Scandalous E-Book

D. A. Carson

• Herausgeber: Crossway
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2010

Seitenzahl: 264

Beschreibung

How are Christians to approach the central gospel teachings concerning the death and resurrection of Jesus? The Bible firmly establishes the historicity of these events and doesn't leave their meanings ambiguous or open to interpretation. Even so, there is an irony and surprising strangeness to the cross. Carson shows that this strange irony has deep implications for our lives as he examines the history and theology of Jesus's crucifixion and resurrection. Scandalous highlights important theological truths in accessible and applicable ways. Both amateur theologians and general readers will appreciate how Carson deftly preserves weighty theology while simultaneously noting the broader themes of Jesus' death and resurrection. Through exposition of five primary passages of Scripture, Carson helps us to more fully understand and appreciate the scandal of the cross.

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“Don Carson’s clarity in communicating Scripture is a great gift, and in this book, he gives it to us. This professor can preach! These are model messages on crucial passages. They are delicious meditations that instruct our minds and feed our souls. Biblical content—straight, ripped, hard, solid—this is what Carson gives us about Christ’s cross and resurrection. Read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest.”

—MARK DEVER, Senior Pastor, Capitol Hill Baptist Church, Washington, DC

“This is vintage Carson—informed exegesis and engaging exposition, theologically rich and devotionally warm, lucid, insightful, probing. God’s truth glows! Don Carson shows us what the Bible is for, and his words make me want to preach the scandalous cross of Christ with greater passion.”

—BILL KYNES, Pastor, Cornerstone Evangelical Free Church, Annandale, Virginia

“There is no Christianity apart from the death of Christ on the cross and his resurrection from the dead. Carson helps us to more clearly understand the passion of the cross and the triumph of the resurrection. What a gift to every follower of Christ. As you read through these pages you will be moved to worship the Lamb that was slain!”

—CRAWFORD W. LORITTS JR., author; speaker; Senior Pastor, Fellowship Bible Church, Roswell, Georgia

“Don Carson has provided a rich, thoughtful, and theologically honest introduction of the person and work of Jesus. With the biblical fidelity, clarity, and wisdom we have come to expect from his writings, Carson provides a treatment of the ironies of the cross not merely as a literary device but as a powerful analysis of the subversive, upside-down nature of the cross; namely, the powerful, redeeming, trusting king of the universe becoming a powerless, marginalized, and crucified savior. He believes that Jesus cried this cry, ‘My God! I am forsaken!’ so that for all eternity we will not have to. We are grateful for Carson’s fruitful labors in showing us the irony of the mocked king who really is the King, not only for the Jews but also for the entire world.”

—STEPHEN T. UM, Senior Minister, Citylife Presbyterian Church, Boston; President, Center for Gospel Culture

Other Re:Lit Books:

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Re:Lit: A Book You’ll Actually Read On Church Leadership On the New Testament On the Old Testament On Who Is God?

Scandalous: The Cross and Resurrection of Jesus

Copyright © 2010 by D. A. Carson

Published by Crossway a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers 1300 Crescent Street Wheaton, Illinois 60187

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except as provided for by USA copyright law. Crossway® is a registered trademark in the United States of America.

Art Direction and Design: Patrick Mahoney of The Mahoney Design Team

First printing 2010

Printed in the United States of America

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture references are from The Holy Bible: New International Version®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society.

All emphases in Scripture quotations have been added by the author.

Trade paperback ISBN: 978-1-4335-1125-7PDF ISBN: 978-1-4335-1126-4Mobipocket ISBN: 978-1-4335-1127-1EPub ISBN: 978-1-4335-2378-6

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataCarson, D. A.      Scandalous : the cross and resurrection of Jesus / D. A. Carson.         p. cm.      ISBN 978-1-4335-1125-7 (tpb)       1. Jesus Christ—Crucifixion—Biblical teaching. 2. Jesus Christ— Resurrection—Biblical teaching. I. Title.BT453.C28 2010 232—dc22

2009030131

To JoyJoy

Contents

Preface

1 The Ironies of the Cross: Matthew 27:27–51a.

The Man Who Is Mocked as King Is the King.

