners. Can the unforgiven sinner himself fare better under the awful judgment of sin than He did? He was in the "far off" place for us, when He uttered that mournful and moving cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

Christ was the green tree in all His dependence on God, in all His beauty and perfection. He was a green tree going to judgment. He was to be cut down while still in beauty and freshness… But, thanks be to God, because the green tree suffered, many a dry one will escape.

Two things strike me here. First, God's overruling hand so guided their malice — and the malice was all their own — that they fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah 53 by putting Jesus among the criminals. Second, how fast it all went. They seized Him unlawfully one night, and, despite all Roman law and justice, executed Him the next day. Men did not treat Barabbas like this. Nor were James, Peter or Paul allowed to be treated like this later. They at least got a longer wait — a wait denied to Him who was the Prince of life.

They had to add one more insult, so that the words of Isaiah would come true: "and was numbered with the transgressors." (Isa. 53:12.) "Two others, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with him." What a sight! He who was God was walking with two thieves to the place where the great work of the preparation day had to be done. That work would bring lost sinners into the sabbath, the rest of God.

That morning they searched the prison cells of Jerusalem for the most debased criminals the city held. They led them out to die along with Jesus. These men had been guilty of appalling crimes. That is why they picked them to hang one on His right hand and the other on His left. That is why they put Him on the centre and highest cross. They meant to proclaim by their well-considered and malicious plan that He was the worst of the three. So they heaped shame on Him, adding deepest insult to deepest injury.

Jesus was spared no insult. As He was the song of the drunkard, so He made His grave with the wicked.

The procession, as we might call it, consisted of the Lord bearing His cross, with Simon from Cyrene forced to carry the lighter end of it behind Him. Two others, criminals, no doubt each carrying his own cross, formed part of the group, and the soldiers on duty completed it.

But I am glad that men like these, and not James and John, became His companions that day. In this the devil showed his lack of foresight, and in this he was outwitted. Suppose they had crucified the sons of Zebedee, one on His right hand and the other on His left. People would then have said that these men were helping Him finish His work of redemption.

Those murderers who hung with Him could have no hand in the work He was doing. They were suffering for their own crimes; He, the sinless One, for yours and mine.

The two thieves represent the two great classes into which mankind has been divided, from the days of Cain and Abel down to this very moment. God's Christ is the one great and all-deciding test in every case. Think of every shade of moral character, every level of society, and every caste, class, sect and party the human family has been, is, or ever will be divided into. All of them are absorbed in this one great point: "In or out of Christ."

"Skull," that is, Golgotha — a name avoided, like Gethsemane and others, in view of Gentile readers. "Calvary" in the Authorized Version comes from the Latin Vulgate.

Now, Calvary means "the place of a skull" — a sign of the end of humanity on its own side. This is what man is reduced to, an empty skull. If you look at him in his natural state, he is morally nothing but a sightless skull. What emptiness marks man in his own condition at his best. It seemed fitting that they should come to this place, Calvary.

Calvary was a witness to the moral condition of the whole world, and also to the love and grace that would come down to the very place where the ugliness of sin was displayed, to triumph over it there. From the skull of Calvary springs the beauty of the resurrection — not only for the Son of God, over whom death had no power, but for the whole family of the redeemed who are risen with Christ, eternally beyond the power of death to spoil or disfigure.

We speak of the cross, and God speaks of the cross; but I sometimes think there is very little grasp of what the cross means. The cross has become a fashionable ornament in the Christian world. People decorate themselves with it. Yet what was the cross but a gallows, the Roman way of carrying out the death penalty — a cruel, shameful, scornful, hateful kind of death? ... Hanging was not the Jewish way of punishing criminals. The Old Testament shows that when the Jews put an offender to death, he was stoned. But to be hanged, to be put on a gallows, was a Gentile way of execution. That is why they handed Christ over to the Romans.

We are spared the pain of the details of the actual killing of the blessed Sufferer. It is described in brief words: "They crucified Him." We know from other Scriptures that it was by nailing Him to the cross. The cross was lifted up from the earth with Him hanging on it, hanging on the tree.

That morning they searched the prison cells of Jerusalem for the most degraded of all the criminals the city held. They led them out to die along with Jesus. These men had been guilty of appalling crimes. That is why they chose them to hang one on His right hand and the other on His left. That is why they put Him on the centre and highest cross. By this deliberate and malicious plan they meant to announce that He was the worst of the three. In this way they heaped shame on Him, adding the deepest insult to the deepest injury.

But I am glad that men like these, and not James and John, were taken to be His companions that day. In this the devil showed his lack of foresight, and in this he was outwitted. Suppose they had crucified the sons of Zebedee, one on His right hand and the other on His left. Then people would have said that they were helping Him to finish His work of redemption... Those murderers who hung with Him could have no part in the work He was doing. They were suffering for their own crimes; He, the sinless One, for yours and mine.

