“It Is Finished”
Matthew 27
Dear Brethren and Sisters, the chapter we have before us this morning—Matthew 27—is the center point of all history. Most history is utterly meaningless and unimportant—the mere squabbles of animals in a jungle. But this chapter records the most important and meaningful event that ever happened.
If we read this chapter everyday and meditated upon it, it could make the difference between acceptance and rejection at the judgment seat of Christ. Let us not take that acceptance for granted. It is only for the very few who give themselves wholly to God (we are told that over and over)—those who live and think entirely differently from how they would naturally live and think apart from the Word of God.
The attainment of salvation and eternal life is not hard. It is very easy. It is actually the easiest possible way of life, because it is in harmony with truth and reality. Jesus said, “My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
But, easy as it is, it does not just happen. It requires a certain specific course of life—clearly explained in God’s book of life. It may be very easy to get to a certain place, much easier for example than to get to some other place. But unless we actually put our feet on the right path and move steadily along that path, we shall never get there, no matter how easy it may be to do so.
Because God has made the way so easy, so sensible, so reasonable, is why the judgment for neglect is so severe. “Cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.” The judge does not say, “Sorry, you tried, but you did not quite make it. We’ll just put you quietly to sleep.” No, there is no such middle ground as that. What he says is either, “Come, ye blessed of my Father,” or “Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting fire.”
Why no middle ground? Because the way of life is SO easy. There is absolutely no excuse for failure. God has made every provision for success. It is just a matter of finding out exactly what is required and simply doing it—just very simple submission and obedience, as we expect and take for granted even from any well-trained dog.
The required obedience covers many aspects—actually every act and aspect of life. But none are too hard for the simplest mind to grasp. Such as—
“Love not the world.”
“Come out and be separate.”
“Always abound in the work of the Lord.”
“Rejoice without ceasing.”
“In everything, give thanks.”
“Present your bodies a living sacrifice.”
“Be ye holy, as God is holy.”
“Meditate on these things; give thyself wholly to them.”
“Make no provision for the flesh.”
“Let your speech be always with grace.”
“Put away all anger.”
“Be gentle to all men.”
There are, of course, many, many more. And they are all just as simple and easy. It’s just a matter of being sensible enough to get down to doing them, instead of doing something else.
There is absolutely no excuse for failure, for all that God ever asks is our best. He never requires anything beyond our abilities. All that He asks is everything that we have, which is perfectly reasonable, and actually, the very least that He could ask under the circumstances, for it to really mean anything at all.
The gift is so great, and what we have to offer Him at best is so utterly puny, that for Him to ask or for us to give anything less than everything would make a mockery of the whole thing—not worth bothering with.
All the things that God asks of us are the things that enlightened love and common sense would want to give anyway—would not be happy without giving.
The truly spiritual mind—the intelligent godly mind—could not possibly be satisfied with giving anything less. It is in fact desolated and embarrassed that it has so little to give to manifest its love and devotion and thanksgiving. Devotion always wants to give to its object. It gets its joy and peace and satisfaction from giving. And it is always eagerly striving to give more.
This is why the cleavage at the judgment seat is so clear cut—“Come, ye blessed,” to the wise and intelligent; “Depart, ye cursed,” to the foolish.
When we have to do with God, the issues are so great that there just cannot be any half way. If we do not eagerly go all the way, we just haven’t learned about Him at all—we are playing a game—a Sunday religion.
God asks nothing that we cannot do, but He asks everything that we can. The basic requirement is eager desire.
The chapter before us records the final terrible sufferings of Christ in his loving obedience to the Father. These sufferings should ever be before our minds.
I do not wish to dwell on their details this morning, but we should all be fully familiar with all the dreadful details involved in Roman scourging with a barbed whip, which tore the flesh to pieces, and with crucifixion. And we should think upon them often to keep our minds in the healthy tract of humility and gratitude and separation from the world.