The Man Who Is Utterly Powerless Is Powerful.

The Man Who Can’t Save Himself Saves Others.

The Man Who Cries Out in Despair Trusts God.

2 The Center of the Whole Bible: Romans 3:21–26.

Where the Passage Falls in Romans

What Paul Establishes.

3 The Strange Triumph of a Slaughtered Lamb: Revelation 12.

The Occasion for Satanic Rage.

The Reasons for Satanic Rage.

How Christians Overcome Satanic Rage.

4 A Miracle Full of Surprises: John 11:1–53.

Jesus Receives a Desperate Plea for Help.

Jesus Comes Up Against Devastating Loss.

Jesus Confronts Implacable Death.

Jesus Comes Up Against Moral and Spiritual Death

5 Doubting the Resurrection of Jesus: John 20:24–31.

The Cry of a Disappointed Skeptic.

The Adoration of an Astonished Skeptic.

The Function of a Converted Skeptic.

Preface

Nothing is more central to the Bible than Jesus’ death and resurrection. The entire Bible pivots on one weekend in Jerusalem about two thousand years ago. Attempts to make sense of the Bible that do not give prolonged thought to integrating the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus are doomed to failure, at best exercises in irrelevance. Jesus’ own followers did not expect him to be crucified; they certainly did not expect him to rise again. Yet after these events their thinking and attitudes were so transformed that they could see the sheer inevitability that Jesus would die on a cross and leave an empty tomb behind, and absolutely everything in their lives was changed.

However much the Bible insists on the historicity of these events, it never treats them as mere pieces of raw data—admittedly, rather surprising raw data—the meaning of which we are free to make up for ourselves. It is as important to know what these events mean as to know that they happened.

This little book is a modest attempt to summarize not only what happened but also what they mean—in short, to provide an introductory explanation of the cross and resurrection. I do this by unpacking what some of the earliest witnesses of Jesus’ death and resurrection wrote. The words of those witnesses are preserved in the Bible; the chapters in this book are explanations of five sections of the Bible that get at these questions.

Over the years I’ve had occasion to unpack many parts of the Bible that herald Jesus’ death and resurrection. In December 2008 I gave these five addresses at a Resurgence conference in Mars Hill, Seattle. I am grateful to Mark Driscoll and the folks at the Henry Center for putting the conference together. And I am especially grateful to Andy Naselli for proofing this manuscript and compiling the indexes that make the written form of these talks a little more useful than they might otherwise have been.

—D. A. Carson Trinity Evangelical Divinity School

Then the governor’s soldiers took Jesus into the Praetorium and gathered the whole company of soldiers around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head. They put a staff in his right hand and knelt in front of him and mocked him. “Hail, king of the Jews!” they said. They spit on him, and took the staff and struck him on the head again and again. After they had mocked him, they took off the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.

—MATTHEW 27:27–31

1 The Ironies of the Cross

Matthew 27:27–51a

He was, on the whole, a very good king. He united the disparate tribes, built a nation, and established a dynasty. Personally courageous, he also built a formidable defense system and secured his country’s borders. He proved to be an able administrator, and on the whole he ruled with justice. As if that were not enough, he was an accomplished poet and musician.

But in his middle years, he seduced a young woman next door. To understand a little more how perverse this evil was, we must recall that this young woman’s husband was at that time away from home, at the military front, fighting the king’s battles. Out of this one-night stand, the woman became pregnant and sent word to the king. He was a “fixer,” and he thought he could fix this. He sent a messenger to the front, asking the military command to send the young man back to the capital with an ostensible message for the king. The young man came, of course, but as it turned out, he didn’t return home to sleep with his wife: somehow he felt that would be letting down the side with his mates back at the front. The young man merely slept in the royal courtyard, ready to head back to the front—and King David knew he would be found out. So he sent back a secret message to the commanding officers at the front, a message carried by the hand of this young man, a message that was his death warrant. The officers were to arrange a skirmish, with everyone in the unit except the young man given a secret signal when to withdraw. The inevitable happened: the unit withdrew, and the young man was left alone in the skirmish and killed. Shortly after, the king married the pregnant widow. David thought he had gotten away with his sin.