To humiliate the Lord Jesus, they crucified Him between two robbers, and in this way they numbered Him with the transgressors... Luke 23:39-43 shows us that God's sovereign power and grace was over this. He used it to bring one of these men to genuine repentance and faith in the Lord Jesus. He used it also to show the solemn fact that Christ crucified is the great Divider between the lost and the saved.

Remember, one robber was saved, so none need despair; but — only one, so none may presume.

But in this gospel we find no trace of that agony and sorrow on the cross. He had already gone through it all in spirit with God, so He is above it all. Luke shows us, more than any other gospel, the perfection of Christ as Man. He is so far above His circumstances that He is taken up with others. His first word on the cross is, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Then He can turn to the poor thief at His side and say, "Today you will be with Me in paradise." And His last word is, "Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit."

He did not pray this prayer at the start. He prayed it after He had served among them for three and a half years. He had shown them His most wonderful love, in words no one could better. He had blessed their children and fed them when they were hungry. He had healed the sick and cleansed the leper. He had opened the eyes of the blind and raised the dead. Then they spat on His scarred face. They tore His back with the whip and crowned His head with thorns. They nailed Him to a cross. That was not enough for them: they sat down to watch Him suffer, to gloat over His pain and to mock Him. The tide of man's hatred rolled over Him, wave upon wave. It was then that His voice rose above the storm.

The men crucifying Him were in the process of committing the greatest crime ever. They had plenty of evidence of who the Lord Jesus was, and they rejected Him with their eyes open. They were responsible for what they did. But the Lord Jesus, in infinite grace, says the words "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Their hatred made them blind. They did not see how deep their guilt was, or what their actions really meant. So the Lord treats them as ignorant men, as men who killed by accident and not as murderers. Through this prayer He was opening the city of refuge to them (Numbers 35).

They did not know what they were doing, so He prayed for them. But their ignorance could never clear them in God's sight. That is why the Lord had to plead for them… God can be gracious, but He could not pass over a man's wrongdoing. The same is true of those who crucified His Son. By His prayer the Lord showed what their guilt was. At the same time He offered up Himself as the true sacrifice and asked the Father to forgive them.

The prayer of Jesus as they crucified Him was completely unexpected. That prayer was answered about fifty days later. Peter preached salvation through the risen Christ in Jerusalem, and 3,000 people ran for that refuge. The prayer was unusual because it was the fruit of such divine compassion as had never come to light before.

They heard His prayer, yet they did not stop what they were doing. The very next sentence reads, "and they cast lots to divide His garments." By telling it this way, the writer brings out the sharp contrast between His spirit and theirs. He was thinking of others. The soldiers wanted only what they could get, so they took their share of His clothes. The chief priests and the people took the chance to show the bitter hatred in their hearts.

Later Stephen, when he was stoned to death, prayed in a similar way. But he could not say that the Jews did not know what they were doing. He said only, "Lord, do not hold this sin against them" (Acts 7:60). Stephen had told the Jews plainly that this same Jesus whom they had crucified was now raised by the power of God. That was the proof of God's approval of Him. Yet the Jews still rejected Him, even though He was risen from the dead.

In every respect the Word of God came true, and the ways of men were laid bare. This was not a matter of one class and its own habits. High and low, the ruled and the rulers, civil and military — all played their part. And the part they all played was hatred against God, who was revealing His love and goodness in His Christ.

They offered the Lord vinegar mixed with myrrh or gall, and He refused it. But He did take the vinegar after He had said, "I thirst." This matched the prophecy, "for my thirst they gave me sour wine to drink." Ps. 69:21; Matt. 27:34, 48.

The matching passage in Matthew 27:34 seems to show that the wine here was a cheap, sour drink — the word translated "vinegar". The mixing with myrrh was meant to dull the senses, and the Lord refused that cup.

The soldiers in fact join the Jews in their insults. They look only at the question of worldly power, and say: "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself." They stand only on the outside of the evil, and they publicly witness the fall of the people.

And now the cry of salvation begins to ring out, though in mockery. "He saved others," say the rulers; "let Him save Himself, if He is the Christ, the chosen of God." Even the soldiers take it up in their own way: "If you are the King of the Jews, save Yourself." And then one of the robbers puts together what cannot go together: "If You are the Christ, save Yourself and us." These things really cannot be joined.

The soldiers mocked Him too. They came to Him, offered Him vinegar, and said, "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself." Again that awful if. They wanted Him to prove He was the King of the Jews by saving Himself. But He would not do that. He would not save Himself, so that He might be able to save others like you and me. Unbelief doubted the inscription, "This is the King of the Jews"; faith accepted it, then and now.

It was because He was the King of the Jews, as no one else ever has been or can be, that He did not save Himself. And so He can send out the message of salvation now, and bring salvation later.

