We place great significance on someone's “dying words.” We know that people who are about to expire choose very carefully, if they are able, what the final message to their loved ones will be. So I would suppose that the few followers of Jesus who were left strained to hear each last word he uttered from the cross. He had spent three years dispensing wisdom and truth to them. What important things would he say as his life ended?

At this holiest time of year, as we meditate on Christ's passion, let us, like John, Mary, Mary Magdalene and the others lean in toward the cross and hear what Christ will say. There are seven different statements he made that are recorded in the Gospels. Three are considered here. The first is so intimate, we wonder if we should have heard it at all. It is a cry from the agonized Jesus to his beloved Father about their relationship. The second is also addressed to the Father, but is an intercessory prayer. The third is spoken to a specific man, the criminal crucified beside Jesus. Do these utterances mean anything to you and me? Surely the dying words of the greatest Teacher of all time continue to teach today.

“About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, 'Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?' (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”)—Matthew 27:46

There is a great theological mystery wrapped up in Jesus' agonizing cry. The Salvation Army's fourth doctrine affirms that Jesus is both man and God ontologically (in his very being). The mystery lies in how God the Father and God the Holy Spirit can turn away from God the Son if they are one Being. The Expositor's Bible Commentary explains, “If we ask in what ontological sense the Father and the Son are here divided, the answer must be that we do not know because we are not told.” All we know is that the other members of the Trinity abandoned Jesus as he died. And his desperate wail indicates that that separation caused greater pain than the whip, the nails or the thorny crown.

Why did God turn his back on his only Son? Here is a principle that should never be forgotten: sin separates man from God. And in that moment, Jesus bore our sin. Isaiah prophesied: “But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5).

It was customary for those who were being executed to say, “May my death atone for all my sins.” Yet Jesus said, “Father, forgive them”

He stood in as our proxy. And seeing that God would turn his back on even Jesus, we must understand that there exists a sin-gulf between God and those who refuse to have the sacrifice of Christ applied to themselves. In other words, if sin could separate God and Jesus, what makes us think that sin doesn't separate God and people?

I am always a little surprised when people who live their lives in rebellion to God assume they can call on him when they want a favour, or when some wrong in their lives needs to be made right. When he doesn't deliver, they express shock, disappointment, anger or even newfound atheism. I'm reminded of an old hit from the 1970s, Alone Again (Naturally), in which Gilbert O'Sullivan soulfully crooned:

Reality came around …
Leaving me to doubt
All about God and his mercy;
For if he really does exist,
Why did he desert me
In my hour of need?
I truly am indeed
Alone again, naturally.

Where is it written that God will be at the service of those who have never entered into a relationship with him? The sentiment that “we are all God's children” circulates freely in our society. People like to believe that we all have equal access to God, and he is somehow beholden to respond whenever we decide we want him. The biblical truth is, we are all God's creation, but 1 John 2 and 3 are very clear (and rather harsh) in indicating that anyone who lives in sin is “of the devil” (see 1 John 3:8) and that those who are truly God's children prove themselves as such through their obedience to the laws of God.

There is no sin-gulf between God and those who choose to have the blood of Christ applied to themselves. We now stand “justified freely by his grace, through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus” (Romans 3:24). His ear is forever bent toward the praises and pleas of his children. But those who ignore or reject the precious sacrifice Christ made should not be surprised to find their cries unheeded, just as Christ did the day he was killed. The unhappy truth remains: sin separates man and God.

“Jesus said, 'Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.'”—Luke 23:34

The Roman soldiers were interlopers on the Judean landscape. What could they know, what could they understand about what was happening at the crucifixion? Pontius Pilate was Rome's representative, yet he knew something was amiss and didn't wish to be responsible for the death of an innocent man—especially this man. But the grunts—the blue-collar guys who let out their frustration when they whipped Jesus, mocked him, brutally suspended him from a cross and gambled for his garment—who did they think Jesus was?

And what about the Jews who participated in the goings-on? Many of them had heralded him as the Messiah just a few days earlier. But they were expecting someone who would finally rid them of foreign occupation and re-establish the throne of David. That's what they had been taught to anticipate since they were children. Now here was their supposed hero—bound, beaten, defeated. Is it any wonder they stopped believing in him? Could people looking for a political saviour have even comprehended that God had somehow come to them in human flesh?

