Why Jesus Died

It's spring in Jerusalem, not a bad time to be out late. In a garden near the foot of the Mount of Olives, men are sleeping outside tonight. At the gate lie eight of them; farther in are sprawled three more. These are the followers of Jesus, a carpenter like his father before him, but who for the past three years has become a preacher, teacher, and healer.

But Jesus isn't sleeping. I can't tell if he's wearing a prayer shawl. But I think he may be praying. Do you think we could come closer without disturbing him? I can't make out his words, but listen to the tone of his voice! This man's in terrible trouble. Now I hear some words. He's crying for his father. But Joseph died years ago. What can Jesus mean? Oh, he's calling God his father. That's it, he's praying to God.

But I've never heard praying like this. He's not using the proper forms or titles. He doesn't even mention Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Jesus is talking directly to God Himself, and he calls him "Dad." He's groaning, and he says, "O Dad, Dad, I don't want to drink this cup; please take it away."

Look at his face in the moonlight. Jesus is sweating something fierce, and it almost seems like he's bleeding. He's not praying in the standard posture. He has collapsed right onto the ground. He's breathing hard; now he's sobbing. Listen; he says again, "Dad, O Dad, take this cup; take it away." What can he mean? There's no cup here.

Let us pray too: "O God, Father of us all. What's going on here? Why is Jesus in such distress? Please help us to understand and appreciate what he's doing. Tell us; take us; show us what this is all about."

I don't see Jesus or his disciples anymore, but we're still in the garden. No, this must be a different garden. Yes it is different, brighter and more beautiful than any garden I have imagined. And look, I'm sure that's Jesus, but he appears very different. No distress here; he's poised and calm, and he's smiling. He's not alone. He's talking to a young man, and a young woman. I think they're in love. Jesus seems to be giving them a tour of the garden.

They've stopped in the middle of the garden, flanked by a tree on each side. The two trees look much the same. Of one Jesus says, "Please eat freely of this tree; to eat here is to live, to live with the good, forever." What an easy way to live. The fruit is beautiful and smells marvelous, and there seems no end of it.

Now he's pointing at the adjacent tree. It's fruit looks and smells much the same. But Jesus' smiling face has taken on a very serious expression. "You have an enemy," he says, "an enemy that would take away your life and your happiness. This enemy sometimes visits your garden; but when he does, he is confined to this tree. Please don't listen to him; don't eat his fruit. You already have life; the enemy can offer you only death. Just stay away from this tree, and you'll do fine."

I don't know how much time has elapsed, but the scene has changed again. Despite Jesus' warning, I see the woman talking to the forbidden tree. How strange to speak to a tree. No, she's actually talking to a serpent in the tree. That's stranger still. And what's really strange is what the serpent says. Remember, Jesus said, "If you eat from the forbidden tree, you'll learn evil and you'll die." The snake is saying, "No you won't die; in fact you'll get wiser, and become like God himself. God has lied to you!"

Yes, it's clear that someone is lying. Jesus said, "If you rebel you'll die." The serpent says, "If you rebel, you'll live, and advance to something better."

Oh, no! The woman is eating the forbidden fruit, and so is the man. I wonder if they know what death is. But I'm afraid they'll find out; they're going to die today. We keep watching. The day comes to a close, and they haven't died. Yes, they're naked, and they always were naked, beautifully so. But something's different. Now they feel naked. They're hiding in the bushes.

They're picking fig leaves. What in the world can they hope to do with those? You won't believe this. They're trying to weave the fig leaves together. It's obvious they haven't a clue about making clothes. Now if they had started with banana leaves, or palm or pandanus, or even taro leaves... but fig leaves? Their results are hilarious!

Jesus comes looking for them. Of course it was silly to try to hide from him. It was silly to think they needed to hide. No, they're not dead, but they've already lost trust in God, and in each other.

The man says, "It's not my fault, she did it first."

The woman says, It wasn't my fault, it was the snake's fault. And God, you made the snake!"

I'm not sure if the young lovers still love each other; they're blaming each other. I'm not sure they love Jesus; they've just run away from him. And now they're both blaming him.