There are many puzzles in this chapter—strange enigmas that give us partial hints of so much that is not revealed, as Pilot’s wife’s dream; Joseph of Arimathaea, who suddenly appeared just this once and just at the right time and never again; the thief on the cross—a manifestation of almost incredible faith and comprehension from a criminal; the deeply impressed centurion—a hardened Roman; the dark tangled picture of the traitor Judas; the dead saints who rose and appeared to many; Simon the Cyrenian, father of Rufus and Alexander, apparently men who were known to the apostles, who suddenly and out of nowhere was thrust into the very center of all history; the strange words of Christ in his agony, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”; and Pilot himself—a vile and wicked man, caught up in depths that frightened him, struggling to set Jesus free.
All these lead to both profitable and unprofitable lines of thought—profitable, if in the direction of a better understanding of basic principles, of getting closer to the mind of God, of a beneficial effect upon our own acts and conduct, but unprofitable, if just aimless, merely curious, dead-end speculation—questions with no answers.
It is to be noted from verse 3 that Judas repented. He regretted what he had done. He recognized and confessed his sin, but it was merely the repentance of despair—a natural fleshly repentance. It did not lead him to do good. Repentance must go all the way to complete change to mean anything—a new beginning. How different it was with Peter’s repentance! And how differently he was treated!
And then the strikingly hypocritical contrast between verses 4 and 6, to the statement, “I have betrayed innocent blood,” the Jewish leaders quite coldly replied, “What is that to us?” To them an utterly unimportant consideration. It was just innocent blood. But, to the idea of putting the betrayal money into the treasury, Oh no, that just could not be done. “It would not be lawful.” How easy it is for us all to “strain out a gnat, and swallow a camel.”
There is no basic logic or balance or reason to the natural human mind. “It is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.” It can believe anything it wishes, and it can justify anything it wishes.
Pilot—this man presents a strange figure in this confrontation. We know from Scripture and from history that he was a wicked and evil man. He came to a bad end. And yet he struggled mightily to free Christ—three times protesting his innocence.
The message from his wife was just what was needed to cause him to do what had to be done. It had to bring out those terrible words, “His blood be on us, and on our children.” “We have no king but Caesar.”
It had to bring about the choice between Christ and Barabbas. The multitude had to be aroused to a frenzy before Pilot could overcome his fears and superstitions. The Romans, who were generally perhaps the most practical and deadly efficient people in all history, were deeply superstitious about dreams and auguries and omens. Remember Julius Caesar and the Ides of March.
Pilot wanted to release Jesus. He had a nameless fear of this strange man, who claimed to be the Son of God, and of whose work he doubtless had heard much. He knew the leaders had delivered him up because of envy (verse 18)—envy, because of Jesus’ power and popularity with the people. Still again, overruling providence takes a hand in the events, to direct them the way that God wants.
This was the Passover—the greatest in the Jews’ eyes of the three great feasts, when all must assemble at Jerusalem. The whole nation was there. And it was the custom for the Romans, or at least Pilot (it could have been Pilot’s own custom), to release one prisoner to them at this time. And the time for that release had just exactly occurred.
Matthew said, we note in verse 17, “Therefore when they were gathered together”—that was to demand of Pilot the release of the prisoner—that is, the whole multitude in Jerusalem or at least as many as could possibly crowd into the available space for the occasion. The Revised Version of Mark 15:8, which is more accurate than the Authorized Version, gives the same picture. “And the multitude going up began to desire him to do, as he had ever done unto them.”
How wonderful that these events so marvelously converge! The nation unconsciously assembled to face the choice between a murdering bandit and the sinless Son of God!
Pilot clearly felt that here was a way of escape. Jesus, he knew, was popular with the people. He had gone everywhere doing good, and just a few days before, the multitude—this same multitude—had worshipfully hailed him with “Hosanna to the son of David.”
But Pilot’s scheme did not work. Now the multitude chose Barabbas, and said of Christ, “Crucify him.”
Why the sudden change? The chief priest and elders persuaded the people that they should ask Barabbas. But how were they able to do so?