The Romans and the Jews were blissfully unaware of the true significance of Jesus' death, but even in their ignorance, their deeds were sinful. It was customary for those who were being executed to say, “May my death atone for all my sins.” Yet Jesus said, “Father, forgive them.” What sin did the Son of God commit? He bore only the guilt he cloaked upon himself that day. His death was meant to atone for the sins of others, and first in line were those who actually pinned his naked body against the blackening sky.

Still, there are more people who bear the guilt for this gruesome death. Blame everyone in whose place he died. Blame me. Blame yourself. As Paul quoted in Romans 3:10, “There is no one righteous, not even one.” In spite of this, hear the beautiful words of Colossians 2:13-14: “He forgave us all our sins, having cancelled the charge of our legal indebtedness, which stood against us and condemned us; he has taken it away, nailing it to the cross.”

Perhaps Jesus' eyes, full of love, were able to see down through the generations, able to visualize every knee that would willingly bow before him, every heart that would rejoice at his forgiveness. And he laid hold of our “rap sheet”—our list of infractions—and nailed it to his cross.

General Albert Orsborn wrote:

O Love upon a cross impaled,
My contrite heart is drawn to thee;
Are thine the hands my pride has nailed,
And thine the sorrows borne for me?
Are such the wounds my sin decrees?
I fall in shame upon my knees.

Forgive! Forgive! I hear thee plead;
And me forgive! I instant cry.
For me thy wounds shall intercede,
For me thy prayer shall make reply;
I take the grace that flows from these,
In saving faith, upon my knees.
(SASB 122)

When, in moments of meditation, I truly internalize what Jesus had to go through in order that the Father might forgive me, I realize that I want to live better. How can I just accept his forgiveness and go about my business? No, my heart compels me to accept his forgiveness and, in humility and gratitude, go about his business. I don't only lay my life before him because I owe him. I lay it before him because I adore him. As the old chorus says, “O how I love Jesus … because he first loved me.”

“Jesus answered him, 'Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.' ”—Luke 23:43

This simple, beautiful promise provides Christians with hope and cause for speculation. Amidst the indescribable misery of the crucifixion scene comes this glorious phrase, dripping with joy!

In these few words, the dying thief is given the forgiveness he needs. His life can end in spiritual peace. The initial benefactor of the new covenant, he is the first person to be cleansed by the perfect blood of the sacrificial Lamb of God. And we don't even know his name.

How typical of Jesus that the first one to know the power of his blood would be a nobody—a criminal in his hour of execution. No one could have been in a lowlier, more desperate position. This was the type of person for whom Jesus had come in the first place.

There is some mystery in this statement, of course. Jesus does not say, “Today you will be with me in Heaven.” We have been taught that the moment we die, we go to “Heaven,” which in Greek is ouranos. But this is different from what Jesus promised the thief on the cross in Luke 23:43. He said to him, “Today you will be with me in paradeisos”—Paradise.

In John 14, Jesus speaks about preparing a place in ouranos for his followers. However, this is a location where Jesus has promised to take us after his second coming. He does not promise a direct transference to ouranos upon mortal death. Could it be that John Wesley was right when he surmised that Paradise is “the porch of Heaven”—the temporary home for departed saints (Christians) until the time of the final resurrection? I don't think anyone can answer that question definitively. But one thing we do know for sure: the thief was promised that he would be with Jesus. And this is the same hope that is ours. As Paul assures us, when we leave our bodies we will be with the Lord (see 2 Corinthians 5:8).

So as we find ourselves at the foot of the cross, ears attentive to each painfully articulated syllable from the lips of Christ, he provides us with reason to rejoice. This hideous death means there will be life. This pungent sorrow will be swallowed up by everlasting bliss. Though our eyes are on the cross, the words of Christ beckon us to look beyond it, to see the rays of Resurrection Day dawning. The words of Scripture can be heard in the distance as a faint whisper, approaching, growing louder: “Death has been swallowed up in victory. 'Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?' ” (1 Corinthians 15:54-55).

Inclining ourselves, bending to hear what Christ will say, we become aware of our personal involvement in the crucifixion. We step into the scene and find ourselves as important characters. It was our sin as well as that of our ancient ancestors that nailed Jesus to a tree. And it is our hope, as well as theirs, that we will live with him.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?