“I Will Follow You Into the Dark"--March 30, 2018
When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o’clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabbachtani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” [Mark 15:33-34]
This holy moment brings me up at a loss for words. Maybe that is a sign of when you are standing on the verge of a holy moment.
In fact, to get any kind of a handle on this moment, any kind of grasp on Jesus’ cry from the cross, I find myself turning to the borrowed words of a love song. It is one of the saddest songs I know, but it is also one of the most plainly beautiful. It’s a Ben Gibbard song, and the refrain goes,
“If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied,
And illuminate the ‘No’s on their vacancy signs,
If there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks,
Then I’ll follow you into the dark.”
That lyric comes to mind for two opposite reasons: one, that the cross is effectively Jesus saying to us that he will go “into the dark” for us, that is, to death; and two, that nobody says the same, nobody makes the same offer, to Jesus. He must go into the dark… alone.
Let’s consider that second one first. Jesus’ cry from the cross is not just about the pain of death—it is about the pain of godforsaken-ness. What Jesus endured on the cross was not only the physical anguish of crucifixion—the sharp stabbing pain of the nails and the weary, dull ache of muscles straining to hold a body up. It was that, as Paul wrote to the Corinthians, “God made him who knew no sin to be sin for us, so that we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21). It is God the Son crying out from the verge of being torn apart from God the Father. It is a callback to that ancient promise that God had made with Abraham (Genesis 15), passing between the torn pieces of animal carcasses and invoking an oath, which carried the effect of saying, “May I—the Creator of the universe—be torn apart like these animals, before I break my promise to you.” At the cross, it comes to exactly that. God—the Triune Creator of the universe who is Father, Son, and Spirit—goes to the very brink of being torn apart.
At the cross, as Jesus the Son cries out that he has been abandoned, at the same time, the Father is grieving in silence to watch the Son in suffering and to lose a Child, while the Spirit groans, as Paul writes, “with sighs too deep for words.” And there is no one to step in and save Jesus. There is no one who can comfort the mourning Father who grieves for the Son who is one with him. There is no one who will step in, to halt the sacrifice the way the angel holds old Abraham back from taking the knife to his son. There is no substitute ram caught in the thicket. Jesus goes into the darkness. God, in fact, goes into the darkness, and there is no one else who offers to follow God into that darkness, the darkness of a cross between noon and three.
And yet, at the very same time that no one is coming to God’s rescue (because, in truth, who could come to God’s rescue?), Jesus is offering to go into the dark for us, in our place. Even though Jesus must go into the deathly place alone, he is willing to go there to rescue us. Sinners that we are, we do die, and we do experience its cold darkness. At the cross, the God we know in Jesus dives head first into death to come and get us, like a lifeguard on stormy seas. getting swallowed up in the waves in order to bring us up for air. In the cry from the cross, it is as though God the Son says to every one of us who are drowning in the ocean, “I will follow you into the dark. I will go into the realm of death for you, to bring you back, to bring you to myself.”
Jesus was willing to go into death—and the point of utter loneliness that comes with death—in order for us not to be alone. He was willing to be forsaken by the Father, so that we could be called precious children, beloved of God. God, the perfect union of the Father, Son, and Spirit, was willing to go to the very brink of being torn apart, rather than be unfaithful to a promise. Even though everybody else abandons him, Jesus the Christ was willing to follow after us into the dark, to bring us into the light.
When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o’clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabbachtani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” [Mark 15:33-34]
This holy moment brings me up at a loss for words. Maybe that is a sign of when you are standing on the verge of a holy moment.
In fact, to get any kind of a handle on this moment, any kind of grasp on Jesus’ cry from the cross, I find myself turning to the borrowed words of a love song. It is one of the saddest songs I know, but it is also one of the most plainly beautiful. It’s a Ben Gibbard song, and the refrain goes,
“If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied,
And illuminate the ‘No’s on their vacancy signs,
If there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks,
Then I’ll follow you into the dark.”
That lyric comes to mind for two opposite reasons: one, that the cross is effectively Jesus saying to us that he will go “into the dark” for us, that is, to death; and two, that nobody says the same, nobody makes the same offer, to Jesus. He must go into the dark… alone.
Let’s consider that second one first. Jesus’ cry from the cross is not just about the pain of death—it is about the pain of godforsaken-ness. What Jesus endured on the cross was not only the physical anguish of crucifixion—the sharp stabbing pain of the nails and the weary, dull ache of muscles straining to hold a body up. It was that, as Paul wrote to the Corinthians, “God made him who knew no sin to be sin for us, so that we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21). It is God the Son crying out from the verge of being torn apart from God the Father. It is a callback to that ancient promise that God had made with Abraham (Genesis 15), passing between the torn pieces of animal carcasses and invoking an oath, which carried the effect of saying, “May I—the Creator of the universe—be torn apart like these animals, before I break my promise to you.” At the cross, it comes to exactly that. God—the Triune Creator of the universe who is Father, Son, and Spirit—goes to the very brink of being torn apart.
At the cross, as Jesus the Son cries out that he has been abandoned, at the same time, the Father is grieving in silence to watch the Son in suffering and to lose a Child, while the Spirit groans, as Paul writes, “with sighs too deep for words.” And there is no one to step in and save Jesus. There is no one who can comfort the mourning Father who grieves for the Son who is one with him. There is no one who will step in, to halt the sacrifice the way the angel holds old Abraham back from taking the knife to his son. There is no substitute ram caught in the thicket. Jesus goes into the darkness. God, in fact, goes into the darkness, and there is no one else who offers to follow God into that darkness, the darkness of a cross between noon and three.
And yet, at the very same time that no one is coming to God’s rescue (because, in truth, who could come to God’s rescue?), Jesus is offering to go into the dark for us, in our place. Even though Jesus must go into the deathly place alone, he is willing to go there to rescue us. Sinners that we are, we do die, and we do experience its cold darkness. At the cross, the God we know in Jesus dives head first into death to come and get us, like a lifeguard on stormy seas. getting swallowed up in the waves in order to bring us up for air. In the cry from the cross, it is as though God the Son says to every one of us who are drowning in the ocean, “I will follow you into the dark. I will go into the realm of death for you, to bring you back, to bring you to myself.”
Jesus was willing to go into death—and the point of utter loneliness that comes with death—in order for us not to be alone. He was willing to be forsaken by the Father, so that we could be called precious children, beloved of God. God, the perfect union of the Father, Son, and Spirit, was willing to go to the very brink of being torn apart, rather than be unfaithful to a promise. Even though everybody else abandons him, Jesus the Christ was willing to follow after us into the dark, to bring us into the light.
Maybe no words can capture all of what that moment was about, but at the very least, I am certain it was about love.
Lord Jesus, for having rescued us by going into the dark to find us; for having been forsaken so that we could be forgiven; for having loved us when we had all abandoned you, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Lord Jesus, for having rescued us by going into the dark to find us; for having been forsaken so that we could be forgiven; for having loved us when we had all abandoned you, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
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