Jesus stood before them—a pitiful figure, horribly beaten and wounded, bound and humiliated, and not doing any miracles, not saying anything. The outstanding aspect throughout is that Jesus was practically silent through the whole transaction—a meek, tempted, uncomplaining, submissive sheep.
He had boldly claimed to be the Son of God, then stood helpless and powerless. This was not the kind of king the mob wanted. They were not interested in his goodness and kindness and holiness and gentle words of love and light. “Give us Barabbas.” A leader, a real man, a fighter, Barabbas, who dared to lead an insurrection against the world-wide power of Rome. It was, as Jesus had said, the loaves and the fishes.
The chief priests thought they were saving the nation and themselves. “One man must die, lest the Romans take away our place and nation.” But, it was the Barabbas class that finally brought on the Roman armies and the desolation of the land and the awful horrors of the final siege and destruction of Jerusalem—one of the most terrible events in history.
Pilot tried in vain to stem the tide, pleading with them. But, verse 24 we note, he could see the ugly and ominous beginnings of a riot brewing. The Jews were very prone to riot.
So, he took water and washed his hands, and said again, “I am innocent of the blood of this just person.”
And the mob cried, “His blood be upon us, and our children.” So, he gave him over to their will.
In preparation for the crucifixion (verse 34), they offered him a stupefying drink to dull the mind and lessen the agony of the terrible ordeal. But he would not drink it. The cup that he chose to drink was that prepared by his Father—full, conscious, patient obedience right to the very end. There could not be the slightest degree of evading the divinely appointed task. He must manifest clear unconfused perfection right to the final moment.
The way in which he accepted this terrible torture was all important. It was for the eternal record. It was the final climaxing event of an absolutely perfect life. His mind must be clear. He had things to say, both to man and to God.
There are seven things recorded that he said on this occasion, manifesting to us perfect self control, perfect submission, perfect obedience. One moment of failure would have spoiled the whole age-long purpose of God. What a weight lay upon him! The weight of all the sin and sorrow and eternal destiny of mankind. Here is the secret of the bloody sweat of Gethsemane, and of the terrible cry of “My God, why hast thou forsaken me?”
Some have scoffed at his fears and tears, pointing to others who have gone bravely and defiantly to terrible tortures and deaths. But how little they realize the real struggle—for thirty-three long years, he had walked the agonizing tightrope of perfect obedience—he never slipped. Just a few hours more, but what a battle those hours held! He must be perfect unto the end.
These seven recorded statements that Jesus spoke from the cross. No one gospel gives more than three of them, and only one of them, the central and most striking one, is recorded in more than one gospel. But pieced together, they form a remarkable and obviously intended pattern. Luke gives three, John gives three, and Matthew and Mark together give the same ones.
The first, the central, and the last ones are prayers. The first and the last addressed to my Father, the central one to my God.
The first three concern care for others; the last four concern Christ himself, although all that concerns him concerns everyone, for he is the foundation of all.
The central prayer and the last prayer are quotations from the Psalms.
The first, recorded by Luke only, is “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” This is fittingly the first, and it appears to have occurred at the beginning, when they cruelly nailed him to the cross.
They did not know what they were doing, though they should have known. They were blinded by the flesh. They had not sought the light to give them light; they were in darkness. Many were forgiven, when they realized and repented. Peter said on the Day of Pentecost in Acts 3, “Ye killed the Prince of Peace... through ignorance ye did it, as did also your rulers… Repent ye therefore, and be converted.” And many did.
The second utterance, also recorded only by Luke, was the glorious promise to the thief on the cross. We are specifically told that one of the thieves was on his right hand and one was on his left, and we cannot help but feel sure that in the wisdom and providence of God, this one was the one on the right hand.
Actually, he was not a thief; it is a mistranslation. The New Testament throughout makes a very clear distinction between thieves and robbers, which the Revised Version consistently follows; although the Authorized Version, unfortunately, does not. It should be, as in the cleansing of the temple, a den of robbers, not a den of thieves.
