Through Christ, God redeemed for Himself a people for His own possession, and in Christ, we belong to that people. Although it is true that everyone will ultimately stand before the judgment seat of God alone, we have not been left to walk through this life alone. Jesus endured the cross alone, but He calls us to take up our crosses and follow Him together. That is what the death of Jesus purchased for us with the tearing of the curtain. Full assurance to come to God as our Father, a sure and steadfast hope that will endure even the end of all things, and a place among the congregation of the righteous. 

And when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And some of the bystanders hearing it said, “Behold, he is calling Elijah.” And someone ran and filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a reed and gave it to him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down.” And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.
Mark 15:33-38 ESV

Surely after their three-day journey to the mountain in Moriah, Isaac knew that this sacrifice was far more solemn than normal. Perhaps that is why, as father and son prepared to ascend the mountain, Isaac asked where the lamb for the sacrifice was. Abraham simply answered, “God will provide for himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son” (Genesis 22:8). Upon the mountain, Abraham built the altar, laid the wood, and laid Isaac upon the altar. Although this was Abraham’s sacrifice, the fact that Isaac was the one who carried the wood upon the mountain indicates that he was likely already a young man rather than a small boy. Thus, he evidently trusted his father enough to be bound upon the altar and to be slaughtered by his own father. Hebrews 11:17-19 tells us that Abraham still held onto God’s promise that through Isaac his offspring would be named so he reasoned that God would evidently bring Isaac back from the dead. Was that his comfort to Isaac? Was that faith in resurrection the hope that enabled Isaac to lay in silence like a lamb being slaughtered?
Of course, Abraham did not kill his son. An angel stopped his blade mid-air and a ram caught in a thicket to offer in place of Isaac. Abraham’s words were true; the LORD did provide the lamb. The patriarch called that mountain, “the LORD will provide.” Three thousand years later, those words were fulfilled to the uttermost. Upon another mountain, God the Father laid His only Son, the Son He loved even in the eternity before creation, upon the altar. Although the Son could certainly have called upon angels to rescue Him, like Isaac, He trusted His Father. Unlike Isaac, the knife would not be stopped. This time the Father would drive the knife into His beloved Son, for by the Son’s blood Abraham and Isaac and you and I would be ransomed from our sins once for all.
There was Darkness// Verses 33
In our previous passage, we read of the crucifixion of Christ. Particularly, we noted how Mark (as well as the other three Evangelists) does not emphasize the physical torment of the cross but rather gives attention to the mockery and reviling that Jesus endured alongside the bodily agony. Mark’s Gospel now continues with these words: “And when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour.”
Here we have a supernatural darkness that came over Jerusalem for about three hours in the very middle of the day. The sixth hour was noon, and the ninth hour would have been three in the afternoon. Attempts to align this with an eclipse or some other natural phenomena miss the point. Instead, we ought to read with great wonder that the light of the world Himself was engulfed in darkness and that the Author of life was preparing to die.
R. Kent Hughes notes:
Thirty-three years earlier there had been brightness and music at midnight when Jesus was born. Now there is darkness and silence at noontide as he dies.
Why this darkness? To begin with, it was a sign of mourning. Amos prophesied there would be darkness at the time of the Day of the Lord, saying, “I will make the sun go down at noon and darken the earth in broad daylight… I will make it like the mourning for an only son…” (Amos 8:9,10). The cross is draped in the mourning sackcloth of darkness.
In concert with this, the darkness signified the curse of God. At the exodus, a plague of darkness spread over the land before the first Passover lamb was slain. Now before the death of the ultimate Passover Lamb, there again was darkness. God’s judgment was being poured out in a midday night.[1]
Indeed, to further parallel the events in Exodus, we see here that Jesus is not only the Lamb slain to ransom His people from the Destroyer, but He is also the first born of the Father, offered in our place. We may also notice that there was darkness over the whole land, which presumably meant Judea. Thus, with the plague of darkness in Egypt, the Egyptians were cast into darkness, while the land of the Hebrews still had light. Now the reverse was occurring. The land of the Jews was covered in darkness, while the Gentiles nations still had light. Perhaps this was a visual display of Paul point in Romans 3:9-12:
What then? Are we Jews any better off? No, not at all. For we have already charged that all, both Jews and Greeks, are under sin, as it is written:
“None is righteous, no, not one;no one understands;no one seeks for God.All have turned aside; together they have become worthless;no one does good,not even one.”
The Cry of Derecliction // Verses 34-36
After spending three hours plunged in darkness, we read: “And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have your forsaken me?’” We call this Jesus’ cry of dereliction, and indeed it is. It notably is also the opening sentence of Psalm 22, which together with Isaiah 53 is one of the most explicit descriptions of Christ’s crucifixion, even though it was written by David around a thousand years before Jesus’ day. There are a multitude of mysteries and complexities in this cry of anguish that I suspect will never be fully grasped by finite creatures like us.
Perhaps the greatest mystery is how Jesus could be abandoned by His Father. Could the Second Person of the Trinity really be cut off? Some theologians in an effort to avoid such a thought have argued that Jesus was not forsaken at all. Instead, they argue that Jesus was really pointing to the triumphant conclusion of Psalm 22, and He was not truly forsaken by the Father. Not a few unbelievers have used this cry as proof that Jesus became disillusioned before He breathed His last. We must reject both thoughts. It was for this very reason that Christ became incarnate, so He was certainly no disillusioned self-help guru. Neither should we look upon the suffering of Christ as the Donatists look upon His humanity, as if He only seemed to have suffered. No, Jesus did truly suffer, and He was truly forsaken by the Father.
R. C. Sproul writes,
When Jesus took the curse on Himself and so identified with our sin that He became a curse, God cut Him off, and justly so. At the moment when Christ took on Himself the sin of the world, His figure on the cross was the most grotesque, most obscene mass of concentrated sin in the history of the world. God is too holy to look on iniquity, so when Christ hung on the cross, the Father, as it were, turned His back. He averted His face and He cut off His Son. Jesus, Who, touching His human nature, had been in perfect, blessed relationship with God throughout His ministry, now bore the sin of God’s people, and so He was forsaken by God.[2]
As we noted last week, upon the cross, Jesus was redeeming us from the curse of our sins by becoming a curse for us. He was becoming Himself the sacrifice for our sins. He was taking upon Himself the damnation that we rightfully have earned through our rebellion against our Creator. Again, Sproul is right in saying that, “On the cross, He was in hell, totally bereft of the grace and the presence of God, utterly separated from all blessedness of the Father.”[3]
Thus, Jesus was truly forsaken by the Father. This is what Jesus feared in Gethsemane made reality.
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As Jesus told his disciples, “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35). It will be a sweet aroma to lost and hungry souls seeking rest. Here’s an idea for church officers, both deacons or elders. Why not make it a practice to close some of your meetings throughout the year with singing (or reading) a setting of Psalm 133? I know I experience what this psalm describes after many difficult yet united session meetings where God’s presence is palpable. Let’s celebrate that gift by singing this song God has given us.

