Therefore, behold, *I* send unto you prophets, and wise men, and scribes; and [some] of them ye will kill and crucify, and [some] of them ye will scourge in your synagogues, and will persecute from city to city;
The Lord has just finished pronouncing woes on the scribes and Pharisees. Now, instead of withdrawing, He says He will keep sending messengers to the very men He has exposed — which raises two questions: who is this who says "I send," and why send more messengers to men He knows will kill them?
Luke records a parallel saying and credits it to "the wisdom of God" (Luke 11:49). One writer takes that as proof of who speaks here.
Some have claimed that we cannot apply abstract principles to Divine Persons. Luke 11:49 disproves this: "Therefore also the Wisdom of God said, 'I will send them prophets and apostles.'" Here we have a divine Person speaking.
These three titles belong to Israel. The Lord gives them to the apostles and prophets He sends to the nation.
Notice the character given here to the apostles and Christian prophets. They are scribes, wise men, prophets, sent to the Jews — to the ever rebellious nation. This very clearly brings out the aspect in which this chapter views them. Even the apostles are "wise men" and "scribes," sent to the Jews as such.
By building the prophets' tombs, these leaders condemned their fathers' deeds. The new sending put that verdict to the test.
The Lord had reproached these shepherds of the nation with their hypocrisy. Now He points out how they themselves condemned the deeds of their fathers — by building the tombs of the prophets whom their fathers had killed. They were, then, the children of those who killed them. God would put them to the test by sending them prophets and wise men and scribes too. They would fill up the measure of their wrongdoing by putting these men to death and persecuting them.
Crucifixion was not a Jewish penalty. One writer sees in that one word how far the holy city had gone.
Jerusalem was a place highly favoured with religious privileges. Yet it had a way of its own. If God's way did not bend to it, it would murder and crucify His messengers. He sums up Jerusalem's state, and marks out what the serving disciple could expect from it. He says He is sending them prophets, wise men, and scribes, and that some of these they will kill and crucify. That is, they would be so far gone as to use Gentile cruelties against God's servants. And this was said of Jerusalem.
The other two penalties point the other way. One writer reads the flogging in the synagogues and the chasing from town to town as persecution of a plainly Jewish kind. The aim, he notes, was to bring all the righteous blood upon that generation (William Kelly).
One writer traces two missions to Israel, one before the cross and one after it, and names the men who suffered in the second.
There were two distinct missions to Israel; one before, and one after, the cross of Calvary. The second was rejected with violence against the messengers. The children of those who killed the Old Testament prophets treated the New Testament apostles in the same way. Peter, John, and Paul experienced their cruelty, while Stephen and James were murdered by them. Our Lord gave a further warning about all this in Matt. 23:34.
One writer adds that whether they thought themselves capable of such cruelty or not, they fulfilled these words later (Leslie M. Grant).
The sending began after the ascension. One writer follows the same pattern on into Christendom.
Christ — for it was the Lord Himself who judged them like this — would send prophets, wise men, and scribes. He did so after ascending on high. To keep their religion intact, they would persecute, kill, and flog these messengers in the synagogues. But (it is God who pronounces the judgment) this was so that the righteous blood shed on the earth, from Abel to Zechariah, might come upon that generation. God had given them His last and greatest gift, and they had also shown human perversity and wickedness to the highest degree. We know, according to Revelation 18:24, that it will be just so with Christendom in its Babylon-like form.
- Sent by whom — The speaker is a divine Person; Luke's parallel puts the saying in the mouth of "the wisdom of God."
- Sent as what — Prophets, wise men, scribes: the Lord gives the apostles Israel's own titles, because He sends them to Israel as such.
- Sent as a test — By building the prophets' tombs the leaders condemned their fathers' deeds. God tested that verdict with fresh messengers, and they filled up the measure.
- Sent to be crucified — Not stoning only. Jerusalem would use a Gentile death, flogging in the synagogues, and hunting from town to town.
- Sent still — Christ carried out the sending after His ascension, and one writer traces the same violence against God's messengers on into Christendom.
so that all righteous blood shed upon the earth should come upon *you*, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zacharias son of Barachias, whom ye slew between the temple and the altar.
The Lord ends His charge against the religious leaders by naming a debt of blood. It runs from the first murder in Genesis to a killing at the temple, and He lays all of it on the men in front of Him. Two questions press on any reader. How can one generation answer for blood spilled centuries earlier? And which Zechariah does He mean?
One writer lists everything God had given them before He required this debt.
God had to require from that generation all the blood shed since the blood of righteous Abel. He had not required it before. He had given them light by His law, stirred them up by His prophets, warned them by His discipline, and appealed to their whole moral being by sending His Son. The sins of the fathers should have warned their children away from the same offences, because the children sinned after them, and so sinned in the light. But they kept on in it, and so stored up wrath for the day of judgment. They had to face the consequences of all this, under the just judgment of God.
