Matthew 28

¹¹ While they were going, behold, some of the guard went into the city and told the chief priests all that had taken place. ¹² And when they had assembled with the elders and taken counsel, they gave a sufficient sum of money to the soldiers ¹³ and said, “Tell people, ‘His disciples came by night and stole him away while we were asleep.’ ¹⁴ And if this comes to the governor’s ears, we will satisfy him and keep you out of trouble.” ¹⁵ So they took the money and did as they were directed. And this story has been spread among the Jews to this day. ¹⁶ Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. ¹⁷ And when they saw him they worshiped him, but some doubted. ¹⁸ And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. ¹⁹ Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, ²⁰ teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

It is interesting how different denominations seem to like different Bible verses. Presbyterians really like the verses that talk about covenants. Wesleyan Holiness folk like verses that talk about sanctification. Episcopalians like verses that talk about justice. Reformed Baptists like Romans 9. And Southern Baptists really like John 3:16 and Matthew 28:16–20, or the great salvation verse and The Great Commission verses that establish the missionary mandate of the church.

And it is interesting how human beings can treasure something so much that we miss some obvious and surprising realities that sit right next to the things we treasure.

For example, has it occurred to you that Matthew 28, the last chapter of the book of Matthew, actually contains twoproclamation commissions? And that they are back-to-back? It is true! Just before The Great Commission that ends Matthew’s gospel, there is another commission to go and spread a message. But this first commission is the antithesis of The Great Commission. In fact, we will call in The Shameful Commission.

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The Sunday, September 15, sermon, “The Least of These,” does not have a manuscript. But you can watch video here or hear audio here.

I am looking at a still from an ABC news story about tornados that ravaged a region of the country a few years ago. The image is startling but, sadly, all-too familiar: trees stripped bare, splintered lumber piled haphazardly on the foundation where a house used to be, insulation, debris, devastation, and, as often happens, a beautiful blue sky in the aftermath.

The tornado came. The tornado destroyed. The tornado left.

It is a picture of devastation.

But, in this picture, there is something else. There, right in the middle, stands a large, steel box. It is, in fact, a storm shelter, anchored into the foundation. And it is standing. The debris is literally piled around it and, on one side, upon it. But the shelter remains. And, most importantly, the family that hid in that shelter also remains. It saved their lives.

The image looks like everything in the world had been violently shaken, but the shelter could withstand it.

The shelter was a safe refuge.

The shelter could not be shaken.

The writer of Hebrews will use imagery similar to this when he says something most fascinating about the Kingdom of God.

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Matthew 27

⁶² The next day, that is, after the day of Preparation, the chief priests and the Pharisees gathered before Pilate ⁶³ and said, “Sir, we remember how that impostor said, while he was still alive, ‘After three days I will rise.’ ⁶⁴ Therefore order the tomb to be made secure until the third day, lest his disciples go and steal him away and tell the people, ‘He has risen from the dead,’ and the last fraud will be worse than the first.” ⁶⁵ Pilate said to them, “You have a guard of soldiers. Go, make it as secure as you can.” ⁶⁶ So they went and made the tomb secure by sealing the stone and setting a guard.

Matthew 28

¹ Now after the Sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. ² And behold, there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. ³ His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. ⁴ And for fear of him the guards trembled and became like dead men. ⁵ But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. ⁶ He is not here, for he has risen, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. ⁷ Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold, he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you.” ⁸ So they departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. ⁹ And behold, Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came up and took hold of his feet and worshiped him. ¹⁰ Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see me.”

Some years back, the philosopher and theologian David Bentley Hart published a list of his favorite fiction books. Among them was The Blind Owl by the Iranian author Sadegh Hedayat. It is a strange an interesting book. In it, the protagonist reflects from his sickbed on his disinterest in religion and in God.

