15:25-32 – Mark’s account of the crucifixion is
layered with a single irony, over and over again: Jesus’ torturers acclaim him
in mocking terms with grandiose claims, claims that actually happen to be true
of him. This happens again in v.26, where Jesus is mockingly crucified with a
notice that reads “the King of Jews.” Mark tells us that the “thieves” (so
called in the other Gospels) crucified with Jesus are in fact “rebels”—that is,
criminals who have threatened the stability of Roman rule in Judea; a similar
charge for which Jesus was being crucified. And from these criminals, and those
watching from every side, abuse is rained down on the head of Christ. The
observers refer to Jesus’ acceptance of the role of Messiah, and assume that if
this is true (they, of course, think it is not), that he will have power to
save himself from the cross. The irony here is that Jesus could do that very
thing if he chose to—he could come down from the cross, split the earth in two,
destroy all his attackers with a single word, and ascend in glory to the
heavens. But he doesn’t, because he must bear the sins, the brokenness, the
pain and violence and heartbreak of an entire world.
15:33-36 – The unnatural darkness that Mark notes
in v.33 is important. It shows, in symbolic fashion, the death of the Giver of
light. More than that, it recalls us to the darkness of Gen. 1, before the
creation of the universe, and sets the stage for the “new creation” about to be
made manifest through Christ. Then, after hanging on the cross for six hours
(parallel to the six days of creation?), Jesus cries out, “My God, my God, why
have you forsaken me?” Those who are looking on either mis-hear or
misunderstand Jesus here; the similarity of the name of God (Eloi, my God) to the name of Elijah
leads them to start wondering if he’s calling Elijah, and they bring up the
strange possibility that Elijah will come to take him down off the cross. This
idea would seem strange to us, until we consider the Messianic expectations of
the time. If they have in mind Jesus’ Messianic claims (and they do—see v.32),
then they would have known the prophecy that “Elijah” would come before him. In
Christian tradition, John the Baptist fills this role for Jesus, but for those
watching the crucifixion, there appears to have been some idea that perhaps, if
Jesus truly were the Messiah, this would be the moment of his revelation: a
heaven-sent figure of Elijah would appear from glory to deliver Christ from the
cross and inaugurate his reign. These lines illustrate just how great the
excitement was around Jesus and his claims, even if they’re being made here in
mockery and disbelief. But what did Jesus really mean with his startling outcry,
so resonant with despair? Three possibilities emerge: He may have been speaking
forth the cry of all humanity, cut off from God by sin. In suffering on the
cross, Jesus represented the new humanity, and this hopeless cry fits the
brokenhearted spirit of human beings, cast out from our fellowship with God in
paradise. Or (the second possibility) he may have been expressing his own
personal emotions as he suffered an unspeakable breach in the unbreakable unity
of the Trinity—feeling, for the first and only time in all eternity, the
withdrawal of the Father’s presence because of the weight of humanity’s sin on
his shoulders. But the third option is perhaps the strongest possibility, if
only one must be chosen: Jesus is here quoting the first line of Psalm 22. This
psalm, written down a thousand years before the cross, records how the
suffering messiah would be surrounded by mocking, torturing adversaries, how he
would suffer thirst, have his clothes gambled away, and be pierced through his
hands and feet—all very specific prophecies that are fulfilled in the
crucifixion of Christ. But Psalm 22 doesn’t end there—it shifts tone in
radical, dramatic fashion, and ends with a vision of God’s acceptance of the
suffering of his Messiah, resulting in the eschatological renewal of all things
and the coming of all nations to join in the worship of God. That’s the message
of the cross: it begins in anguish, and ends in joy that knows no end.