First Word from the Cross

Grace and peace to you through Jesus Christ who comforts through his words of forgiveness. Amen.

Luke 23:34 Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." And they divided up his clothes by casting lots.

He spoke a word of forgiveness

1. One that condemns my unforgiving heart

2. One that comforts my grateful heart

 

It was November 19, 1863. Thousands were gathered for the dedication of the battlefield and cemetery of Gettysburg. The date of this dedication had been delayed for several months to allow the greatest orator of the age to complete his speech. Now at last, he would begin: "Standing beneath this serene sky . . . it is with hesitation that I raise my poor voice to break the eloquent silence of God and Nature …" For two solid hours he broke that silence. Then he concluded: "That wheresoever throughout the civilized world the accounts of this great warfare are read, and down to the latest period of recorded time, in the glorious annals of our common country there will be no brighter page than that which relates the battles of Gettysburg." (Edward Everett, "Gettysburg Oration," 19 November 1863.)

Wait a minute. You’ve never even heard of that oration? It was the "Gettysburg Oration" given by Edward Everett. Instead, you remember a different speech delivered that day? So do I. The "Gettysburg Address" delivered by President Abraham Lincoln. Ten sentences, 278 words. Several minutes long. Yet Lincoln’s few words reverberate through time and our nation’s consciousness.

It is impossible to calculate all the words preached, spoken, and written about the crucifixion of our Lord. Yet the seven words Jesus spoke from his cross speak louder than them all. Many of us may know our Savior’s words by heart. In this season of Lent, we pause to ponder those words under this simple theme: "Seven Times He Spoke."

On this Ash Wednesday, we consider the first word Jesus spoke from his cross. When Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing," he spoke a word of forgiveness. It was a word of forgiveness that condemns my unforgiving heart. It was also a word of forgiveness that comforts my grateful heart.

1. One that condemns my unforgiving heart

Dutifully Sarah recited the words assigned to her as homework in confirmation class. "Take his words and actions in the kindest possible way." That, in part, is how Dr. Martin Luther explained God’s Eighth Commandment: "You shall not give false testimony against your neighbor." But later that same morning, during recess time, little Johnny accidentally bumped into Sarah and knocked her down on the playground. She scraped her knee and needed medical attention. When the teacher asks Sarah what happened, the girl blurts out through her tears, "Johnny pushed me down on purpose! He’s always so mean to me!"

Together with our families and friends in worship, we pray: "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us." Do we actually understand what we are praying in those words? We are asking God to help us forgive others the way he generously forgives us. But how hard it is to make those words travel the 15 inches or so from our mouths to our hearts!

Forgive that blankety-blank idiot who just cut me off in traffic? No way! He doesn’t deserve it. Just wait till I get the chance. I’m going to gun it and race up in front of him. Then I’ll cut him off!

She didn’t mean it? Oh, come on, she knew exactly what she was doing. She doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. Well, maybe if she comes to me groveling on her knees. Maybe. Otherwise, I’ll never speak to her again.

Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." How could he be so forgiving? So kind? So compassionate?

Consider what they were doing to him! Earlier, Roman soldiers had pounded spikes through Christ’s hands and feet and raised his cross into the air. And even as Jesus spoke this first word, those soldiers were gambling for his clothes. They were even brazen enough to do it beneath his cross. At his feet. Could I be so forgiving? Could you?

What were they doing? "People stood watching" (Lk 23:35). Was this Good Friday crucifixion a sideshow for some? Was it like a morbid circus act had come to town for one day only? Did others take little notice of the grim goings-on that day? Who among the crowds came forward to help? Who spoke in the Savior’s defense? Not even the disciples! They were all pretty much in hiding. Could I be so forgiving of those who stood by and did nothing to help me? Could you?

What were they doing? The rulers and religious dignitaries stooped so low as to mock, "He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Christ of God" (v. 35). These were God’s servants — at least they were supposed to be — and now they were mocking God’s chosen servant, the Christ. It doesn’t get much lower than that. Could I forgive those who mocked me? Who hurt me? Could you? Or would we lash out in anger? Curse our enemies? Vow to get even?