Several days ago she brought me a prayer book that had a layer of dust on it—not only had I no use for a prayer book, but likewise no sort of rabble book, writing, or idea had any use for me. What use had I for their lies and nonsense, was not I, myself, the product of a long line of past generations and were not their inherited experiences found in me, was not the past in my being?—But none of this has ever had any effect on me: neither mosque, nor the call of the muezzin, nor ablutions and spitting, and bending over and standing upright before an almighty god with absolute power that one has to converse with in Arabic. Beforehand, when I was healthy, if I several times obligatorily went to the mosque and tried to harmonize my heart with those of others, inevitably my eyes would wander and stare at the glazed tiles and the forms and patterns of the walls of the mosque, transporting me to the realm of pleasant dreams, and in this way I would find a means of escape for myself—During prayer I would close my eyes and hold my palms in front of my face—in this night that I had created for myself, like the words they unconsciously repeat while sleeping, I would pray, but the utterance of these words was not from deep within my heart, for I would much rather talk to a friend or an acquaintance than with God, with Almighty God! For God was too much for me.

Whilst lying in a warm and damp bed, all of these issues were not worth more than a grain of barley to me, and at these times I did not want to know whether a God truly existed or if it was an object the rulers on earth have conceived to consolidate their divine station and ravage their subjects—to reflect the images on earth onto the sky—I only wanted to know whether or not I would make it through the night until the next morning—Confronted with death, I sensed how weak and childish were religion, faith and belief, almost a kind of diversion for healthy and fortunate persons—Confronted with the horrifying actuality of death and the suffering that I went through, all that they had inculcated in me about reward and punishment of the soul and the Day of Resurrection had become an insipid lie, and when confronted with the fear of death the prayers that they had taught me had no effect.—[1]

This strikes me as tragic and heartbreaking: a sick man scoffing at the idea of resurrection, seeing it as “an insipid lie” that had “no effect” on him when confronted “with the fear of death.”

Hedayat himself was a talented but tragic figure. Consider his passing:

In 1951, overwhelmed by despair, Hedayat left Tehrān and traveled to Paris, where he rented an apartment. A few days before his death, Hedayat tore up all of his unpublished work. On 9 April 1951, he plugged all the doors and windows of his rented apartment with cotton, then turned on the gas valve, committing suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning. Two days later, his body was found by police, with a note left behind for his friends and companions that read, “I left and broke your heart. That is all.”[2]

He was 48 years old when he took his own life.

I do not claim to know all that was going on in Hedayat’s life, but it does strike me that trust in a good God and in the reality of life after death and in the reality of resurrection could have helped him immensely.

Indeed, the resurrection of Jesus is presented in scripture as the antidote to despair: the despair of the disciples when confronted with the reality of death and the despair of the world at large when confronted with the same. At the end of Matthew 27 and the beginning of Matthew 28, we find the powers seeking to stop the resurrection from taking place…and failing miserably in their attempt. And we may thank God for this!

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In the October 10, 1972, edition of The Sumter Daily Item, the newspaper of my hometown, Sumter, South Carolina, there is a picture that I love. It is a picture of my grandfather, Leon “Rosie” Richardson, holding a large pear in his right hand while he looks down proudly at  it. In his left hand, he is holding a writing pen beside the pear to grant the viewer perspective on just how big the pear is.

The caption is headlined “A-Pears To Be Big” and reads as follows:

Leon Richardson displays whopping Bartlette pear he grew on his land. The king-sized fruit weighed in at 2¼ pounds, about the average, says Richardson, of most of the pears he grows.

Again, I love this picture! My granddad looks so happy, so proud, and, knowing him as I did, I can just tell he is absolutely delighted with himself and his giant pear! I will say that after discussing that picture with my brother, Condy, we both are a wee-bit skeptical about his claim that 2¼ pounds was “about the average” size of the pears on that tree. And that skepticism is for one reason: My brothers and I used to climb in that tree and I have eaten many of those pears and unless something pretty amazing happened between October 1972 and May 1974 (the year I was born), those things were not, on average, that size!

Regardless, it is all great fun, and it is a great picture, and it brings back wonderful memories!