What effect did the prayer for forgiveness have on anyone who heard it? The soldiers, set on personal gain, cast lots for His clothes. The rulers scoffed at Him. The soldiers mocked Him too. They offered Him vinegar in mockery and said, "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself." The people "stood by, watching." So who had been moved by that prayer? No one that we read of.

But what effect did the prayer for forgiveness have on any who heard it? The soldiers, intent on personal gain, cast lots for His garments. The rulers scoffed at Him. The soldiers, too, mocked Him. The rulers said, "He saved others; let him save himself, if this is the Christ of God, His chosen." The soldiers offered Him vinegar in mockery and said, "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself." The people "stood watching." Who, then, had been moved by that prayer? No one that we read of.

In every respect the Word of God was fulfilled, and the ways of men laid bare. It was no question of a class and its peculiar habits. High and low, the governed and the governors, civil and military — all played their part. And the part they all played was hatred of God, who was revealing His love and goodness in His Christ. Man's folly was as plain here as God's grace was in the presence of man's wickedness.

Again this awful "if." They wanted Him to prove that He was the King of the Jews by saving Himself. But He would not do that; He would not save Himself, just so that He might be able to save others like you and me. Unbelief doubted, faith accepted, then as now, the inscription, "This is the King of the Jews."

It is remarkable how all of them repeat this taunt: "Save yourself." It is bitter and trying, but in fact it reveals the perfect selfishness of the human heart. To have power, and not use it to save oneself, was unthinkable to man's mind. Selfishness in the thief could even add "and us" to the taunt. The Jews said, "If he is the Christ, let him save himself." Then came the taunt that insulted the Jews as well as Him: "If you are King of the Jews, save yourself." And the thief spoke like the Jews. All unite in this. But the love of Jesus was undiminished. He did not come to save Himself. He could have saved Himself, but then not others, and He would not have accomplished the perfect and adorable will of His blessed Father.

And now the cry begins to ring out, though in mockery, of salvation. "He saved others," say the rulers: "let Him save Himself, if He is the Christ, the chosen of God." Even the soldiers take it up in their own way: "If you are the King of the Jews, save Yourself." And then one of the robbers makes the impossible combination: "If You are the Christ, save Yourself and us." Truly impossible to put these things together.

The soldiers join the Jews in their insults. They look only at the question of worldly power, and say: "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself." They stand on the outside of the evil, and in public they witness the fall of the people — a people now ungodly.

He was the King of the Jews, as no one else has been or can be. That is why He did not save Himself. And that is why He can send out the message of salvation now and bring salvation later on. Man in that day gave little weight to what was written over Him in Greek and Roman and Hebrew letters: "This is the King of the Jews." Man wrote it in scorn, yet God will give it all its own force — God, who overrules the will and the wrath of man to praise Him. Through the Crucified, God will bless the world later on, Jew and Gentile, high and low, even as His grace gathers people out of it now.

That inscription was Pilate's own writing (John 19:19), and he was set on having his way in it. He had given in to the Jews about crucifying the Lord, but he refused to change the title he had written to put over His head. So Pilate could be firm when he chose to be. "What I have written I have written" (John 19:22) stopped every further protest from the Jews.

Pilate fastens to the cross the Lord's title: "Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews." Perhaps he did it to annoy the Jews; he certainly did it to carry out the purposes of God. The words hold a double truth — the despised man from Nazareth is the true Messiah.

Matthew: "This is Jesus the King of the Jews" (27:37). Mark: "The King of the Jews" (15:26). Luke: "This is the King of the Jews" (23:38). John: "Jesus of Nazareth the King of the Jews" (19:19). In full: "This is Jesus of Nazareth the King of the Jews."

"The King of the Jews, this!" The tone of contempt finds fitting expression in Luke; compare Isaiah 53:3.

The inscription over His cross was written in the languages of the intellectual world (Greek), the political world (Latin), and the religious world (Hebrew): "This is the King of the Jews." For all of them had united in rejecting Him, and He remained King of the Jews through death itself. God in His sovereign power ordered this clear, decided witness.

So men of every class could read in their own language the record of their shared guilt. They could also read a witness to the wonderful love of God, given to them in their own tongue — a small foreshadowing of Pentecost.

He was the King of the Jews as no one else had been or can ever be. That is why He did not save Himself. That is also why He can send out the message of salvation now and bring salvation later on. Men that day gave little thought to the weight of the words written over Him in Greek and Roman and Hebrew letters, "This is the King of the Jews." If man wrote it in scorn, God will give it all its own force — God Who overrules the will and the wrath of man to praise Him.

Despite the hatred of the Jews He received His true title, and it came from a Gentile. There it stood written and could not be changed; and so it is still. Jesus of Nazareth, the despised and rejected One, is the King of the Jews — that is one of His titles. The throne of His father David is His, and in the wider sense He will be the King of kings.