God sent the prophet Nathan to confront him. Faithful prophet though he was, Nathan decided he’d better approach the monarch with suitable caution, so he began with a story. He said, in effect, “Your majesty, I’ve come across a difficult case up country. There are two farmers, neighbors. One is filthy rich; the number of animals in his herds and flocks is past counting. The other chap is a subsistence farmer. He has one little lamb, that’s all. In fact, he doesn’t even have that lamb any more. Some visitors dropped by the home of the rich man, who, instead of showing appropriate hospitality by killing one of the animals from his own flocks and preparing a feast, went and stole the one little lamb owned by the dirt farmer. What do you think should be done about this?”

David was outraged. He said, “As surely as the LORD lives, the man who did this must die! He must pay for that lamb four times over, because he did such a thing and had no pity” (2 Sam. 12:5–6). David had no idea how painfully ironic his utterance was. Nathan knew, of course, and the writer knew, and God knew, and the readers know—but David could not detect the desperate irony of his own words until Nathan said, “You are the man!” (v. 7).

We all know what irony is. Irony expresses meaning by using words that normally mean the opposite of what is actually being said. Sometimes the irony is intentional, of course: the speaker knows he is using irony; at other times, as here, David hasn’t a clue that his words are ironic until his hypocrisy is exposed. He thinks his words establish him as a principled judge who makes right and fair judicial decisions, but in the light of his secret life he merely exposes himself as a wretched hypocrite. The real meaning of the words, in this broader context, is a blistering condemnation of the very man who thinks that by using these words he is showing himself to be a just man and a good king.

Some irony is vicious, of course; some is hilariously funny. But we all know that irony has the potential, especially in narrative, for bringing a situation into sharp focus. Very often it is the irony in the narrative that enables hearers and readers to see what is really going on. Irony provides a dimension of depth and color that would otherwise be missing.

Of the New Testament writers, those most given to irony are Matthew and John. In the passage before us, Matthew unfolds what takes place as Jesus is crucified—but he does so by displaying four huge ironies that show attentive readers what is really going on.

Permit me to remind you of the context. By this point, Jesus has been in the public eye for two or three years, the years of his public ministry. Now, however, he has fallen foul of the religious and political authorities. They resent his popularity, they fear his potential political power, they are suspicious of his motives. They wonder if the rising number of his followers could turn into a rebellion against the reigning superpower of the day, the mighty Roman Empire—for there could be only one outcome in a conflict with Rome. So Jesus has to be crushed. They provide a kangaroo court, find Jesus guilty of treason, and manage to secure the sanction of the Roman governor to have Jesus executed by crucifixion. All of this, they thought, was politically expedient, religiously for the best.

And here in the text (Matt. 27:27), we pick up the account immediately after sentence has been passed. In those days there was no long delay on death row for the prisoner. Once a capital sentence was handed down, the prisoner was taken out and executed within a few hours or at most a few days. In the text before us, we find the soldiers preparing Jesus for immediate crucifixion. As Matthew tells the story, we learn to reflect on four profound ironies of the cross.

The Man Who Is Mocked as King Is the King (Matt. 27:27–31)

Apparently Jesus had been flogged earlier, as part of his interrogation. Immediately after sentence of crucifixion was passed, Jesus was flogged again (v. 26). This too was standard procedure; it was customary to flog prisoners before taking them out to be crucified. But what takes place in verses 27 to 31 is not standard procedure. It is more like barracks-room humor. The governor’s soldiers gather around, strip Jesus of his clothes, and drape some sort of scarlet robe on him, pretending he is a royal figure. Then they wind together some strands of vine thorns, the spikes of which are 15 to 20 cm. long. They crunch this down on his head to make a cruel crown of thorns. They put a staff into his hand and pretend it is a scepter. Alternately bowing before Jesus in mock reverence and hitting him in brutal cruelty, they cry, “Hail, king of the Jews!”—and complete the acclamation by spitting in his face and hitting him again and again with the mock scepter. Raucous, mocking laughter keeps the room alive until the soldiers tire of their sport. They have finished laughing at him as the king of the Jews. Now they put his own clothes back on him and lead him away to be crucified.