It is also an image steeped in New Testament imagery, for the image of fruit-bearing appears not-infrequently in the pages of scripture. And, indeed, the image of producing the fruit of the Kingdom appears in scripture as well.

To speak of fruit in the biblical sense is to speak of that which we are to produce and to speak of the kinds of lives that we are to live. It is to speak, in other words, of the impact of the Kingdom of God on the church, on our lives together, and on the results of our walking with Jesus.

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Matthew 27

⁵⁴ When the centurion and those who were with him, keeping watch over Jesus, saw the earthquake and what took place, they were filled with awe and said, “Truly this was the Son of God!” ⁵⁵ There were also many women there, looking on from a distance, who had followed Jesus from Galilee, ministering to him, ⁵⁶ among whom were Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Joseph and the mother of the sons of Zebedee. ⁵⁷ When it was evening, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who also was a disciple of Jesus. ⁵⁸ He went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. Then Pilate ordered it to be given to him. ⁵⁹ And Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen shroud ⁶⁰ and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had cut in the rock. And he rolled a great stone to the entrance of the tomb and went away. ⁶¹ Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were there, sitting opposite the tomb.

Strangely enough, the Shroud of Turin, the famous cloth that many allege was the burial cloth of Jesus and many allege was not, has been showing up in the news a lot lately.

Dr. Russell Moul has written an article entitled “What’s Going on with the Shroud of Turin?” that seeks to explain why. Moul first points out that the current scientific consensus is that the shroud dates to 1260–1390 AD on the basis of radiocarbon dating conducted in the 1980s. Then Moul explains why the recent uptick in interest:

However, a study conducted by Italian scientist Liberato De Caro offered an alternative perspective on the Shroud’s age. The results were published in 2022 but have only now caught media attention for some reason. De Caro and his team from the Institute of Crystallography in Bari, Italy, examined the artifact with a new technique, known as wide-angle X-ray scattering, in a study conducted in 2019.

According to this paper, the Turin Shroud dates back to 2,000 years ago, contemporaneous with when the historical figure of Jesus was said to have lived.

The researchers say cellulose found in the Shroud’s fibres has aged slowly since the 14^th century because of the lower ambient temperatures in the rooms where it has been housed. This, they argue, means that most of the Shroud’s aging occurred before the 1300s.

“The degree of natural aging of the cellulose that constitutes the linen of the investigated sample, obtained by X-ray analysis, showed that the [Turin Shroud] fabric is much older than the seven centuries proposed by the 1988 radiocarbon dating”, De Caro and his team write.

However, the authors stress that their results can only be accurate if future research finds evidence that the relic was kept safely at an average room temperature of around 22°C (71.6 °F) with a relative humidity of about 55 percent for 1,300 years before it appeared in the historical record.[1]

This is intriguing. Mould does caution the reader, however. He points out that some of Liberato De Caro’s earlier work on and hypotheses concerning the shroud has been seriously questioned.

I supposed folks will be arguing about that cloth long after I am dead and gone! But it is interesting, is it not? The burial of Jesus and the details surrounding it still hold the attention of the world! And this is only fitting. For the death and burial of Jesus are at the heart of the greatest good news the world has ever heard!

In Matthew’s account, we find a number of figures surrounding the cross at the time of Jesus’ death. Each of then offers a powerful depiction of various human responses to Jesus.

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On September 12, 2023, people the world over watched transfixed as a formally-bedecked British official stood before the King’s Guards and the watching public and heralded the following decree:

Whereas it has pleased Almighty God to call to His Mercy our late Sovereign Lady Queen Elizabeth the Second of Blessed and Glorious memory, by whose Decease the Crown of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland is solely and rightfully come to The Prince Charles Philip Arthur George:

We, therefore, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal of this Realm and Members of the House of Commons, together with other members of Her late Majesty’s Privy Council and representatives of the Realms and Territories, Aldermen, and Citizens of London, and others, do now hereby with one voice and Consent of Tongue and Heart publish and proclaim that The Prince Charles Philip Arthur George is now, by the Death of our late Sovereign of Happy Memory, become our only lawful and rightful Liege Lord Charles the Third, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of his other Realms and Territories, King, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, to whom we do acknowledge all Faith and Obedience with humble Affection; beseeching God by whom Kings and Queens do reign to bless His Majesty with long and happy Years to reign over us.