During his public ministry, Jesus taught, "Love your neighbor as yourself." "Love your enemy." "Forgive seventy-seven times." On the cross, the first words from my Savior’s mouth were "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." Your Savior and mine practiced what he preached. Perfectly. Selflessly. His word of forgiveness condemns my unforgiving heart, because I know I can’t love and forgive the way he wants. All too often — and it hurts to admit this — I don’t even want to. I don’t even try.

It is my unforgiving spirit for which Jesus hung on his cross.

2. One that comforts my grateful heart

But Jesus knew that, didn’t he? He had to! After all, the Jesus who hung on Golgotha’s cross is the Christ, the Son of God. He is holy. He is all-knowing. That means he has 20/20 divine foresight, and he had you and me in the crosshairs of his divine sight before we were ever born! Before we held our first grudge. Before we ever plotted to get even with someone who hurt us. Jesus knew exactly what we can be like, how unforgiving we can be. But he spoke this word of forgiveness anyway: "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." You see, Jesus spoke this word for you. He spoke it for me.

But Jesus did so much more than that, didn’t he? He lived these words of forgiveness! He had to, if he wanted to send our sins packing from the presence of his holy Father. All the silver and gold in the world couldn’t plunge our bitterness and backbiting into the depths of the sea. All our best intentions and halfhearted efforts at forgiving others couldn’t earn the Father’s forgiveness. Forgiveness could come no other way than through that Lamb of God, who served as your and my perfect substitute.

And so he loved even his enemies. And he forgave them. I wonder. How many hammer blows did it take to pound the nail through his wrist? And then the other? Seven? And then the feet? Another seven? Did they laugh as they did it? Did they swear? Yet Jesus prayed, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." "Take their words and actions in the kindest possible way."

How many times did passers-by stop and stare and then simply walk away without offering so much as a word of comfort? And how many times did the rulers sneer at him that day? How many times did they mock him? Seventy-seven times? And yet Jesus prayed, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." "Take their words and actions in the kindest possible way."

And how many times, in the next week, month, or year will you and I lapse back into our old sinful ways: harboring grudges, growing bitter and resentful, even plotting our revenge? How many times — even in our churches, in our school, and in our synod — will it happen that there is division? Harsh words spoken? Motives questioned? How many times will we refuse to forgive? Will it be seventy times seven? Yet Jesus prayed, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." "Take their words and actions in the kindest possible way." When Jesus spoke those words from his cross, he spoke them for you. He spoke them for me. He spoke them as our perfect substitute.

Because Jesus spoke this word of forgiveness, and because he meant it with all his heart, he stayed on his cross until he had paid in full the price required to purchase God’s forgiveness for you and for me. You see, it wasn’t enough for our Savior to be perfectly loving and forgiving in our place. He had to do something about our sin-stained rap sheet. So Jesus took that filthy record far away from the Lord. Jesus took it to his cross. And to that awful place, he carried every one of our sins.

His blood. His suffering. His death. That was the price required to back up these words: "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

When the books of a certain Scottish doctor were examined after his death, it was found that a number of accounts were crossed through with a note: "Forgiven – too poor to pay." But the physician's wife later decided that these accounts must be paid in full and she proceeded to sue for money. When the case came to court the judge asked only one question. Is this your husband's handwriting? When she replied that it was he responded: "There is no court in the land that can obtain a debt once the word forgiven has been written."

And that is the good news that the Gospel offers us this evening. God's attitude is not "I'll forgive but I won't forget," but rather, "Forgiven, Forgotten Forever." Across our debt has been written the words, "Forgiven – too poor to pay." Once a debt has been cancelled there is no one who can collect on it. God wipes it out of his mind. Oh, if we could only forgive ourselves like that.

What more is there to say? Nothing, except this: Thank you, dear Jesus, for speaking this word of forgiveness to one as unworthy as I. Your word of forgiveness is one that comforts my grateful heart. Amen.