But Matthew knows, and the readers know, and God knows, that Jesus is the king of the Jews. In case we’ve missed the theme, Matthew reminds us of it twice more in the following verses: the titulus, the charge against Jesus, is nailed to the cross above his head: “THIS IS JESUS, THE KING OF THE JEWS” (v. 37). The mockers are still dismissing him as the king of Israel in verse 42. More importantly, Matthew has already made the theme clear throughout his Gospel. His very first verse reads, “This is of the genealogy of Jesus Christ the son of David, the son of Abraham” (1:1). The ensuing genealogy is broken up somewhat artificially into three fourteens, the central fourteen covering the years in which the Davidic dynasty reigned in Jerusalem. Even the number fourteen is a code for the name “David.” All the OT promises that look forward to the coming Davidic king spring from 2 Samuel 7, anchored in David’s life about 1000 B.C. Almost three hundred years later, the prophet Isaiah anticipates one who will sit on the throne of his father David, but who would also be called “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (Isa. 9:6). Matthew’s opening chapter picks up on this Old Testament anticipation. In the second chapter, the Magi ask, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews?” (2:2). As he begins his public ministry, Jesus talks constantly about the kingdom—its nature, dawning, promise, and consummation. In some of the so-called “parables of the kingdom,” the stories Jesus tells sometimes make Jesus himself out to be the king. The same theme is raised in the trial before Pilate. In 27:11, Pilate the governor asks Jesus, “Are you the king of the Jews?” “Yes, it is as you say,” Jesus replies, yet the form of his response, while affirmative, depicts a gentle hesitation, because Jesus knows full well he is not a king in any way that Pilate fears. His reign does not spell out military threat to Caesar. Pilate himself soon discerns that even if Jesus claims to be the king of the Jews, he poses no immediate political threat, and he seeks to have him released. Still, the confession is there, and Jesus stands condemned on the capital charge of treason.

And while the soldiers mock Jesus as the king of the Jews, transparently Matthew knows, and his readers know, and God knows, that Jesus is the king of the Jews.

Indeed, look closely and you will see two layers of irony. The mockery of the soldiers was meant to be ironic. When they exclaim, “Hail, king of the Jews!” what they mean is the exact opposite: Jesus is not the king but a rather pathetic criminal. Doubtless the soldiers think their humor is deliciously ironic. But Matthew sees an even deeper irony; in fact, while the soldiers demean Jesus as a pathetic criminal, the words they use actually tell the truth, the opposite of what they mean: Jesus really is the king. That is the point of this paragraph: the man who is mocked as king—is the king (vv. 27–31).

Those who know their Bibles well know that Jesus is more than king of the Jews: he is king over all, he is Lord over all. Matthew himself makes this clear in his closing verses. This side of the resurrection, Jesus declares that all authority in heaven and on earth is his (28:18); his authority is none less than the authority of God. He is king of the universe. He is king over the soldiers who mock him. He is king over you and me. And one day, Paul assures us, every knee will bow, and every tongue will confess that Jesus is Lord. The man who is mocked as king—is the king.

But we must probe a little further. With what conception of kingship is Jesus operating? In the first century, no one entertained the notion of a constitutional monarchy, like that of Great Britain, where the monarch has almost no real authority apart from moral suasion. In the ancient world, kings reigned. That’s what kings did; that’s how they operated. Indeed, that is the notion of kingship until fairly recent times. Louis XIV was not a constitutional monarch in the current British sense. What kind of king, then, is Jesus, in Matthew’s mind, if Jesus is going to death on a cross? Is he a failed king?