I see them leaving the garden now. Their heads are down, and their feet are dragging. They look sad, and Jesus looks sad too. Years pass. I see lives with joys, but also many sorrows. I see farming and animals and children. Now it's 900 years later, and they're both dying of heart disease. But I guess their hearts have been sick for a very long time.

Let's remember the claims we heard back in the garden: Who was really telling the truth?"

Jesus said, "In the day you eat of it, you will surely die."

The snake said, "You won't die, and God knows it himself. He's trying to keep from you something good."

And until now, they didn't die. What is the truth, and what does it mean? If God is the only source of life, and I choose to turn away from him, what is the natural thing that will happen? Of course, death would be the result of my turning away from life. But the picture is not clear. Does sin really produce death? Or is it God that kills people?

Or could God really kill, even if He wanted to? Are we creatures, who get our lives only from our Creator? Or is it like the serpent said? Are we ourselves gods, who will go on living forever, with God, or without him?

If we are ourselves gods, we cannot really die. So if we seem to die, it must be because a stronger God tried to kill us. What kind of God created us? Did he say, "I want you to be free, and to freely love me. But if you don't love me, I'll kill you?"

I wonder how Jesus will answer this question. Of course he could have done nothing. If the man and woman turn away from life, and God does nothing, they would die, even that very day. God would be shown to have spoken the truth. But I hear God saying, "I'm not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance."

I think God must have done something special to allow them to continue living, despite their rebellion, giving them a second chance, and more. More chances to change their minds and return to their source of life.

I know how Abel died: Cain hit him with a big rock. But when death is the result of a creature being separated from his Creator, what is that death like? Do you suppose God will answer that question? Who will die that death? Do you suppose that God would not allow even one of his creatures to die the death of separation, until God has demonstrated it for himself? Is God so eager to save us from death, that he would even be willing to die himself?

Oh, look, we're back in the garden called Gethsemane. And there is Jesus where we left him, feeling his terrible separation from the Father. Three times he has prayed that he cannot endure this separation. Then he prays, "O Father, Daddy, I trust you completely. If there's no other way to save our people but for me to be lost from you, then may your will be done."

Jesus has made his choice to suffer the death of separation. And look, he's falling, dying to the ground. But he mustn't die yet! There are still more questions to answer. Wait, I see an angel bending over him. Jesus is not dead; he seems to be regaining strength. Yes, he's still very weak, but he's standing now, and staggering toward his sleeping disciples. Up from the Kidron valley I see torches, and I hear a mob coming toward the garden.

I can tell the group contains a few Roman soldiers. But the rest are of Jesus' own nation, the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. They look excited and angry. In fact it's some kind of religious frenzy. These are religious people, but what has become of their religion?

God had said through the prophet Isaiah, "These people say they are mine. They honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far away. And their worship of me amounts to nothing more than human laws learned by rote" (Isaiah 29:13 NLT).

If people turn their hearts away from God, yet remain religious, what kind of people do they become? Let's watch and see.

The angry crowd is charging into the garden, waving torches and weapons. I wonder how Jesus will get away. Wait, he's not even trying to escape. We see him walking deliberately toward the angry crowd. He calmly asks them, "Who are you looking for?"

They shout, "Jesus of Nazareth." He says, "I am he." But the mob seems strangely confused. They mill about, but no one is approaching Jesus. Oh, yes, there is one. Why, it's Judas, one of Jesus' disciples. He seems worried about Jesus; he comes up and kisses him.

Let's listen to Jesus' response: He says, "Friend, do you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?"

When the mob sees Judas touching Jesus, they suddenly rush forward again. Again Jesus calmly asks, "Who are you looking for?" They shout, "Jesus of Nazareth." Jesus replies, "I told you before, here I am. Now let these others go."

The mob are tying Jesus' hands. And the disciples? They're running now in eleven directions. Wait, Peter is running forward. He's got a sword! He's a big man, and with a mighty back-hand he's going to chop off someone's head! No, his victim ducked, and lost only his right ear.

I thought Jesus' hands were tied. But look, he's free. He's picking up the ear; he's touching the injured man. And he's talking to Peter. He says, "Put up your sword; those who take the sword will perish by the sword." He's taking his hand away from the man's ear... which is now securely attached, as good as new. Can we understand what this means? Even during this terrible time, God is a healer, not a destroyer.

