Devotionals

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Friday is here. The day had arrived when he wearily staggered up the road, forced to carry the instrument of his own execution. Only days ago he had ridden through the streets on a colt to the shouting of praise. "Hosanna!" "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!" Now he found himself marching to the roaring rhythm of curses, mockery, and bloodlust. "Crucify!" "Crucify him!"

Not too long ago he had been on a mountaintop talking with Moses and Elijah. He had been transfigured, shining and shimmering in majesty and splendor. He was blindingly glorious, and some of his disciples were privileged to bask in the sunlight of his face. But now he was on his way to a very different place. He found himself approaching the mount upon which he would be virtually disfigured.

His company would not be mighty prophets but malicious protestors, and his bedfellows would be thieves, as he would be numbered with transgressors. How drear it is to say: Friday is here.

The day had come when he found himself thrown against a tree with his open-wounded, whip-mutilated, bleeding back forced to rub against the coarse, splintery wood of his cross. Surely while on the ground he could have looked to his side and witnessed the soldier place the nail over his hand and the hammer being lifted high just before impact.

What went through his mind just before the hammer struck? Might he have experienced a whim of surrender or defeat? "CLINK!" "AAHHHH!"—A blood-curdling scream. The hammer slammed the nail, and a flash of agony raced through his body as he felt the monstrous spike pierce the skin and nerves of his wrist. "CLINK!" "AAHHHH!" Another nail punctured his other wrist and his nerves writhed in misery.

When he felt himself being hoisted up and affixed to an upright post, he let out a bone-chilling cry from the entire weight of his body being suspended from the spikes driven through his wrists. Was it over? "CLINK!" "AAHHHH!" A nail stabbed through both of his feet. He was now crucified.

Not only was he fatally wounded and bleeding, he was now shamefully exposed as the soldiers beneath him made a game of dividing his clothing. He was not even allowed to experience his last painful moments in silence, but he was treated to the most biting sarcasm and mockery of all.

"He saved others and he can't even save himself!" "Why doesn’t the great 'king of Israel' come down off the cross that we may believe in him?!" "If he is the 'Son of God,' then let God rescue him now!" "He said he would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, but he can't even come down off the cross!" What discouragement must have come over him as even those beside him who were justly sentenced hurled insults upon him!

An eerie darkness spread through the land. What sadness must have overcome him as he hung beneath the overcast sky! For not only had he become a public spectacle and an object of social scorn, he was a portrait of sin and wickedness. God laid upon him the evils and ills of all mankind. He had become the image of offense and the object of God's wrath.

As though the mere sight of his bruised, bleeding, and battered body wasn't disturbing enough, in the sight of heaven he had become the very representation of all mankind's crimes against God. So shameful to God was the sight of him that God turned away. And this amazing, wonderful individual who had been there for everyone now found himself to be truly all alone. "MY GOD!"—A deafening cry of despair. "MY GOD! WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?!" What unbelievable sorrow must have overtaken him!

How much longer could he last? What marvelous comeback could he possibly perform now? Though he was severely lacking in strength and even breath, he managed to say: "It is finished!" And with that said this tremendously unique person who had been a teacher, mentor and life-changing source of hope for so many, breathed his last.

And all at once came a great sound of rejoicing as Satan and his servants must have felt an overwhelming sense of victory as their most challenging opponent had been utterly rejected, murdered, and, as it seemed, defeated. How devastatingly depressing to note that Friday is here. But…

Sunday is coming. Sunday—the battle was not yet won, and the race was not yet run. Sunday, he would show that he may have been down, but he was not out. On Sunday he would diffuse the devil's armament with the power of dynamite. On Sunday he would devastate demonic strongholds. Sunday is coming—when he would become the greatest victor of all time.

On Sunday he would show for certain that he had nailed sin and wickedness to the cross. Yes, he made his death-march to the cadence of curses, but then he would arise to the sound of great rejoicing as all those who had been alienated and estranged by their sin could be reconciled to God.

Yes, the murderous insurrectionist, Barabbas, was released to the people and he was unjustly sentenced to die. But in exchange for himself he would make possible the release of mankind from the guilt and penalty of sin.

Yes, the land had been engulfed in dismal darkness during his death, but his return would illuminate the entire globe brighter than the sun; and he’d become light to the whole world.

Yes, he experienced true isolation as God turned away from the sight of him, but he would forever be there for everyone even to the end of the world.

The onlookers mockingly called on him to save himself, but he would save all mankind. He would fully deliver on his promise to rebuild the demolished temple in three days. On Sunday he would come forth as living proof that he was exactly who he said he was. He would do more than come down off the cross; he would come out of the tomb!

The one enemy that mankind could not overcome, the one condition for which man had no treatment nor cure, the one adversary from which man had no escape, death, would be swallowed up in victory. With atonement as his battle plan and the gospel as his prescription, he would defeat the grave for all of his patients.

And so, in coming forth he would be the firstborn among many, and he would forever prove that the grave is not the end. He would confirm that caskets and catacombs could be conquered. The dirge of a funeral was not the last song to be played. The cemetery did not have the final say. In his coming forth he would resoundingly proclaim from mountains high: "O Grave, where is your victory? O Death, where is your sting?"

On Sunday he’d show his enemies that he knew no defeat. He would crush the grim tyrant that had reigned over the world. He would demolish death's domination of mankind. He would break its bonds and cast aside its shackles.

He may have been left to perish on a tree, but he would triumph over the decay of death. For God wouldn’t allow this Holy One to see corruption. He may have been nailed to a cross and murdered by the hands of godless men, but God would raise him up again, putting an end to the agony of death (for the jaws of death could not keep him in their grip).

For those who suffer from agonizing diseases, he would win a refuge of rest. To the man on his deathbed, he would give tremendous hope. To the elderly woman who was abundant in years but greatly lacking in self-sufficiency, he would supply reason and meaning. To the woman soon to lose her husband to fatal illness, he would grant the comforting anticipation of reunion. For his servant soon to be executed for following him, he would secure vindication. Those who are afraid to die, he would empower with courage and confidence.

The civil and religious leaders believed with certainty that they had shaken the faith and foundation of his followers. Satan and his cohorts may have believed that they had made a tremendous stride in gaining the upper hand over mankind. But what would occur Sunday morning that would infuriate the religious opposition and would cause the devil and his legions to gasp?

The Lord God Almighty rolled the stone away! Jesus fully delivered on his promise to rise on the third day. Now with his empty tomb he imprisoned his scoffers and emboldened his disciples. His bare sepulcher served as vindication over his enemies a haven of rest to his followers. What a mighty song of victory from heaven must have been sung that Sunday as Jesus arose from the grave triumphant!

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