Once again, Matthew has already given us some insight into the reality of Jesus’ kingship. We must scan the interesting exchange in Matthew 20:20–28. The mother of the apostles James and John approaches Jesus, along with her two sons, requesting a favor. “What is it you want?” he asks. She replies, “Grant that one of these two sons of mine may sit at your right and the other at your left in your kingdom” (v. 21). Clearly they anticipated that Jesus would sit as king in a quite normal, historical, physical sense, and make his apostles the members of his cabinet, and they were hoping that James and John would get the two top jobs—secretary of state and secretary of defense, perhaps. Jesus tells them, in effect, that they have no idea what they are asking for: “Can you drink the cup I am going to drink?” he asks, referring, of course, to his impending suffering. With supreme overconfidence and massive ignorance, they reply, “We can” (v. 22). You can almost imagine Jesus smiling inwardly: well, yes, in one sense, they will participate in his cup, his cup of suffering: one of the two brothers, James, would become the first apostolic martyr, and the other would die as an exile on Patmos. Still, it is not Jesus’ role to dispense the right to sit on his left or his right: that role the Father has reserved for himself.

When the ten other apostles hear of the request of James and John and their mother, they are incensed—not, of course, because of the arrogance and impertinence of their request, but because the ten did not get their requests in first. So Jesus calls the Twelve together, and gives us one of the most important insights into the nature of the kingdom. He says: “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (vv. 25–28). This profound utterance must not be misunderstood. Jesus does not mean that there is no sense in which he exercises authority. Transparently, that is not the case—and in the closing verses Matthew reminds us, as we have seen, that Jesus claims all authority in heaven and on earth. What he means, rather, is something like this. The kings and rulers and presidents of this fallen world order exercise their authority out of a deep sense of self-promotion, out of a deep sense of wanting to be number one, out of a deep sense of self-preservation, even out of a deep sense of entitlement. By contrast, Jesus exercises his authority in such a way as to seek the good of his subjects, and that takes him, finally, to the cross. He did not come to be served, as if that were an end in itself; even in his sovereign mission he comes to serve—to give his life a ransom for many. Those who exercise any authority at any level in the kingdom in which Jesus is king must serve the same way—not with implicit demands of self-promotion, confidence in their right to rule, or a desire to sit at Jesus’ right hand or his left hand, but with a passion to serve.

Small wonder, then, that Pilate could not figure Jesus out. Jesus claimed to be king, but he had none of the pretensions of the monarchs of this world. Small wonder that for the next three hundred years, Christians would speak, with profound irony, of Jesus reigning from the cross.

So here is the first irony in Matthew’s presentation of Jesus’ crucifixion: the man who is mocked as king—is the king.

The Man Who Is Utterly Powerless Is Powerful (Matt. 27:32–40)

I cannot take the time to deal with all the subtle details in Matthew’s text. What is transparent is that Matthew provides ample evidence to demonstrate just how weak and powerless Jesus is. In the Roman world, the upright of the cross, the vertical member, was usually left in the ground at the place of crucifixion—usually near a public crossroads or thoroughfare so that as many people as possible could witness the torment and learn to fear Roman power. The horizontal member was carried by the victim out to the place of crucifixion. There the victim was tied or nailed to this cross-member, which was then hoisted up and suspended from the upright. But Jesus is now so weak he cannot even manage to carry this chunk of wood on his shoulder to the place of execution. So the soldiers exercise their legal right to conscript a bystander for the task, and Simon from Cyrene is forced to do the work (v. 32). Victims were crucified completely naked: the cross was meant to be an instrument of shame as well as of pain. So the soldiers gamble to determine who will gain possession of Jesus’ clothing (v. 35). It is difficult to imagine a portrait more calculated to depict Jesus’ utter powerlessness.

“And sitting down, [the soldiers] kept watch over him there” (v. 36). At a slightly earlier time in the history of the Roman Empire, soldiers had sometimes crucified people and then walked away to let them die. In some known instances, friends of the victim had lifted him down from the cross—and the victim had survived. So by this stage in Roman history, it was imperial policy to post soldiers at a crucifixion site until death had taken place. That is what is depicted in verse 36: the soldiers keep watch over Jesus. Jesus has no hope, none whatsoever, of rescue. Suffering immeasurably, shamed intolerably, broken in body and spirit, without any prospect except the release of death, Jesus hangs in shame on that wretched cross, utterly powerless.

Then comes the mockery that shows the significance of this list of evidences attesting Jesus’ weakness and powerlessness. We are told that some who passed by hurled insults at him and said, “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!” (vv. 39–40).

