And Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit."
John 12:23-24, ESV
Dying, though all are destined for it, does not seem natural. We are creatures built for living. Death is the unknown mystery. The unnatural stillness when breath stops and a soul departs. The loss of life.
The Roman Centurion orchestrated deaths for a living. He was a calloused man, familiar with the salty, metallic smell of blood in his nostrils, the daily normalcy of brutality and violence. His ears were acclimated to the moans, curses, and screams of dying men. These were not quiet deaths at the end of a good, long life.
His duty was to Rome. The people who cursed him quietly for a monster didn’t understand that even brutality can become normal when it’s part of your daily routine. He was good at his job, desensitized to the violence, and that’s what mattered. How could there be room for sentiment toward criminals of the state? Traitors to Rome were barely human anyway; they deserved to die.
But today was different. “Jesus, King of the Jews.” A fraud. A crazy, surely.
Yet, the King Jesus did not beg for mercy, like the other men. His eyes did not roll in fear. Wracked with excruciating pain, yet he seemed unafraid. He did not curse the Centurion, but prayed for him. “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”*
How could it be? The Centurion, usually unmoved at the sight of death, found his eyes drawn back to this man over and over, seeing him anew. Metal rods driven through bones and flesh that were once beautiful, strong, healing hands. His feet—steady, solid, once anointed with tears—now a mangled mess bearing up the weight of his body, heaving for its next breath. A crown of needle-like thorns digging into his brow. Naked. Bloodied. Mocked.
Then the sky went dark. The earth shook. Tombs outside the city walls broke open.
Who is this man on the cross?
From a place of grief seeming to come from the very center of his spirit, King Jesus cried out in agony, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”** And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last.
When he saw what had happened, the Centurion suddenly knew in a flash of understanding, “Surely, this man was the Son of God!”*** And then he and others with him praised God in awestruck wonder.
I wonder if he felt terror as well, thinking, “What have I done? Surely I am a dead man,” like one of the prophets when they encountered the living God. I wonder if he grieved over death for the first time in a long time.
When was the last time you considered that the glorious Creator of the universe—God Almighty—died? When was the last time you wept over the gospel?
Resurrection Sunday will come, but allow yourself to grieve the death of Jesus today.
Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted. In your struggle against sin you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding your blood.
Hebrews 12:1-4, ESV
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* Luke 23:34, NIV
** Matthew 27:46, ESV
*** Mark 15:39, NIV
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