Given at St James’s Palace this tenth day of September in the year of Our Lord two thousand and twenty-two.

GOD SAVE THE KING[1]

It was a rare moment for the world to see and one steeped in history and pageantry. Here, the King was announced and proclaimed and officially recognized, to the acclaim of the people who shouted back: “GOD SAVE THE KING!”

There is a word for this decree: evangelism. Evangelism means the heralding of good news, of the gospel.

I would like to propose that the church should do and should see itself as doing exactly what the herald of that decree did: Announcing the King! That is evangelism. That is mission. That is witness. And the absence of a healthy doctrine of the Kingdom of God from evangelical church life has meant that our witness is stunted in this regard.

We are royal heralds.

We are King proclaimers!

This is our duty.

This is our privilege.

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Matthew 27

⁵¹ And behold, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And the earth shook, and the rocks were split. ⁵² The tombs also were opened. And many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised, ⁵³ and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many. 

Gary Burge and Gene Green have passed on a fascinating historical anecdote about King Herod.

Herod ordered all the noble Jewish families to come to Jericho to attend to him. When they arrived, he had them herded into Jericho’s hippodrome (horseracing track) and told his soldiers to slay them the moment he died. This was to promote national mourning.

While he was on his deathbed, he obtained a letter from Rome giving him permission to slay his too-ambitious son Antipater. He did so immediately. Then he gave his will: Archelaus would be king, Antipas would rule Galilee, and Philip would rule the northeast regions (Gaulanitis, Paneas). Five days later he died.

When Herod was dead, the hippodrome was opened, no one was killed, and the people gathered together in the theater. Herod’s will was read, and Archelaus was hailed as king.[1]

This is equally absurd and pitiful: a king demanding that people be slaughtered to make sure that there was some sort of reaction at his death. A truly great king, of course, would not have to set up such a diabolical manipulation. The world mourns the death of greatness without having to be tricked into it.

Case in point: the death of Jesus on the cross. The heavens and the earth mourned the death of Jesus, and this showed up in a number of starling ways!

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Abhineet Agarwal has written a wonderfully strange and haunting little story entitled “The House with No Door.” It is a surrealist story about a house that has no door and a town’s struggle to understand what that fact means. It is also about a woman who finally manages to enter the house with no door.

The house was strange not only in the sense that it had no door but also in the sense that no one had ever entered it; for it is common sense that no one can enter a house with no door…

But everyone knew that there was something about the house that allowed entry to only some sort of people — this “something” would forever remain a frustrating mystery, a mystery that would make the clouds over the house rumble with a forlorn anger and the trees whisper in a language only the wind understood. This mystery of the criteria required for entering the house with no door is the reason why no one had ever entered it. That’s why the townsfolk had created far-fetched legends around the house in a half-hearted attempt to explain the light noises that came from the house: there was much talk of angry ghosts and numerous hearsay that elucidated the disturbances with the help of stories of sad spirits.

I love that phrase: “This mystery of the criteria required for entering…”

How one could enter the house with no door seemed to almost drive the townspeople mad.

Many were too afraid to even try to enter the house, though they wanted to.

Others thought about entering the house through the windows but did not because they found the idea of doing so to be “blasphemous” and disrespectful to the architects.

The children cried and the pi-dogs barked, the women beat their breasts, and the earth shook with rage if someone came too close to the windows of the house. Thus the age-old question remained forever unanswered: how was one supposed to enter the house with no door?

Others felt that “maybe, the house with no door was made in such a way because no one was supposed to enter it.”