If we are going to understand why Matthew reports these words, we must remember that the theme of Jesus’ destruction of the temple has already been introduced. Earlier in Jesus’ trial, this time before the high priest, the authorities were still scrambling to find suitable witnesses who could destroy Jesus. In Matthew 26:61 we are told that two witnesses finally came forward who charged, “This fellow said, ‘I am able to destroy the temple of God and rebuild it in three days.’” This charge was potentially very dangerous. The Romans were worried about conflicts between peoples of different religions, so they made it a capital offense to desecrate a temple, any temple. If Jesus’ words about destroying the temple of God could be taken as a serious intention to harm a temple, then they had him. But that line of thought peters out in Matthew 26; from parallel accounts, we learn that the witnesses couldn’t get their stories straight. Eventually Jesus was condemned on a treason charge, rather than on a desecration-of-a-temple charge.

But what fun Jesus’ words afforded to the mockers! He had glibly talked about destroying and rebuilding the temple in three days. What kind of power would that require? With modern technology, we can put together a prefabricated house in a day or two; we can build a skyscraper in a year or two. Historically, however, this kind of speed is a very recent development. None of the great cathedrals of Europe was ever seen in its fully constructed form by its original architect; building a cathedral took longer than one lifetime. The builders of the temple in Jerusalem faced additional constraints: they were not to use a mason’s hammer anywhere near temple precincts. Each of the great stones had to be measured and cut elsewhere, and then brought in by animal and human power, without help of hydraulics. Yet here was Jesus, glibly talking about destroying and building a temple in three days. What kind of power would that take? What kind of supernatural power would that take? Yet here Jesus hangs, utterly powerless, on a Roman cross. The sting of the mockery turns on this bitter contrast between Jesus’ claims to power and his current transparent powerlessness. Once again, the mockers think they are indulging in fine irony. Jesus claimed so much power, so very much power; now witness his powerlessness. So in the light of his claim, they say “save yourself”—which of course they utter ironically, since they are convinced he is helpless and cannot do a thing to help himself. Jesus’ claims are somewhere between ridiculous and scandalous—and they deserve to be mocked.

But the apostles know, and the readers of the Gospels know, and God knows, that Jesus’ demonstration of power is displayed precisely in the weakness of the cross. Because we read John’s Gospel, especially John 2, we know what Jesus actually said on this subject: “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days” (2:19). According to John, Jesus’ opponents did not have a clue what he meant; indeed, Jesus’ own disciples had no idea, at the time, what he meant. But after Jesus was raised from the dead, John says, the disciples remembered his words; they believed the Scripture and the words Jesus had spoken. They knew he was talking about his body (vv. 20–22). The point is that under the terms of the old covenant, the temple was the great meeting place between a holy God and his sinful people. This was the place of sacrifice, the place of atonement for sin. But this side of the cross, where Jesus by his sacrifice pays for our sin, Jesus himself becomes the great meeting place between a holy God and his sinful people; thus he becomes the temple, the meeting place between God and his people. It is not as if Jesus in his incarnation adequately serves as the temple of God. That is a huge mistake. Jesus says, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” It is in Jesus’ death, in his destruction, and in his resurrection three days later, that Jesus meets our needs and reconciles us to God, becoming the temple, the supreme meeting place between God and sinners. To use Paul’s language, we do not simply preach Christ; rather, we preach Christ crucified.

Here is the glory, the paradox, the irony; here, once again, there are two levels of irony. The mockers think they are witty and funny as they mock Jesus’ pretensions and laugh at his utter weakness after he has claimed he could destroy the temple and raise it in three days. But the apostles know, and the readers know, and God knows, that there is a deeper irony: it is precisely by staying on the cross in abject powerlessness that Jesus establishes himself as the temple and comes to the resurrection in fullness of power. The only way Jesus will save himself, and save his people, is by hanging on that wretched cross, in utter powerlessness. The words the mockers use to hurl insults and condescending sneers actually describe what is bringing about the salvation of the Lord.

The man who is utterly powerless—is powerful.

This principle has already been worked over by Matthew. According to Matthew 16, at Caesarea Philippi Jesus asks his disciples who they think he is. Simon Peter answers, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (v. 16). We must not interpret Peter’s confession too generously. When we