The Cross: Matthew 27:32-44

As they were going out, they met a man from Cyrene, named Simon, and they forced him to carry the cross.

Jesus could no longer carry it. The scourging had shredded his back, blood loss had weakened him. Simon—a random passerby from North Africa—was conscripted to bear the crossbeam.

They came to a place called Golgotha (which means "the place of the skull").

Golgotha. The skull place. Outside the city walls, where executions happened, where Rome displayed its power over conquered peoples.

There they offered Jesus wine to drink, mixed with gall; but after tasting it, he refused to drink it.

Gall—a sedative mixture offered to dull the pain. Jesus tasted it and refused. He would drink the cup of suffering undiluted.

When they had crucified him, they divided up his clothes by casting lots.

Crucified him. Matthew does not dwell on the physical horror—the nails, the lifting of the cross, the weight tearing at wounds. He simply states: they crucified him. The original readers knew what crucifixion meant.

They divided his clothes. The executioners gambled for his garments—the last earthly possessions of the Savior of the world.

And sitting down, they kept watch over him there.

Sitting down. Bored soldiers, waiting for death to finish its work. This was routine for them.

Above his head they placed the written charge against him: THIS IS JESUS, THE KING OF THE JEWS.

The charge was meant as mockery. Pilate's joke, Caesar's triumph over a pretender king. But it was true. Nailed above the suffering figure was his actual identity.

Two rebels were crucified with him, one on his right and one on his left.

Criminals flanking him. The Messiah, positioned among thieves. Isaiah had prophesied: "He was numbered with the transgressors."

Those who passed by hurled insults at him, shaking their heads and saying, "You who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! Come down from the cross, if you are the Son of God!"

Passersby mocked. Shake heads and hurl contempt. If you're so powerful, save yourself. Come down from the cross.

He could have. That was the point. He had the power but refused to use it.

In the same way the chief priests, the teachers of the law and the elders mocked him. "He saved others," they said, "but he can't save himself!"

The religious leaders joined in. Their mockery was unintentionally profound: He saved others but can't save himself. Exactly right—if he saved himself, he couldn't save others. He chose them.

"He's the king of Israel! Let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him."

Let him come down and we'll believe. The lie was obvious. They had seen him raise the dead and hadn't believed. A descent from the cross would have produced only different excuses.

"He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him, for he said, 'I am the Son of God.'"

They quoted Psalm 22 without realizing it—the psalm that began "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" They were fulfilling prophecy with every jeer.

In the same way the rebels who were crucified with him also heaped insults on him.

Even the criminals mocked—at first. Luke tells us one would later repent. But in these moments, everyone scorned.

The cross stood against the sky, surrounded by contempt. The King of the Jews, the Son of God, the Savior of the world hung in silence, absorbing every insult, refusing every escape.

He could have come down. He stayed.