Now Peter is running away too. All the disciples are gone. Left here is Jesus, alone with a mob of people who hate him. They're rushing him down the hill, across Kidron, up to Jerusalem. I wonder if any of the disciples ran for help. Now the crowd is pushing Jesus up the hill, through the gate, along a narrow street.

Oh, look, they're getting close to the house of the high priest. Good! Surely he'll hear the noise, come out and see what the mob is up to. Of course he'll rescue Jesus. I'm glad they happened to come this way. Yes, the priest's door is opening. But the priest is not coming out. The whole mob is pouring in. And when the high priest sees Jesus, he doesn't look like a rescuer. In fact he's looking angry too; angry—at Jesus!

He demands that Jesus tell him about his disciples, and what he teaches them. Jesus replies, "I have no secrets; I've always taught openly, in the synagogues and in the temple. Lots of people have heard me; ask them what I said."

I like that answer. But one of the police doesn't. He strikes Jesus full in the face. Jesus, are you going to let him get away with that? Yes, your hands are tied. But you know you can hit him anyway! Or will you turn the other cheek?

Look, Jesus doesn't do either one. Despite his bleeding mouth, and face, he speaks directly to the policeman, "If I have said something wrong, say what it was; but if I haven't, why do you hit me?" What restraint! And what a simple defense!

Now the priest is calling for witnesses. And as if they were actors speaking on cue, a line of witnesses shows up. Each one speaks his piece. But listen to their testimonies. It's almost as if each has memorized his speech. But they haven't done their homework; half of them are flubbing their lines. And even when they speak clearly, they're not making much sense. The high priest is frustrated. He calls again for silence.

He's approaching Jesus. He says, "You've heard the damning testimony of all these witnesses. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Jesus looks him calmly in the eye, and says.... he says... nothing! Now the priest is really angry. He says, "Tell us if you are the Messiah!"

Jesus calmly replies, "If I tell you, will you believe me? And will you answer if I question you?"

Now the high priest is even more angry. He solemnly raises his hand, and demands that Jesus answer under oath: "Are you the Messiah, the Son of God?"

Jesus answers simply and directly, "I am as you say, and someday you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power, and coming in the clouds of heaven."

What a great answer! But the people are now angrier than ever. They're beating Jesus, slapping him, spitting on him. We've all heard about the wrath of God. And Jesus is God. These people are doing everything they can to make Jesus angry. Yet he refuses to be angry. Because God is like that. I guess God's wrath must be very different from our anger. God is love. And love is long-suffering and kind, even under abuse. Love is not provoked. What self-control! Jesus will not allow himself to be provoked.

The shouting, the spitting, the blows, the beatings, go on the rest of the night. Jesus endures it all, without once losing his temper. Because that's the kind of person he is. God is like that. Led by Satan, the crowd have lost their human intelligence; they are shouting like wild animals. Surely it's clear what God is like, and what Satan is like.

Now it's Friday morning, and Jesus stands exhausted, before the Roman governor. Pilate is not used to getting up early, and he's irritated. He listens to Jesus' accusers, but they don't make any more sense than they did last night. Through it all, Jesus keeps his dignified silence.

Some are shouting that Jesus is "King of the Jews." Pilate asks him, "Is that true, are you King of the Jews?"

Jesus answers, "Do you really want to know, or are you just responding to the shouting outside?"

Pilate is more irritated, He says, "No it doesn't really matter to me; but your own people have hauled you in here; what have you done?"

Jesus replies, "You notice I have no army, nor have I brought an armed mob here to defend me. My kingdom is not of this world."

Pilate says, "So you are a king then?"

Jesus replies, "As you say; I am king of truth; that's why I was born, and that's why I'm here, to testify to the truth. Those who really want to know truth, will listen to me."

Then Pilate asked a question that could have changed his life. He asked, "What is truth?"...the best question anyone could ever ask—then or now. And who better than Jesus to answer it? But Pilate didn't even wait for an answer.