God gave Abel this title, and one writer traces it back to the offering Abel brought and the faith behind it.
With Abel it was a question not so much of forgiveness as of acceptance. He did not bring the lamb for some specific sin, but as a way of approach to God. The fat of the sacrifice stands for excellence. So he who had no excellence in himself identified himself with a sacrifice that had it. His sacrifice being "more excellent" than that of Cain, God accepted it, and Abel also, because of it. God bore witness to his gifts, and to himself also, that he was righteous. Not innocent, mark, but righteous. Abel "became heir of the righteousness which is by faith." "Righteous Abel" is his title in Matthew 23:35.
Commentators differ. One reading points to Zechariah son of Jehoiada, killed on the king's orders, and to where his account stands in the Hebrew Bible.
This probably refers to Zechariah the son of Jehoiada. The king ordered him killed in this way (2 Chronicles 24:20-22). The word "son" in one of the two places may mean "grandson." The book of Chronicles closes the Hebrew Bible, so this murder of a righteous man may well count as the last, as Abel's was the first.
Others take the Lord to mean Zechariah the prophet, son of Barachias, and point to where he died: between the sanctuary and the altar.
This clearly covers the whole Old Testament, for it seems to point to Zechariah the prophet, son of Barachias (Zechariah 1:1)… In this case the martyr was apparently serving as a priest at the time, since he was the grandson of Iddo, of the priestly family. They killed him between the temple and the altar. This shows the cold-blooded ruthlessness of his attackers, who had no regard for God's glory pictured in the temple and the altar.
The same writer explains what tied the sons to their fathers' guilt, and then turns the principle on today.
"This generation" was still identified in practice with their guilty fathers, so they shared the same guilt. We cannot escape this principle: we carry the responsibility for whatever we are identified with, even though much may have happened before our day. So today the church of God on earth bears the shame of many acts of disobedience in the past. We cannot brush this aside.
Abel's blood cried out from the ground. One writer sets the blood of Christ beside it, and the two ask for opposite things.
The blood of Christ was shed on earth, as Abel's was by Cain. Abel's blood cried from the earth for vengeance, so that Cain became a wanderer and a fugitive on the earth — a striking picture of the Jew, guilty of the death of Christ. The blood of Christ does not cry that way. Grace speaks in it, and the shed blood cries out for pardon and peace for those who shed it.
- Blood cries. From Abel on, righteous blood has a voice before God. He forgets none of it.
- Blood accumulates. God did not collect the debt at once. He gave law, prophets and discipline first, so the later sins were done in full light.
- Blood spans. Abel to Zechariah covers the whole Old Testament story — first murder to last — Commentators differ on which Zechariah the Lord means.
- Blood identifies. That generation shared the guilt because they still shared their fathers' character. The same test applies to any group today.
- Blood answers. Abel's blood asked for vengeance. The blood of Christ asks for pardon and peace for those who shed it.
Verily I say unto you, All these things shall come upon this generation.
The Lord has just finished exposing the religious leaders of Jerusalem. Here He turns from accusation to sentence, and the sentence reaches far back: He charges the blood of centuries to the people standing in front of Him.
This is a verdict, not an outburst. Jesus had answered every question put to Him, and His opponents had run out of words.
The pleadings were now closed. The Jews stood convicted and silent. Not one counsellor among them could answer a word when he was asked. As a religion and a nation, they stood condemned. The Lord then takes the place of judge. He sets out the matters in evidence against them, and pronounces the solemn sentence.
An obvious objection is that these people never shed the blood of Abel. One writer answers that God had held back the reckoning while He kept giving fresh light. Light is what makes later sin worse.
All the blood which had been shed since the blood of righteous Abel had to be required of that generation. God had not required it before. He had given them light by His law. He had stirred them up by His prophets. He had warned them by disciplining them. By sending His Son He had appealed to their whole moral being. The sins of the fathers should have warned the children away from the same offences. After the fathers had sinned, the children sinned in the light.
The verse gathers many crimes into one charge. The same writer names the principle behind it: God's patience is not indifference, and it does not last forever.
The very solemn point shown here is that iniquity accumulates. God's patience waits. More than that, it uses every means to call back to sincerity and to Himself those who hold the truth and have at least its outward form. God makes the most touching appeals and the most forceful warnings. He stoops to reason with men almost as an equal with an equal. All of it is wasted on the stubbornness of men, who despise grace and practise iniquity. At last, when God has used up every means of calling people to repentance, the judgment comes that His patience had held back.
Commentators differ over the word "generation." Some read it as the people alive at that moment. Others say it marks a character that lasts, not just a span of years.