Scripture is completely silent about anything of this kind. It is silent about any redeeming or qualifying circumstance. More than that, it gives us the testimony of two inspired witnesses. They prove that right up to the moment when Luke introduces him to us, he was busy in the terrible work of railing on the Son of God, just like his fellow on the other side. In Matthew 27:44 we read, "And the robbers who were crucified with him also reviled him in the same way." So too in Mark 15:32, "Those who were crucified with him also reviled him."

No sorrow, no shame, no suffering brings the heart too low to scorn Jesus; a robber hanging on a cross despises Him! There is an instinct, so to speak, in every unrenewed heart against Jesus. It was not quieted even by that power of love in which He was going down into the deepest humiliation, to suffer the wrath due to sin. Do not say that you are one bit better than this wretched man. In two words, there is no difference. In God's sight you are as bad as the unrepentant thief who railed at Him.

There may be the surest reviling of the Saviour without one word that people would consider blasphemous. In this very case the unrepentant robber simply said, "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!" It was a thought, it was language, not unnatural to a man's mind in such circumstances. It was blasphemy to the mind of the Spirit. He was the promised centre and channel of every blessing for the earth, for man, and for God here below. That such a One should die on a cross did seem beyond measure strange. He had all power to save others, not to speak of Himself. That He should choose to die that way was incredible to the natural mind. Man does not understand how deep the humiliation of Jesus went. He understands the grace of God no better. And he does not understand his own utter need, which both of them measure and meet.

Blindly, the robber thought only of being saved from the just sentence of his guilt. His hardened heart showed no concern for the seriousness of his eternal end. It showed no regard for the grace of the Lord Jesus either, who had prayed for the forgiveness of His enemies. He callously refused his last opportunity of forgiveness.

We find that the two robbers proposed something impossible — "Save yourself and us." If He saved Himself, He could not save them. He had to go through it all.

But what do we see on that third cross? We see an unbelieving sinner. This is the solemn point. We may say without any hesitation what would have happened if he had thrown himself on the grace of the dying Saviour, as his repentant companion did. He would most certainly have met with the same response. There was grace in the heart of Jesus to meet the one as well as the other. But he did not want it, would not have it. He stayed unrepentant and unbelieving until the dark shadows of death gathered round him. Then the darker horrors of hell burst on his guilty soul. He perished within arm's length of the Saviour and salvation.

This is conclusive. It proves, beyond all question, that there was no difference between the two thieves. They were both condemned criminals. And more than that: right at the edge of eternity, both were busy with the terrible sin of reviling the blessed Son of God.

What then produced such an entire change of feeling in the man? Faith. Yes, it always produces repentance when it is genuine. Faith makes a man willing to see sin as he never saw it before, and makes him see it because God is revealed to him. We never can see sin, except through the cross of Christ, in the light of God. It was Christ crucified who brought the light of God into the man's conscience. How exceedingly sinful his sins must have been, to bring down the Son of God to die for them!

When God has dealt with the conscience, we make no more promises for the future. Unlike the naughty child who says, "I'll be better tomorrow," the soul confesses sin today. "Do you not fear God?" is the word — not "Are you not ashamed of being a thief?"

Moral alienation marks the whole human family, so such fear of God is the fruit of divine grace alone. The dying thief shows this clearly. At first he mocked the Son of God in the hour of His suffering. Yet soon we hear him say to his fellow, "Do you not fear God?" As he drew near to eternity, God rose up before his soul and reverent awe filled him.

It is deeply interesting to see that a newborn soul discerns according to God. It does so by instinct, through the new nature, where no one had given or received any formal teaching. The converted robber at once warns his unrepentant fellow of his sin and sets his danger before him. He confesses his own natural state, his own life and ways no less evil than the other's. And in the most serious and feeling way he defends the glory of the Lord Jesus. … There they were, "under the same sentence," as a fact, but how different in God's eyes!

He rebukes his fellow criminal for doing the very thing he had done himself just before. He had only just stopped doing it. As men count it, this was inconsistent. Quite so. When conscience comes into God's presence and has the light of life, it acts in a way people would call very inconsistent. He was inconsistent as a man, but consistent as a saint. … This true taste of what sin is differs completely from the dread of sin's consequences.

Here are the accents of genuine repentance. … He felt and owned that his sentence was just, and that he was only reaping what his deeds deserved. Was there anything meritorious in this? By no means. It was the judgment of himself, the condemnation of his ways, the sense of his guilt. … It was the fruit of the Spirit's work in his soul, and enabled him to appreciate God's salvation. … It is impossible that the sense of guilt could ever form the basis of righteousness.

Listen to his dying words: "And we indeed justly ... but this man has done nothing wrong." It was the tremendous contrast between himself and Christ that forced the confession — "We indeed justly." There was no excuse, no explaining away. He does not try to make the guilt look smaller. He does not complain that the sentence was too harsh. He does not argue that his position is unjust.

