From the Pulpit

Though enduring unspeakable pain, Jesus did speak. From the cross he offered words of mercy for ignorant sinners (Luke 23:34), words of destiny to a dying criminal (Luke 23:43), and words of sympathy to his grieving mother (John 19:26–27). Following closely behind, came words of misery (Matt. 27:46), an agony so profound that its darkness defies human understanding. Then, with words of frailty (John 19:28), Christ’s vicarious suffering reached its pinnacle.

This scene, as brutal as it is familiar, offends even those who have been cleansed by his blood and freed by his sacrifice. We may be tempted to rush ahead to the words of certainty (John 19:30) and words of victory (Luke 24:6) that follow but before we do, it’s wise to pause and, with the Spirit’s guidance, reflect on the intimate and trusting words of tranquility the Son declares to his Father.

In the incarnation, God the Son, having existed eternally as God and with God, added humanity to his divinity without diminishing or compromising either nature (John 1:1–3, 14). So, on the one hand, Jesus Christ is, was, and always will be truly God (e.g., John 20:28; Rom. 9:5; Tit. 2:13; Heb. 1:8). We can—and should—sing with full scriptural conviction, “Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see / Hail the incarnate Deity!”

At the same time, from the moment of his conception, Jesus Christ is, and always will be, truly human. At a moment in history, the invisible God became visible, and the God who is spirit became tangible (1 John 1:1–3). During his earthly life, wrapped in flesh, our Lord experienced human limitations—weakness, frailty, fatigue, temptation, pain, and death. Jesus’s true humanity allowed for his great suffering, and that suffering, in turn, showcased his deep desire.

“My, God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” There may be no sentence in all Scripture that is more difficult to explain than this one. It’s said that Martin Luther fasted and meditated for hours on this verse, and when he finally spoke, it was to declare, “God forsaken of God! Who can understand that?”

Indeed, to fully grasp our Lord’s meaning and experience in Matthew 27:46, we would have to fully grasp the mysteries of the Trinity—one God eternally existing in three equal but distinct persons—and fully grasp the mysteries of the incarnation—the union of human and divine natures in the one person of Jesus Christ. And since our earthly minds cannot comprehend such heavenly realities, God’s people are backed into the corner of our finitude. There are things in this horrid scene that we just can’t fully understand. But, by God’s grace, there are also some things we get to understand more fully because of this horrid scene.

It is a general truism that people die as they have lived. Those who come to the end of life with bitterness, regret, and harshness are often those who have lived lives characterized by those same qualities. Alternatively, those that approach their final years and months with faith, humility, and gratitude have likely exhibited those virtues in the decades prior.

In the nineteenth chapter of John’s gospel, the Apostle details the events surrounding the death of the Lord Jesus Christ. It’s a horrific scene littered with plotting, suffering, mocking, screaming, crying, and bleeding. But, beyond all the brutality and injustice, readers are shown the Saviour dying as he lived, full of contagious compassion and selfless love, both of which his followers are called to mimic. Disciples of Jesus Christ are to be need-seeing and need-meeting people because they belong to a need-seeing and need-meeting God.

As he neared the end of his life, Michelangelo, the famous Italian artist, wrote a reflective poem that opened with the following stanza: “The voyage of my life at last has reached, / across a stormy sea, in a fragile boat, / the common port all must pass through, to give / an accounting for every evil and pious deed.”

With typical profundity and skill, Michelangelo captured the adventure of living, the delicacy of life, and the inescapability of the grave. The fact is, unless the Lord Jesus returns, death is “the common port” at which each of us will one day dock our “fragile boats.” We are all en route, not knowing how far from the eternal marina we currently sit. While that can be a depressing thought, for those in Christ it doesn’t have to be. In fact, the reality of our mortality can push aside triviality and frivolity, inspiring honesty, sincerity, and urgency. This is particularly true when, listen to Jesus, we know what comes next.

Step into the awe-inspiring presence of the Lord as we delve into Psalm 99, a passage that echoes the majesty and holiness of God, just like Isaiah before the throne room of God. The earth trembles, the heavens are declaring His glory, and we stand before a holy and majestic King who is exalted above all. What does it mean to encounter a God who is holy, a God who is just, and a God who is worthy of all our worship? Come join us as we explore the profound truths of Psalm 99 as we draw deeper into an understanding of God's holiness and how it calls us to respond. Don't miss this opportunity to be captivated by the sanctity of the Almighty and to be transformed by His presence!

The final words of someone’s life can be meaningful and powerful. For example, it was just before they died that Joshua called for courage, Deborah prayed for justice, Hannah sang with gratitude, and Stephen invited repentance. It was at the end of their respective ministries that Peter said “guard the church,” Paul said, “preach the word,” and John said, “Come Lord Jesus.”

Final words like these can make a big impact. And if that’s true of some of God’s people, how much more is that true of God’s Son? Considered carefully and prayerfully, his laboured words uttered from the cross are those of sympathy and tranquility, of frailty and misery, of prophecy and destiny, and of certainty and victory. They’re meaningful, powerful, and potentially transformational. Through them we encounter the Lord Jesus Christ, majestically adorned in unmatched courage and love, beauty and power.

Israel was hurting economically, sociologically, and spiritually. The questions they hurl at God throughout this book—questions to which he responds through the prophet, Malachi—are dripping with childishness, defensiveness, and rebelliousness (see 1:2, 6, 7; 2:14, 17; 3:7, 8). Blinded by sin and circumstances, the people had lost sight of the character and promises of “the Lord of hosts.” They saw no evidence of his lovefor them nor his faithfulnessto them, and because of that, they were struggling to offer God the worship he demanded, the trust he deserved, and the allegiance he desired. They knew that they were called to serve the Lord but, because of the way life was going, they were starting to wonder if such labour was worth the effort. What were they getting out of the deal? Why work for a God who doesn’t seem to be working for them?

As with most Old Testament prophets, Malachi was sent by God to confront, correct, and console his wayward people. When he arrived in post-exilic Judah, the remnant was doubting God’s love (1:1–5), dishonouring God’s name (1:6–2:9), profaning God’s promises (2:10–16), and wrestling with God’s justice (2:17–3:5). Israel had become frustratedwith and fatiguedby life, spiritually immature and covenantally insecure, hard-hearted and pig-headed. Their priests weren’t teaching them, their crops weren’t feeding them, and their God, it seemed, wasn’t hearing them. So, what did they do? Among other things, they stopped giving to him. They reasoned to themselves, “If he won’t give us whatwe want, why should we give him whathe wants?” And because Israel wasn’tgiving, God wasn’tblessing, and the world wasn’tnoticing. 

The Bible is clear: the God of the universe constantly, perfectly, and impartially does what is right and good. He is just. It was to God’s justice that Abraham appealed when interceding for the godly in Sodom: “Shall not the Judge of all the earth deal justly?” (Gen. 18:25). Moses sang of the Lord, “His work is perfect, for all his ways are just” (Deut. 32:4). The Psalms celebrate a God who “loves righteousness and justice” (33:5).

God is just. But the fallen world in which we live isn’t and when God’s people inevitably experience this apparent inconsistency—whether personally or vicariously—they may echo Job’s confusion: “I shout for help, but there is no justice” (Job 19:7). We’ve all watched greed succeed, selfishness be admired, idolatry go unpunished, and blasphemy be cheered. We’ve felt the plight of the righteous and seen the victories of evil and thought to ourselves, “I know God is just. But is he, though?”