The true force is "this Christ-rejecting, unbelieving generation of Israel." It does not mean only the generation alive then. It means all who bore the same moral fruit as those who refused the Messiah. So they have continued, and will continue until after the last deceptions and the judgment of Antichrist... Read in this moral sense, the phrase fully explains God's righteous judgment for the blood shed from Abel onwards.
Another writer ties the words to a moment in history. The crucifixion was not the last test. One more witness came, and his death closed the account.
He would send them prophets and wise men and scribes. They were going to kill them, crucify them and persecute them. So all the righteous blood shed on the earth would come upon them. This was to come upon that generation. What they hear from His lips, another witness filled with the Holy Spirit tells them as well: Stephen. When they stoned Stephen, the measure was full and judgment came.
The rule at work here is not reserved for one nation. One writer applies it to Babylon, or corrupt Christendom. The same charge of gathered blood appears there. But this public reckoning is not how God deals with each soul.
Of course, this does not stop God judging each man for his own sin in the judgment of the dead... His blows on this world fall more on nations, as they did on Israel. Far more severe is His judgment of corrupt Christendom, or Babylon as it is called here, because it held greater privileges. But by His principle of government He weighs more than personal guilt. He weighs the guilt that piles up from age to age as men despise His testimony — guilt that grows in proportion to the testimony God gives and the wickedness men indulge in despite it.
- Light given. God sent law, prophets, discipline and last of all His Son. Each appeal raised the level of responsibility.
- Light refused. Sin after such warnings is sin done in the light. That is why the fathers' record counts against the children.
- Guilt accumulates. Iniquity piles up while God's patience waits and uses every means to call people back.
- The reckoning falls. When God has used every means, the judgment His patience held back arrives. One writer points to the stoning of Stephen as the moment the measure was full.
- The rule still stands. The same principle reaches Babylon, or corrupt Christendom — and judgment there is heavier, because the privileges were greater.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, [the city] that kills the prophets and stones those that are sent unto her, how often would I have gathered thy children as a hen gathers her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!
Jerusalem is the city where God had drawn nearest to people, and it is the city that killed the messengers He sent. Here, in the middle of severe warnings, He speaks like a mother bird — and this love meets a flat refusal.
Chapter 23 has just piled up charge after charge against the religious leaders. What follows is not triumph but sorrow:
This closing note is sweet and sad beyond words. It gives its character to the whole sentence He has passed. How hopeless that condition must be, when divine power, righteousness and love can only unite in mourning over the stubborn human heart!
Two forces were pressing on Him as He spoke, and neither one touched His love:
He was free in His love. Not all the cunning of Herod, nor all the hypocrisy of the Pharisees, could turn aside the grace that filled His heart. It was grace even to those who did not love Him... He has His own cross before Him.
The phrase "how often" reaches back over centuries. That tells you who is speaking. A man of that generation could not claim to have appealed to Jerusalem again and again:
Notice how the divine person of the Lord comes out here: "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often would I have gathered... and you were not willing!" Now a prophet could not say this. Though Christ was a prophet, it is true, still He was more than a prophet. He was Jehovah; for none but Jehovah could gather Israel. As it is said, "He who scattered Israel will gather him."
Jerusalem had the highest religious privilege, and that is what makes its record so dark:
Of all enemies, which are so deadly as religious enemies — those whose hearts are far from God, though they draw near with their lips and hold the place of the highest religious privilege! Such was Jerusalem. They had the prophets, but they killed them. God sent them messengers tirelessly, but they stoned them. And now the great prophet, the Messiah, Jehovah Himself, stood among them in divine love — what would they not do to Him!
In Luke's record of these words, Jesus has just called Herod a fox. The contrast is the point:
If Herod was a fox, then He pictures Himself as a hen. The hen cares and protects; the fox attacks and spoils. They had rejected the hen and had become the prey of the fox.
Two wills meet in this sentence, and everything turns on the collision between them:
Here lay the deep secret: "I would." This was the heart of God. "You would not." This was the heart of Israel. He was forced away — but not without leaving a word that is the precious basis of hope for the brighter days ahead, when the glory will return and Jerusalem will welcome her King: "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord."
The refusal is where responsibility sits. It is not God's failure, and not a defeat forced on Him:
Man's damnation is from himself. "You would not" is the sorrowful complaint of the One who came to save... If it is man's contrary will that ruins him, what purpose of God does that defeat? Did He purpose to save all despite man's will? That He would have all men to be saved is the vindication of His heart.
God's patience had run its whole course. This verse is what His love sounds like as it leaves:
"How often would I have gathered" was now the word of God's love and favour taking its leave, and it left with reluctance. Yet nothing could take that love out of the heart where it was stored, and nothing could reach it to alter it. If sin could drive it in there and shut it up, it still lived there untouched, blessed and perfect in its very nature. No sin or failure could get in to spoil that perfection or lessen its power. Such is God — such must He be known to us in Christ.