In the case of the repentant thief, we see the first touch of the Eternal Spirit in the words he addressed to his fellow: "Do you not fear God?" This is the very earliest fruit of His sanctifying work. He does not say, "Do you not fear punishment?" ... A person may fear judgement, fear hell, and fear the consequences of sin, without the smallest particle of hatred of sin itself. But where the Spirit of God is really at work in the heart, He produces a real sense of sin and of God's judgement of it.

Here are the accents of genuine repentance: "we indeed justly." He felt and owned that his condemnation was just, and that he was reaping only "the due reward of our deeds." Was there any merit in this? By no means. It was the judgement of himself, the condemnation of his ways, the sense of his guilt. And this was right. It was the sure forerunner of conversion to God... It is utterly impossible that the sense of guilt could ever form the basis of righteousness.

"This man has done nothing wrong." He would vouch for the whole life of Christ. On the contrary, this was a divine revelation to the soul. What Christian would not lay down his life for this? ... It was a divine revelation of the perfection of Christ's Person. Could your soul answer for Christ in that way? Here is a man who does so when everybody is deserting Jesus: here is divine faith that He was perfectly sinless.

Most certainly, no soul was ever saved except by a work done for him — and Jesus alone did that work... But where the heart knows the work done for the soul, there is a work done in that very soul... There was more than righteousness here. There was a sense of grace, as well as of sin, and a sensitivity to God's will. There was delight in "this man," Jesus. His holiness made such an impression that the poor criminal, now a believer, could challenge all the world.

The light that shone into his soul was not vague and ill-defined, but clear and distinct. It was the light of a contrast between the Christ of God and himself... "This man has done nothing wrong" will be loudly proclaimed as true of Christ alone in the glory... In all Adam's race, from Eden down to the setting up of the great white throne, only one ever fitted this description — the seed of the woman. Of no one else could it truly be said, "This man has done nothing wrong."

I think I hear that poor dying thief saying to his neighbour: "You and I never did a right thing. Here is a Man who never did a wrong thing. I am going to trust that Man." His faith found expression in the prayer: "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."

Here is every mark of conversion, and of the most remarkable faith. The fear of God, the beginning of wisdom, is there; conscience upright and vigorous. He knew the perfect sinless righteousness of Christ as man. He owned Him as the Lord when His own disciples had abandoned and denied Him, and when there was no sign of His glory or of the dignity of His Person. Men counted Him as one of themselves. His kingdom was only a subject of scorn to all. But the poor thief is taught of God; and all is plain. He is as sure that Christ will have the kingdom as if He were reigning in glory.

He did not ask for any sacrifice to be offered on his behalf. His prayer tells us that he did not feel the need of it. The Lord's answer shows us there was no need of it. "Remember me when you come in your kingdom," not into, but in — that is, in the royal splendour and power which belonged to Him who was then, and is still, the King.

As soon as he has finished his witness to the other thief, his heart turns to Christ by instinct. How undistracted he was! Was he thinking of his pain? Or of the people around the cross? He was completely taken up, as always happens when a person is aware of God's presence. To all appearances he was completely helpless. Yet he heard the Shepherd's voice, and knew Him as the Saviour and King. … The other criminal thought only, if he thought at all, of being rescued right now. This one saw the sufferings of Christ, and the glory that should follow.

Where the heart knows the work done for the soul, there is a work done in that very soul. So it was with this man. Even though it all happened so fast, the Spirit of God has given us the great moral marks of it. First of all appears a hatred of sin in the fear of God; then the repentant heart rebukes the shameless evil of his fellow.

He does not ask for a part in His kingdom, but to be remembered by Jesus then. What! He, a robber, to be remembered by the King of kings and Lord of lords? Even so. He was right, and those who would judge him wrong are wrong themselves. They do not enter, as he did, into the glory of Jesus, Who calls His own sheep by name now, and Who, when that day comes, will not forget the last any more than the first, in the perfection of His love. … Others might put up the sign over the Crucified without faith. But the name and kingdom of the Crucified were written on the converted robber's heart.

The Lord went far beyond what the crucified criminal expected. He said, "Today you will be with me in Paradise." Later the man would share in the glory of the kingdom. … But meanwhile the Lord would have him with Himself in Paradise. There he would wait with Christ for the time his soul had desired. Such is grace — divine grace. It loves to go beyond our desires, and to bless according to the heart of the Giver rather than the need we put into words.

What a balm for the heart of Christ that was! What a blessed, wonderful cheer from God for the heart of His own Son.

The dying robber prayed the Lord to remember him when He should come in His kingdom. Jesus said, "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise." So He offers a blessing beyond and better than the one he asked for. To the renewed mind it is a dearer prize than any outward display, however glorious: the joy of being that very day with Christ Himself, where the Father delights to love and honour the Son.

