I often encourage those who love scripture to do a simple exercise. Write out the statements of Jesus as He hung from the cross. Once down on paper, take a minute to slowly repeat each statement aloud. You’ll find they barely fill one minute of spoken conversation. Just seven one-liners! Now imagine all the dead space over six hours as Jesus hung on the cross
There is so much Jesus could have said. He could have ended the opening argument of His extradition with an ear-splitting sermon or offered up a plateful of prophetic thunder as a parting shot for Pilate. He could have unloaded an earful at the elders, or at least told Barabbas he was the luckiest parolee on earth. He could have requested a two-hour pass to go preach Judas Iscariot’s funeral. The antagonists who hung a joker’s sign over his scalp could have had the mark of best tattooed on their heads. The one who rolled sixes for his clothes, along with the crown craftsman, the sword salesman and the vinegar vendor, every last one of them could have gotten an illustrated 10-point sermon on hell. Jesus could have undressed with righteous rhetoric the Roman cohorts who stripped His clothes or showered condemnation on those who showered Him with spit. He could have bellowed out a few shots from the Book of Jeremiah or ordered up a few hungry bears like Elijah.
With his name and legacy being blasphemed, you wonder if Jesus squinted through the crimson veil and asked Himself if this was all worth it. I also wonder if Jesus was looking for the mob to see if they were coming. Strewn across Galilee like wind-blown confetti were swarms of nameless and faceless individuals who had rehabilitated by His compassionate touch. Were they coming? Where was the righteous riot? The former deaf should have heard the hammer pounding the nails. The former blind should have seen the shimmering sword-bearing centurions … but there was no movement, no riot, no uprising. All that was left would be sunrise.
Yet the Bible says, “When He was reviled, [He] did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten” (1 Pet. 2:23). In the natural, Jesus’ actions made no sense. When taunted, He remained tight-lipped. When abused and pierced, His words of forgiveness flowed as quickly as His blood. He didn’t require His wounds to dry, scab, and scar before He forgave. There is no record that Jesus calculated His personal pain before discharging his pardon. Each bruise and blow was met with silent mercy. In silence, Jesus was doing more than dying. He was communicating in red ink the timeless secrets of the kingdom. He was openly showing His bride how to embrace the cross that awaited her—because no true disciple can escape the cross.
Satan didn’t see this coming. The longer Jesus hung in there the more foolish Satan began to look—this leisurely six-hour crucifixion had totally backfired.
We all know it’s tough to maintain a ‘high-road’ perspective when people are spitting on you. My only hope for success comes when my eyes remain fixed on the body language of Calvary’s quiet Lamb, when I carefully listen to the words He didn’t say. For when my eyes and ears tune out Jesus on the cross, I fast become exhausted with people and plummet into reviling others.
There will always be people who make big things out of small things in my life. But then, I remember the cross—and how Jesus went first. I can always count on uninvited guests who enjoy watching my Father discipline me—and that can be terribly embarrassing. But again, I remember: Jesus went through that, too. Even if God sends spiritually immature Christians into my life as part of His mysterious blueprint to grow me—to school me in silence—I must not forget that Jesus felt that too. All of this was the cross!
But for all the strains you and I face as followers, no one will ever pay a toll like Jesus did. His death and resurrection are filled with endless grace and boundless perplexity.
For it was I, not Jesus, who should have died for violating my Creator’s commands. And it was I who deserved the burden of transporting heavy timbers barefoot over jagged hillsides for my iniquity. It was I who merited loud public laughter and the agony of thorns stabbing my forehead—and it was I who should have felt my ribs being pierced as pagan spit dripped from my face. Yes, it was I who should have hung incapacitated for six millennia, not simply six hours.
Yet it was Jesus, not I, who violently died in silent payment.
So this Easter, I encourage you to rise early, don the bonnets and polish the shoes. It’s the day when God’s people around the world colorfully rejoice in His resurrection!
But while you’re celebrating, pause to remember the greatest silent sermon ever preached. The one that lasted for six hours. The one that’s easy to memorize but difficult to emulate. The one that was lived, not spoken, by a silent Lamb.
Remember, during this Good Friday and Easter—there’s nothing that speaks louder than silence.
Scott Hagan
