It is neither inaccurate nor hyperbolic to describe the crucifixion of Jesus Christ as the very hinge of history. Far from being an accident or afterthought, Revelation 13:8 tells us that Jesus was the lamb slain “from the foundation of the world.” Calvary was always plan A with God, and there never was a plan B.
Genesis 3:15 gives us the proto-evangelium, the first gospel, when God promised to have the “seed of the woman” bruise the serpent’s head. Just 19 chapters later, God painted a most-vivid picture of the coming crucifixion when he sent Abraham up onto Mount Moriah with Isaac, his only son. Yes, he spared him, but not until he had drawn an unmistakable parallel to the day that God the father would send his only son up onto a mountain to die. This time, though, there would be no substitute for him; he would be the substitute for us.
All of Leviticus is a virtual blueprint, in one sacrifice after another, of what would take place on the fateful day of Christ’s death. The Psalms foretold 1,000 years ahead of time of the gambling for his garments, the people staring at him and being able to tell all of his bones, that none of his bones would be broken, and that he would be forsaken by God the father.
Isaiah 53, written some 700 years ahead of time, paints such a vivid and accurate picture of the death of Jesus, one would suppose it to be written by an eyewitness.
When Jesus came to Earth, he was born not in a palace, but in the place where lambs for sacrifice were commonly kept and raised. When he began his public ministry, John the Baptist heralded his coming with the clarion call, “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world!”
Is he not the lion of the tribe of Judah? Yes, but before he would roar as the mighty and conquering lion, he would go meekly and silently to his death as our lamb, our payment for sin.
When he began his public ministry, he did not do so by endearing himself to the clergy. He strode into the temple, their private playground of profit, flipped over the tables of the money changers and chased the profiteers off the premises. He then spoke the words that he knew would get him killed three years later: “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.”
Yes, he was speaking of the temple of his body and the fact that he would rise again. But he knew that his detractors would not understand that and would use it as an accusation against him.
They did just that. His own words were paraded before him at his trial. Miscalculation on his part? No, no, a thousand times no! They must have something wherewith to charge him, so he obliges them. He did not come to live, he came to die.
The disciples wrote of these events and did not hesitate to include their own miserable and embarrassing failures in their accounts. The political and religious leaders who put him to death never disputed that he lived, that he died, and that they killed him; they merely claimed that the disciples stole the body.
Josephus wrote of his life and death. Celcus, Tacticus and the Jewish Talmud (along with many other early secular sources) speak of this Jesus and his demise, and they do so from the position of those that regarded him as an enemy.
Saul of Tarsus, a man who hated Christ and who lived a comfortable life in his respectable, 2,000-year-old religion, forsook it all, followed the risen Christ and spent the rest of his years in willingly anguish, preaching about the cross and what Jesus did on it. People heeded the message and by the millions became followers of this man, this messiah who died for them.
Two thousand years later, after man has landed on the moon, created artificial hearts, learned how to clone human beings and created devices that allow us to instantly speak with people a world away, the cross of Christ still stands unchallenged as the hinge of history. Brilliant minds like Muggeridge, Lewis and Morrison have begun as hardened skeptics, examined the evidence and bowed in full belief and assurance.
We still preach of the cross, read of it, study it and see lives changed because of it. Myths have come and myths have gone, but the miracle of miracles still stands sure: “God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”
Bo Wagner is pastor of the Cornerstone Baptist Church of Mooresboro, N.C., and the author of several books available at www.wordofhismouth.com. Contact him at 2knowhim@cbc-web.org.