The usual way of handling this text is to change the punctuation. They would have us read the words like this: "Truly I say to you today: you shall be with me in Paradise." They make it mean, "today, this day of my humiliation, I say to you." But the word order in the sentence is all against them... Besides this, the Lord is answering a prayer in which the thief named a time when he wished to be remembered... The Lord says in effect, "You shall not wait for that: today you shall be with Me."

A word on paradise. It is Greek, and said to be derived, whether rightly or not, from the Persian, and is used of an enclosed garden or pleasure park (Song 4:13; Neh. 2:8). In the New Testament it occurs as a description of the present place of the saints who are out of the body (Luke 23:43; 2 Cor. 12:4), and also of their future place of bliss, in which the tree of life will be found (Rev. 2:7)... Paul clearly distinguishes it from the third heaven.

Paradise is identified with the third heaven by Paul in 2 Corinthians 12. In Revelation 2:7 the Tree of Life is there, a reminder of the earthly paradise, but filling the whole scene.

So we see how brightly grace shines in the salvation of the thief on the cross. There can be no possible mistake about him. Clearly he had no good works to trust in. He had done no deeds of charity. Of baptism and the Lord's Supper he knew nothing... For what could he do? Where could he turn? His hands and his feet were nailed fast to a criminal's cross.

The thief is an example, not of extraordinary faith, nor of an unusual way of saving sinners, but of the only way. I believe God has singled him out to give us an example, free of any later details. It shows us that the title to heaven and the fitness for heaven are both given the moment the sinner believes... There was no need of any preparation for Paradise beyond the preparation which divine grace gave him.

A similar truth appears later in the case of the converted thief. The point there is just the same — immediate blessedness, not just later, when the body is raised from the dead. That is what he looked for when he asked to be remembered at the coming of Jesus in His kingdom. But the Lord adds more — immediate blessedness now.

How did the saved thief enter heaven? With Christ, and in all His perfectness... He was not merely to be inside the door, but with Christ, wherever that might be. Oh, these blessed words "with me"! They settle and define everything about our heaven.

"Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise." Who is this, coming out with His "Amen" when He is about to die? Who is this whose eye could, before closing in death, turn on a poor sinner and send a ray of glory into his soul?

It is important to see that John (as throughout his Gospel) gives Roman time. He counts from midday and midnight, as we do. The other Gospels give Jewish time, counted from six o'clock. So we have these times connected with the crucifixion: 6 a.m. — Pilate sits down "on the judgment seat at a place called The Stone Pavement" (John 19:13). 9 a.m. — (the "third hour," Mark 15:25) the Lord was crucified. 12 midday to 3 p.m. — (the "sixth" to the "ninth" hour) the three hours of darkness. 3 p.m. — Jesus died.

Supernatural it certainly was, for it being the time of full moon, there was no eclipse of the sun to account for it. It was, however, in perfect keeping with what was taking place. At the fall of the king of Egypt God declared, "I will cover the heavens and make their stars dark; I will cover the sun with a cloud, and the moon shall not give its light" (Ezek. 32:7). How much more might that literally happen when the Creator was dying on the cross! He is the One who upholds all things by the word of His power. For three hours that mysterious darkness continued. It was the first sign since the Lord's arrest that God was not indifferent to all that was going on. During that time men seem to have been mostly quiet, probably overawed by what was happening.

At the last stage of this great transaction there is darkness over all the earth. How fitting that it should be so! God and Christ were alone there. Long before, these words pictured this scene: "No one may be in the tent of meeting from the time he enters to make atonement in the Holy Place" (Lev. 16:17). In one sense that darkness pictured the darkness resting on the mind and heart of the nation at that moment. It was the terrible moral darkness that lay on Israel. Yet God surely meant to withdraw His Son in that hour. No eye was to see what passed between Him and Christ when the Blessed One bore the judgment of God against sin.

From the sixth hour (noon), with the sun in mid-heaven, to the ninth, there was darkness over all the land. Three full hours — this suggests the full measure of the cup of wrath poured out to Him. "God is light," and from our sin-Bearer the light is absolutely withdrawn. The eclipsing of the sun was only a figure of a more awful eclipse upon the soul of the holy Son of God.

God would not let so great an event as the death of His Son leave the world unaffected. He had made that world. Nor would He leave untouched the legal system He had set up through Moses among His earthly people.

The three brightest hours of the day were darkened, as the sun was veiled. There was something very fitting in this, for the true "Sun of Righteousness" was bearing our sin at that time. A divine hand also tore the veil of the temple. This showed that the day of the visible temple system was now over, and that the way into the holiest was about to be made known — see Hebrews 9:8. Our true "Sun" was veiled for a moment, enduring our judgment, so that there might be no veil between us and God.

He was crucified at the third hour. Everything we have read of happened before the sixth hour, which is noon. Then a supernatural darkness covered the land — the sunlight failed, as some translations render it. It certainly was supernatural. It was the time of full moon, so no eclipse of the sun could explain it. That mysterious darkness lasted three hours. It was the first sign since the Lord's arrest that God was not indifferent to all that was going on.