1Behold, how good and pleasant it iswhen brothers dwell in unity!2 It is like the precious oil on the head,running down on the beard,on the beard of Aaron,running down on the collar of his robes!3 It is like the dew of Hermon,which falls on the mountains of Zion!For there the Lord has commanded the blessing,life forevermore.
~Psalm 133~
As the PCA’s 50th Anniversary year draws to a close, I find myself meditating on Psalm 133 quite a bit. “How good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity.” Each year we close our business at General Assembly by singing this short Psalm which makes for a short song. If you watch it on the GA Livestream, you’ll probably find it underwhelming. The video doesn’t capture the mood in the room. It can’t. You have to be there.
I know we in the PCA don’t always seem to “dwell together in unity.” General Assembly and presbytery floor debates can be heated, and social media rhetoric doesn’t leave us feeling all warm and fuzzy. But the impression I get from many PCA officers across a wide spectrum of views is that the closest friendships in their lives are within the PCA. Generally speaking, we share a genuine fondness for one another as we co-labor in the cause of Christ. Our union with Christ unites us as brothers, and the Lord has indeed commanded the blessing in this uniting of our lives in Him forevermore.
Why Oil Flowing down a Beard?
One part of Psalm 133 that often baffles readers is the imagery that is being used. While Reformer-style beards have made somewhat of a comeback in our churches, none of us particularly want to see a beardsman’s plume dripping with oil. It may just be me, but a greasy beard doesn’t immediately evoke thoughts of “good and pleasant.” What if, however, the focus is not on the beard or the oil itself, but on the movement and effect of the oil?
The oil originates from above and flows down. Down onto the head. Down on and through the beard. Down onto the robe and further to the edges of the robe. Down, presumably on to the anointed priest’s body. There would no doubt be a pleasing aroma to the oil that would be appreciated by those with whom the priest came into contact.
Calvin writes, “We must hold, that when mention is made of the Priest, it is to intimate that concord takes its rise in the true and pure worship of God; while by the beard and skirts of the garments, we are led to understand that the peace which springs from Christ as the head is diffused through the whole length and breadth of the Church.”[1]
To further make the point, the next image is from nature. In similar fashion, the dew that nourishes the mountain comes down from above. And what happens to moisture on a mountain? It runs down. Down to creeks that supply streams. Down to fill rivers to the surrounding areas. Refreshment, nourishment, and life itself comes from above and flows out.
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Bring your questions and your grief to him. Your doubts and confusion. Your weariness and loneliness. Amazingly, God himself gives us words in Scripture to do just that. Ask him that the comfort of Christ might be given to you just as you are sharing in Christ’s sufferings (2 Cor 1:5). And if it takes too much energy to form words right now, know that the Spirit himself is interceding for you “with groanings too deep for words” (Rom 8:26).

My dear friend,
My heart breaks for you regarding the burden you shared with me last evening. I have known you for a long time and have witnessed how you have persevered through many trials. But this one—oh, how deeply grievous it is. I know your head is spinning and your emotions are all over the place. Surprise, grief, fear, confusion, anger, doubt—and yes, shaky hope, were all intermingled as you poured out your heart to me. I was thankful for the opportunity to pray with you briefly, but I wanted to follow up today with a few words that I hope God might use to bring comfort and lift your weary head just a bit. (I realize that silence and simple presence are often the best gifts to offer someone in the midst of suffering, but I know you well enough to take the risk of saying more!)
I think what I want to communicate most is that you’re not alone. Jesus, the Suffering Servant, walked a path of grief and anguish ahead of you and for you. And now, he is with you by his Spirit. We often think of Jesus’ suffering primarily in the context of his crucifixion and death. This is true, but in another sense, the whole of Jesus’ life comprised suffering. Paul captures this in Philippians 2:5–8. The incarnation itself was a down escalator to the basement of fallen human misery. Jesus suffered his entire life by setting aside his glory and rightful splendor. He faced the toils and trials and heartaches every human being faces in a broken and sin-laden world.
What does this mean for you and for me?
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