Yet Pilate already knew some truth. He knew that Jesus was no criminal; he was the most innocent man he'd ever met. Pilate knows his duty as governor and judge. And he states his verdict: "I find no case against him."

Pilate, I'm proud of you. Now you can dismiss the mob, release Jesus, and get him to the doctor. You know right from wrong, and as governor you will stand for the right.

But wait, what is this? Pilate has changed the subject. He's asking the mob which criminal should be released. What does that have to do with anything? Pilate, your job is to punish criminals, not release them. And you're to defend the innocent. And Pilate, since you've just declared Jesus innocent, how can you condemn him to be flogged?

Roman flogging is a nasty business. It is inhuman punishment; it causes bleeding, inside and out. Sometimes criminals die of the beating even before it's finished. And that's the point: beating is for criminals, not the innocent.

Jesus has already been terribly wounded, and now the mob is shouting, "Crucify him, Crucify him!"

Pilate again states that Jesus is innocent. But despite that, he has already flogged him. Pilate has shown that he is no longer a judge or statesman; he has become merely a politician. And at this point Pilate has a new question for Jesus, "Where are you from?"

Jesus could have told Pilate the same good news he shared with Nicodemus. But he knows Nicodemus was a honest seeker, and Pilate is not. Now, Jesus has no words for Pilate.

Pilate tries to frighten Jesus with his power, power even to crucify, the most painful torturing death the Romans could think up. But Jesus refuses to be frightened.

He replies calmly to Pilate, "You have power only to the extent that God lends it to you. You're not handling your power well, but those who brought me to you are more guilty than you. Pilate is now fully convinced of his duty. He must release Jesus.

Pilate has done very badly this morning. But it's not too late. He can still become a man of integrity and self-respect. Pilate, do you want to be whole? Should it be required, are you willing to give up your wealth, position, and power, to become a man of truth?

No. Although Pilate is interested in truth, he's not that interested. He knows he has condemned the innocent before. Now he'll do it again. Pilate, why are you washing your hands? The buck stops with you. If you're not responsible, no one is responsible. When you know your hand-washing is meaningless, why do you insist on the empty ceremony? Whether in politics or religion, why do those who have lost their personal commitment, still insist on outward forms?

Jesus now suffers the worst abuse Rome can offer. He is forced to carry his own cross through the streets of Jerusalem, out to the hill. Jesus is a strong young man, a woodworker who has used hand tools for thirty years, someone who can walk for miles each day, and sleep comfortably under the stars. But since last night, Jesus has lost too much blood. He can barely carry himself to Golgotha; he simply cannot carry his cross.

Shall we follow Jesus out to the hill? Shall we watch as soldiers drive iron nails through his hands and feet? Shall we shudder as the cross is lifted with great violence, then dropped into its hole? Can we imagine the pain of nails on nerves? The steady loss of blood? The dirt, and the flies? How long can one live without breathing? Yet who can breathe suspended from his arms? Can we see Jesus shifting his weight to his nailed feet, taking the tension off his arms so he can breathe. Then back down again. Terrible pain in arms, then in feet, back and forth. Plus the pain of wounded muscles, of lacerated skin, of thorns on his head.

The Romans knew how to prolong pain. This torture would continue until no more strength was left in the legs, until the crucified victim could not rise for even one more breath. Then he would die of suffocation.

But to Jesus there was something even worse than crucifixion:

For our sake God made Jesus to be sin, who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God (2 Corinthians. 5:21). And God laid on him the guilt of us all (Isaiah 53:6). Jesus was given up to suffer what the Bible calls "the wrath of God." And for one who had spent his whole life in tune with God, the feeling of separation from his Father was an agony worse than the worst pain of whipping or crucifixion (Desire of Ages 753).

And by the way he died, Jesus answered questions that had remained open since sin began:

Does sin result in death? Yes it does, and in agony worse than we can possibly imagine.

Is this death at the hand of an angry God?

Let's listen to Jesus: Does he pray, "My God, My God, why are you beating me? Why are you crucifying me? Why are you burning me?" No, here is the greatest agony Jesus could express: "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you giving me up? How can I bear to be separated from you?"