The three brightest hours of the day went dark, because the sun was veiled. There was something very fitting in this, for the true "Sun of Righteousness" was bearing our sin at that time. God's own hand also tore the veil of the temple. This showed that the day of the visible temple system was now over, and that the way into the holiest place was about to be made known — see Hebrews 9:8. Our true "Sun" was veiled for a moment, enduring our judgment, so that there might be no veil between us and God.

The veil of the temple, which marked out the whole system of the Jewish religion, was also torn from top to bottom. No earthquake did this, and no other physical cause. The natural light disappeared, and Judaism vanished, so that a new and true light might shine, giving anyone who saw it free entry into the holiest place of all.

Matthew and Mark both write that the veil was torn in two from top to bottom (Matthew 27:51; Mark 15:38). That speaks of God coming out to meet man as a Saviour God. But in Luke 23:45 the veil is said to be torn "in the midst." This surely means that the legal system of Judaism, in which there was no access to God, had been set aside in the death of Christ, so that by that same death men might have access to God in an entirely new system.

God had said that He would dwell in thick darkness. But He dwells in it no longer. Before, God was hidden, though He acted. He stayed hidden behind the veil. But now He reveals Himself in the death of Jesus, and by means of that death. The veil of the temple separated God in His holiness from man, and shut man in his sins out from God. It was torn in two from the top to the bottom — that is, from God to man. The veil was torn in two as soon as Jesus died. But people in our day want to put it up again, to put God in the darkness and man at a distance from Him.

Luke often leaves the strict order of time. He loves to give us the moral setting or the results of the ways, words or work of the Lord Jesus. But here none of the three Gospels seems to give clear marks that let us say for certain whether the tearing came before or after our Lord's death. In the four Gospels we have God's full and complete account of Christ's atoning work.

Then when all is over, when the great work of atonement is done, and the suffering reaches its furthest point... God hears the cry of the Sufferer, and the answer comes. Christ can say, "You have heard me." The resurrection proved to man that God had heard Christ and accepted the work. Still, Christ Himself knew He was heard and accepted the moment the atoning work was finished. So at once, we learn from the Gospels, the Lord spoke the language of perfect communion.

Here there is no cry to God as the forsaken One, when His soul became an offering for sin... Nor does He speak here as the Son, conscious of His own deity, declaring the work finished for which He had come. This is the ever perfect man, Christ Jesus, committing His spirit into His Father's keeping with unwavering confidence... The words here do not express His suffering as the forsaken One making atonement. They express the peaceful departure of His spirit, as man, into the hands of God the Father.

The Lord did not hesitate to take its words for Himself at that moment (Luke 23:46). He only put "Father" in place of "Jehovah," as fitted Him. And now, risen from the dead, He gives us the right to do the same, in the faith of His redemption.

Jesus cried with a "loud voice." Why is that recorded? Why does the Spirit of God dwell on it here? To show that our Lord Jesus Christ kept the full, undiminished, unchanged strength of His manhood. He still had all His powers as a Man. He was not wasted, not worn out with suffering. What He had gone through had not weakened His strength in any way. In the full vigour of perfect humanity He cried with a "loud voice," and said, "Father."

The wise man of the Old Testament has told us, "No man has power to retain the spirit, or power over the day of death" (Ecclesiastes 8:8). But here is One who had that power. He is able at one moment to lift up His voice with unimpaired strength, and the next moment to deliver up His spirit... Here is One who has full command over His spirit; He delivered it up to His Father, and so He laid down His life.

His first word was "Father." His last word is "Father"; and between the two the darkness and tempest... Only Luke's gospel records this cry. Luke is also the Gospel that gives His first recorded words, "Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?" (Older translations read "about my Father's business," which is the sense that follows.) That business was finished now, not one bit of it left undone. In the serenity and calm of that knowledge He commends His spirit to His Father and bows His head in death.

Jesus could say, and He alone could say it rightly, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit."... He could lay down His life and take it up again, so He could speak this way to the Father. But the servant of the Lord could say, rightly and with blessing, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit."

The main subject of Luke's presentation is the person of the Lord Jesus as Son of Man. He is the true and perfect man. He lived as the only just one among the unjust, and He suffered death for them — on the cross. This is why Luke describes in great detail how the Son of God became man. He tells of His birth, His childhood, His obedience towards Mary and Joseph and His growth in every respect... In no other Gospel do we find the Lord Jesus in prayer and speaking about prayer as often as in this Gospel. In this way He shows His perfect dependence upon His God and Father. The centurion's words under the cross sum up the Holy Spirit's intention in this Gospel: "Certainly this was a righteous man."

The centurion is mentioned here as owning Jesus to be "a righteous man," whatever man might have judged or done.