The so-called thief on the cross was a robber, not a thief. A thief uses stealth, secretly; a robber uses violence, openly. This may seem not much of a difference, or it may seem to even make the case worse. But, it does give us a much clearer and more understandable picture.
Barabbas was a robber—the same word—and a murderer. He had made insurrection against Rome. He was what today would be called a terrorist, a freedom fighter, a guerrilla, and as today, these have always been a mixed and motley crew. We remember the type of some who assembled with David, when he was a fugitive—all the discontent. And as today, some are high-minded patriots and some are common criminals and some are somewhere in between.
It is most likely that the robbers crucified with Christ were part of the robber Barabbas band of insurrectionists against the power of Rome. It may have been Pilot’s revenge for their requesting the release of Barabbas to crucify two of his henchmen with Christ. We cannot, however, exonerate the repentant robber, as a pure patriot. He was a robber. He himself recognized that his punishment was due and just. So we can see the picture and background better, he quite likely had confusedly to himself justified his robbery as part of his patriotic conflict, as so many do today—going to every limit of violence in the name of freedom. One of the disciples had been of just such a band—Simon Zelotes, Simon the zealot. The zealots were a wild party of violent insurrectionists, like Barabbas with perhaps a little more principles.
It appears that this robber had first joined with the others in reviling Christ. It is possible to take the record otherwise, but only by straining it. Here is the importance of Christ’s deportment on the cross. It convinced the robber and saved him, just as it convinced the Roman centurion in charge, “Truly this man was the Son of God.”
The robber clearly knew of Christ and his doctrine. He said, “This man has done nothing amiss.” Just as Pilot testified. And he spoke of Christ’s coming kingdom. He manifests one of the most remarkable cases of discerning faith in all Scripture. When the disciples had fled in bewildered despair, and he and Christ hung dying in agony, he understood and believed.
It is a deeply sobering thought that though he repented and was forgiven by Christ and promised eternal life, still he must endure the continuation of the crucifixion, even to the barbarous smashing of his legs with clubs to make sure that there was no escape or recovery when he was taken down prematurely.
The third utterance was to Jesus’ mother and to John—loving consideration and provision even in the midst of his agony. Only John records this.
These three seem to be quite early, certainly during the first three hours before the darkness came. The last four were at the very end—at the ninth hour.
First that strange, central, key cry, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me,” recorded by Matthew and Mark. What did it mean? He knew all his life, from the 22nd Psalm, that this moment would come. He knew that he would make this cry.
This was the climax of the life-long struggle. From his birth, and especially from his baptism, he had been filled with the Holy Spirit. From his baptism without measure—limitless—God was in him. “God was in him, reconciling the world unto himself.” He was thus God manifest in the flesh. He could say, “He that hath seen me, hath seen the Father.”
There was a perfect oneness—a perfect union—a perfect fellowship. “I am not alone.” He had never known anything but this.
But now the time had come for a brief sundering. The time had come for the Father’s presence to leave him. It was a moment of desolation and anguish. Truly expected and braced for, but still a terrible shock in his weakened agony that called forth that bitter exclamation. But now that last hurdle was past.
He said, the fifth utterance, “I thirst,” recorded by John. What a terrible, choking, burning thirst it must have been to stand out above all the tortures of crucifixion. But he needed one last moment of refreshment—of renewal. He had two more things to be said.
Matthew, Mark, and Luke all tell us that Jesus cried with a loud cry—a loud voice. The word is usually translated great—a great voice. Only John tells us what he cried, “It is finished.” His work was done—accomplished, fulfilled. The terrible thirty-three year ordeal of agonized perfection in struggle with the flesh was over. The foundation of righteousness was laid; the way of life opened up; sin and death conquered, and their power forever broken.
The seventh and final utterance, which Luke gives us was “Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.” This is from Psalm 31—a psalm of both deep distress and joyful, thankful, confident worship and praise. And his next conscious moment was glorious resurrection.
Bro. G.V.Growcott
