Shadows on the Hill
“The servant grew up before God — a scrawny seedling, a scrubby plant in a parched field. There was nothing attractive about him, nothing to cause us to take a second look. He was looked down on and passed over, a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand. One look at him, and people turned away. We looked down on him, thought he was scum. But the fact is, it was our pains he carried — our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us. We thought he brought it on himself, that God was punishing him for his own failures. But it was our sins that did that to him, that ripped and tore and crushed him — our sins! He took the punishment, and that made us whole. Through his bruises, we get healed. We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost. We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way. And God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong, on him, on him.”
— Isaiah 53:4–6 [The Message Translation]
Betrayed with the kiss of a friend, rejected and disowned. He suffered a rigged trial and the torment of a mob howling for his blood. Under the weight of multiple brutal beatings, Christ's prophecied composition was divinely orchestrated by the sounds of savage soldiers jeering as our king courageously strumbled through the city. Arriving at the exact spot where the world’s weight would crush him, three nails pounded into sinless flesh; his body, tortured and ripped apart, jerked upright, the naked lamb dying as his enemies’ hysterics echoed. On this darkest day, there were shadows on the hill — this dreadful, unbearable day.
“Then at three o’clock, Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”
— Mark 15:34 [New Living Translation]
Darkness shrouds the earth as God’s son goes into the deepest night, the hallows of death, to save us from the depths of our sin-ridden hearts. The wounds that marked His body were grotesque. Those that believed not only grieved the cruel death of Jesus but the death of faith, the end of hope. His bleeding body seemingly soaked up all the promised rays of light, leaving only shadows on the hill.
“Later, knowing that everything had now been finished, and so that Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.”
— John 19:28 [New International Version]
As the light extinguishes, Friday becomes a shadowless day. Sad and monotonous, ghostly with haze, Gloomy the sky by the clouds overrun¹. He was broken in ways we could never fully comprehend; he remained firm and chose to endure it all. Transcending natural pain, his wounds reflect the good in-store, the greater purpose, extraordinary beauty, greater strength.
“When Jesus had received the vinegar, he said, “It is finished,”; and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.”
— John 19:30 [New Revised Standard]
“We dare pray while the darkness descends and the earthquake trembles. We dare pray for eyes to see fully and mouths to speak fully the power of death all around. We dare pray for a capacity to notice unflinching that in our happy playgrounds, other children die and grow silent. We pray more for your notice and your promise, and your healing. Our only urging on Friday is that you live this as we must: impacted but not destroyed; dimmed but not quenched. For your great staying power and your promise of newness, we praise you. It is in your power and your promise that we take our stand on this day. We dare trust that Friday is never the last day, so we watch for the new day of life. Hear our prayer and be your full self toward us. Amen!” — Walter Brueggemann
1. words from the poem Shadows, by Amos Russel Wells