Even the centurion in charge of the execution became sure that "certainly this was a righteous Man" (v. 47). Matthew mentions that the centurion and others with him also declared Him to be the Son of God. Luke emphasises His manhood, and so leaves that statement out.

The Roman centurion stationed there to watch the crucifixion completed is the great witness of the power of the cross on conscience. The effect and power of what his conscience took in through the death of the Lord Jesus Christ forced the almost involuntary testimony from his lips as he gazed at Him: "Certainly this was a righteous Man"... I am bold to say there is no power on earth or in heaven equal to the power of the cross. Its effect on conscience, heart, and affection is beyond man's power to describe.

The poor centurion was struck by all that had taken place. He confesses that this Jesus whom he has crucified was certainly the righteous man. Such is the power of the cross upon the conscience. I say conscience, because I do not pretend to say that it went any further than that in his case.

Luke records the faith of the Gentile centurion in a different form from the other Gospels: "he glorified God, saying, In very deed this Man was righteous." He is righteous in the full sense, not just by comparison with other men. Everything the centurion has seen proves it. He is prompt and outspoken in his confession. The Gentile takes the first place now, as he has done for many centuries since. He is the first sign of the change that is coming.

Testimony to this was borne by the centurion who witnessed the scene because of his official duty... The centurion became a fourth witness to the perfection of Jesus, joining Pilate, Herod and the dying thief.

There is truly nothing like the cross. Look at what it did here to the conscience of the centurion, and to the crowd. There was this testimony as well: "And all the crowds that had assembled for this spectacle, when they saw what had taken place, returned home beating their breasts." They could not understand it at all. Yet it struck them that something had happened beyond the usual order of things. God was pleased in this way to give proof of the power of the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Was there not in the minds of the crowds a feeling of regret at how the day's events had ended? Were the crowds now quite sure that His execution was just? Were no misgivings beginning to arise? The death of the two thieves caused no such display of emotion. No doubt could exist about the justice of their punishment. But why beat their breasts, if they were equally sure that His was just?

The poor centurion was struck by all that had taken place. Such is the power of the cross upon the conscience: he confesses that this Jesus whom he has crucified was certainly the righteous man. I say conscience, because I do not claim it went any further than that in his case. We see the same effect on the spectators: they went away beating their breasts. They perceived that something solemn had happened — that they had fatally compromised themselves with God.

Among the common people too, how different was their attitude from when they were shouting for His crucifixion! They returned from that sight beating their breasts. Their thoughts were solemn and deep, for they realized they had seen what they had never expected, and could never forget.

The people seem conscious that it was all over with them — stricken in heart over a deed they could not help feeling was dreadful, though they hardly defined it. God does not leave man without witness. But this is what usually happens with men who lack the revealed light of God. They know when sin is done that something is deeply wrong, yet they soon forget it. So here, though not without a sense that the case was desperate, they go not only as sheep without a shepherd, but stumble in the dark night.

Moreover, the murder that brought ruin robbed man of peace, for at the cross we read that the crowds "returned home beating their breasts." There was no peace in those breasts.

The Jew sees the only Jew of power nailed to a cross, and beats his breast in helplessness, despair, and shame.

The masses are troubled (they had no part in the affair, and expect no good from it) and go away. Those who knew Him in a more human way were personally involved, and for that very reason more afraid. They stood far off. The women who had followed Him from Galilee were there, looking on.

They stood far off — at a distance, and yet placed so that they could see what was happening. Luke says that "the women who had followed him from Galilee stood at a distance watching these things." We can find out what those things were by comparing the Gospels. The passers-by insulted Him, shaking their heads and saying, "You who destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself. If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross." The chief priests, the scribes and the elders mocked Him too. The soldiers divided His clothes by casting lots. Darkness covered the whole land until the ninth hour. Above all there were the cries of the Lord Himself — the first as He endured the forsaking of His God, and the second as He died. Then the earth shook and the rocks split.

In Luke 23:49 we read of His followers who "stood at a distance watching these things." But here, standing by the cross, we see "His mother, and His mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene." Warmth of love toward Him is what overcomes fear. John, the writer of this book, is nearby also.

The prophetic writings had said, "You have put lover and friend far from Me" (Psalm 88:18), but they had also said, "He made His grave … with the rich in His death" (Isaiah 53:9). If verse 49 gives us the fulfilment of the one, verses 50-53 give us the fulfilment of the other. In every emergency God has an instrument in reserve to carry out His purpose and fulfil His word.

We need not say how deeply this touched their hearts. But the sight of the cross, and all that happened there, could not fail to leave an eternal impression on those who witnessed it. Might not many have been brought to God at that time?

Some devoted women had followed the Lord during His life on earth and supported Him out of their own money. They receive honourable mention. In love they had followed the Lord through His life of service. They clung to Him in His death on the cross. They watch while His body is laid in the grave. It is easy to dwell on their lack of understanding, while falling far behind them in their devoted love.