Others felt that, no, the house with no door was to be entered.

Others thought the whole house was a prank!

Others thought the house was haunted and should be left alone.

Finally, one lady enters the house. She figures out what the house is. We are told in the story what the house means and she is able to enter it.

Let me spell it out nonetheless. Even though I personally feel that the answer is an undemanding one, let me proceed to record it, just so that this “enigma” is finally resolved: you don’t need doors to enter houses—you need feet.

When asked how she had finally entered the house with no door, this would be her raging reply: “I simply walked in.”[1]

It is, again, a wonderfully strange little story, and worth the time it takes to read it.

I am struck by that story: A house with no door, a house with no way in. And, finally, a way in.

It strikes me further that the same conversations were surrounding the Kingdom of God in the first century. Is there a door? Is there a way in? Who can enter? How do we get in?

Some self-proclaimed guardians of the Kingdom said they were the keepers of the door and they would determine who could go in.

Some said everybody could go into the Kingdom.

Some said nobody could enter.

Some completely misunderstood what the Kingdom was.

But what about Jesus? What did Jesus say about entering the Kingdom? Does it have a door? And, if so, how do we enter?

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Matthew 27

⁴⁵ Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land until the ninth hour. ⁴⁶ And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” ⁴⁷ And some of the bystanders, hearing it, said, “This man is calling Elijah.” ⁴⁸ And one of them at once ran and took a sponge, filled it with sour wine, and put it on a reed and gave it to him to drink. ⁴⁹ But the others said, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.” ⁵⁰ And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice and yielded up his spirit.

I think one of the best feel-good viral videos I have ever seen is a video of a man sitting on a bench in a city park. He is listening to Jon Bon Jovi’s 1986 rock classic “Livin’ on a Prayer” and loudly singing the opening lines by himself. The video picks up with him singing midway through the opening verse.

Gina works the diner all day
Working for her man, she brings home her pay
For love—for love

As he sings these lines, a number of people lounging in the park turn to him with smiles of pleasant curiosity. Slowly, some join in as he continues.

She says we’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
Cause it doesn’t make a difference
If we make it or not
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot
For love—well give it a shot

And then—the greatest part of the video—by the time he hits the chorus seemingly the whole park has joined in and loudly sings along with him:

Whooah, we’re halfway there
Livin on a prayer
Take my hand and we’ll make it—I swear
Livin on a prayer

Now what on earth, you might ask, does this have to do with Jesus saying “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” from the cross?

Simply this: In the video, the man loudly proclaims something that was well known to the majority of people within earshot. He shouts out the beginning words of a song that had cultural currency and, to judge by the joint singing of the chorus, cultural buy-in. As he does so, we see the crowd move from (a) curiosity and confusion to (b) partial participation to (c) majority buy-in and celebration. In a sense, the man on the bench invites the crowd on a journey and most of them agree to take it with him. But he invites them through proclaiming the opening lines of the song. He invites them through the “hook,” if you will, of a doorway through which they knew they would need to pass to greater things: the great sing-along chorus of that song.

There is something like this happening in our text in Matthew 27.

⁴⁵ Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land until the ninth hour. ⁴⁶ And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” ⁴⁷ And some of the bystanders, hearing it, said, “This man is calling Elijah.” ⁴⁸ And one of them at once ran and took a sponge, filled it with sour wine, and put it on a reed and gave it to him to drink. ⁴⁹ But the others said, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.” ⁵⁰ And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice and yielded up his spirit.

Jesus is quoting the first words of a psalm that many of the Jews would have known well. At first, there is confusion, as you can see in the unfolding of our text. Then, in time, with the coming of the Spirit upon the church, some join in and sing with Him. And now a multitude from every nation, tribe, and tongue joins with Jesus in singing the rest of this psalm. And let us be clear of this: The rest of this psalm matters immensely. Jesus opens a door for us so we can walk with Him through this great psalm and eventually reach the great chorus of praise!

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