That refusal has an immediate result in the next breath — the temple stops being called His and is left to them. But the story does not stop at desolation. Commentators consistently read what follows as an interval, not an ending: Israel will yet see their King, when a repentant remnant welcomes Him with "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord."
- Sender. "How often" reaches back over centuries. The speaker is not just a prophet — He is the One who sent them, and none but Jehovah could gather Israel.
- Shelter. He offers Himself as the hen that shelters her brood, against Herod the fox that attacks and spoils. They rejected the hen and became the fox's prey.
- Refusal. "I would" is the heart of God. "You would not" is the heart of Israel. The ruin is man's own, not a defeat of God's purpose.
- Sorrow. Divine power, righteousness and love can only unite in mourning. He speaks this grace with His own cross before Him.
- Steadfastness. The love departs reluctantly but is not altered by the rejection — sin can shut it up, never spoil it, and it will bring Him back when they say, "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord."
Behold, your house is left unto you desolate;
Jesus ends His words to Jerusalem's leaders by handing the temple back to them. Three questions follow: whose house was it, what made it empty, and does the emptiness last?
Earlier in the same gospel Jesus had claimed the temple as His own. The pronoun changes here, and commentators point to two causes behind that change.
When the Lord Jesus was on earth, at the start of His public ministry, He claimed the temple as His Father's House (John 2:16). Even near the end of His life on earth, despite all the hypocrisy and evil, He still calls the temple "My House". But as He mourns over the city of Jerusalem, He says, "See, your house is left to you desolate" (Matt. 21:13; 23:38). The temple still carried the name of God's house, but it had lost its true character. It lost it because of what people allowed inside it, and because they rejected the Son of God.
The word "desolate" is not first about rubble. It describes what happens when the Owner walks out — and that is what He does next.
The Jews had defiled it in many ways. They made it a house of trade (John 2) and a den of robbers (Matt. 21). Yet He still called it His Father's house, and He kept treating it as such, until at last He judged it and said, "See, your house is left to you desolate." (Matt. 23:38.) At once we read that "Jesus left the temple and was going away." Until that moment, despite the abuses and corruption that had grown up around it, He had borne with His people and regarded the temple as His Father's house. But now He had judged the house and the people, and His own departure left it desolate.
Nothing about the building changed. The priests carried on; the temple stayed splendid. One writer sets that against a poor upper room where God's presence rested.
The temple was splendid, yet it was left desolate (Matt. 23:38). The priests were very busy, but it was all hollow; the substance was gone. In the upper room (Acts 2:2) the Spirit was the glory. By comparison it was a poor place, but it was the scene of God's presence. The dove had its home there.
Losing God's presence was not the end of it. The building itself came down.
One thing set Israel apart from all other nations: God's house stood among them. There God lived. From that house praise was to rise to God, and testimony was to flow out to the world. That house was a physical building — "a house … made with hands". Men corrupted it, turning the house of praise into a house of trade and a den of robbers. The Father's house became the house of corrupt Israel, so God abandoned it and left it desolate. The Gentiles then threw it down, until not one stone stood on another (Matthew 23:38; Matthew 24:2).
The next verse adds one word that stops the judgment short of being final: "until".
See, your house is left to you desolate. For I tell you, you will not see Me again" — does He say "for ever"? No — "you will not see Me again, until you say, Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord." Do these words not imply that a time will come when Israel will say, "Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord"? And that when they say it, they will see once more the Lord they had rejected, the Lord who had been absent until then?
One writer sets this beside Christ's words to the church at Laodicea, where He stands outside and knocks.
The next verse shows the position the state of Laodicea has forced Him to take: "Behold, I stand at the door and knock." The church on earth is God's dwelling by the Spirit, yet here we find Christ outside, driven there by the condition it has fallen into. He has not yet carried out judgment. He has not yet spat it out of His mouth. But He has taken His place outside. Matthew shows the same thing. As soon as He judged the temple and Judaism with the words, "See, your house is left to you desolate," He "left the temple and was going away."
- Yours — the pronoun carries the verdict. He had called it My Father's house; now He hands it back, because of what they allowed inside it and because they refused the Son.
- Empty — desolation began with a departure, not a demolition; He judged the house, then walked out of it.
- Hollow — the priests stayed busy and the temple stayed splendid, but the substance was gone. God's presence settled instead in a plain upper room.
- Ruined — the house of praise had become a den of robbers, so God left it to be thrown down. Not one stone stood on another.
- Until — He does not say "for ever". The sentence runs until Jerusalem's heart changes and welcomes the One who comes in the Lord's name.