God didn't ask Adam to demonstrate that sin really results in death, the death of separation. He didn't ask any of his children to bear the natural consequences of their rebellion. God himself became the substitute; he answered that question himself.

And as Jesus hangs there dying, almost everybody is shouting at him, making fun of him, cursing him. He's been abused even by the criminals crucified with him. But what else do you expect from criminals? What seems strange are the religious people with the faces of criminals, defending their faith in God, by torturing to death the God who created them. Yes, this is a day of strange things.

Now here's a twist: One of the criminals has stopped shouting and started thinking. He has been impressed by Jesus' quiet composure through all the pain and abuse. He has heard Jesus praying for his tormentors: "Father forgive them; they don't understand what they're doing." There's a sign nailed above Jesus' head. It says, "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews."

The criminal knows he has no place in a Roman kingdom, or a Jewish kingdom. The only kingdom he could hope for is one in which the king is kind, and gentle, and forgiving. Could there really be such a kingdom? He's got nothing to lose, and it won't hurt to ask. The criminal speaks directly to Jesus, and calls him "Lord." "Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom."

Jesus opens his swollen eyes, opens his dry, blood-caked mouth and replies to the criminal, "I promise you, we'll be together in God's kingdom; that's something I can assure you this very day." Notice that the criminal claimed nothing about how he deserved to be in Jesus' kingdom. He knew he deserved nothing; yet Jesus promised him everything. And it's the same with us. Nothing we do can make us worthy for Jesus' kingdom. But if we truly admire him, and want to be with him, that's all that matters. "Whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely" (Revelation 22:17).

For Jesus, the pain and separation continue, but his exchange with the criminal reminds him that his suffering is not in vain. Jesus remembers how sin began, back in heaven, when his best friend Lucifer rebelled against him. Of course he could have allowed Lucifer to self-destruct right then. But the other angels, never having seen death, might have suspected that Jesus killed Lucifer, and would serve him out of fear. And Jesus knew that fear can only breed more rebellion.

No, there was no other way. Jesus miraculously preserved the life of Lucifer—as he would later keep alive Adam and Eve, and all the other rebels—until there had been time enough to answer the questions. Now Jesus is dying, for Lucifer, for the criminal, and for me.

Does sin result in death? Yes it does, the death of separation from our source of life.

In that death, does God torture sinners? No, he only allows to occur the separation that sinners have freely chosen. God is in the business of turning his enemies into his friends. Finally each one will say to God, "Thy will be done." Or God must say to each lost rebel, "Thy will be done." Then terrible things will happen, as each rebel accepts the result of sin: death. But even then, they reap what they themselves have sown. God is not the executioner, and he's not a torturer.

But are there those who would torture people to death in God's name? Yes, there are! That's how religious people behave, if they misunderstand God's character, and serve him out of fear. Everyone naturally becomes more like the God he worships and admires. And those who serve Satan, become more like Satan, even if in their worship, they invoke the name of God.

Jesus reminds himself that what is happening on that little hill is observed not merely by the people of Jerusalem, but by God's angels, and by his loyal intelligences throughout the universe. Paul will later realize that he too is part of this drama. He calls it "a theater to the whole universe, to angels as well as to men" (1 Corinthians. 5:9).

Is it clear now, that God is the healer, and Satan is the murderer? Is it clear what kind of person God is, as contrasted with the enemy? Can we see what is wrong with sin? Has Jesus shown by his life that a human being can remain loyal to God, despite the troubles and temptations that come to him? Has Jesus shown that God is willing to do whatever it takes to make healing available? Has Jesus handled any legal problems? Has he shown the way to heaven? Has he shown that God is both the author and sustainer of a saving relationship? Are there still any loose ends?

No, Jesus has answered all the questions. God has done everything possible to produce reconciliation and healing. And from all the galaxies comes a mighty song, "Great and marvelous are thy works, Lord God Almighty; just and true are thy ways, thou King of saints."

Jesus is very weak now, but he has accomplished everything he set out to do.

He has strength enough for just one more breath:

He cries, "It is finished! Father, I entrust my breath into your hands!"

And with these words of confidence from David's psalm, Jesus surrenders his last breath. His head slumps upon his chest. His work is accomplished; his struggle is over.