Journey to the Cross

The Death of the King

**Scripture:** Matthew 27:32-54 (LSB)

**Date:** April 13, 2025

**Theme:** Christ, the crucified King, dies as our substitute, securing victory over sin and death through his sacrifice.

**Goal:** Exalt Jesus as the sovereign Lord who triumphs by dying, calling us to marvel at his cross.

#### Introduction

Folks, we’ve been on a journey to the cross, and today, we’re standing right at its heart. Back in Week 1, Mark 8 showed us Jesus setting his face like stone—resolved to suffer and rise. Week 2, Matthew 16, he stood tall as the Christ, the Son of God, building his church no matter what. Week 3, John 13, he knelt low, washing feet, showing a love that costs everything. Week 4, Psalm 118 and Matthew 21 hailed him King, riding into Jerusalem on a donkey, triumphant yet headed for rejection. Last week, Matthew 26 took us to Gethsemane—his soul crushed with sorrow, praying through the agony. Now, Matthew 27:32-54—it’s the cross. The Death of the King.

This isn’t some tragic end. No, this is victory soaked in blood. Jesus hangs there, mocked, pierced, dying—and he’s reigning. The Old Testament saw this day coming—God’s plan from the start crashing into this moment. Today, we’re at Calvary. Let’s look at what he did, feel the weight of it, and see what it means for us.

#### The King Crucified (Matthew 27:32-37)

Picture it—they’re dragging Jesus out of the city, beaten, bloody, barely standing. The soldiers grab a guy named Simon from Cyrene, shove the cross on his back because Jesus can’t carry it anymore. Isaiah 53:4 says, “He bore our griefs and carried our sorrows”—and here he is, too weak to lift the wood, yet bearing something heavier than we’ll ever know: our sin, our shame, our curse. They reach Golgotha—“Place of the Skull.” Sounds grim, doesn’t it? It’s meant to. Leviticus 16:21 talks about the scapegoat—sent out to the wilderness, carrying Israel’s sins to die. That’s Golgotha—where sin gets dealt with, where the King becomes the outcast for us.

They offer him wine mixed with gall—a bitter twist, supposed to dull the pain. He tastes it, spits it out. Why? Psalm 69:21 cries, “They gave me gall for my food, and in my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink.” This isn’t mercy—it’s mockery, and he won’t take their cheap escape. Then they crucify him. Nails through hands, feet—pain we can’t imagine. Genesis 3:15 promised the seed would bruise the serpent’s head, but his heel would be bruised—here’s the bruise, the cost of our rescue. Deuteronomy 21:23 says, “Cursed is everyone hanged on a tree”—that’s Jesus, taking what we deserved, hanging there under God’s wrath.

The soldiers gamble for his clothes—Psalm 22:18, “They divide my garments among them, and for my clothing they cast lots.” Word for word, it’s happening. And over his head, a sign: “This is Jesus, the King of the Jews.” They mean it as a joke, but it’s truer than they know. 2 Samuel 7:13 promised David’s throne forever—here it is, not on gold, but on rough, splintered wood. Zechariah 12:10 foresaw, “They will look on me whom they have pierced”—the King, lifted up, bleeding for his people. He’s not a victim—he’s sovereign, even here, fulfilling every promise from Eden’s fall.

#### The King Mocked (Matthew 27:38-44)

Now zoom out—two robbers hang beside him, one on each side. Isaiah 53:12 said it, “He was numbered with the transgressors”—counted as a criminal, though he’s sinless, spotless, the Lamb. The crowd walks by, shaking their heads, spitting words like venom. “You who are going to destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself!” they yell. Psalm 22:7 nails it—“All who see me sneer at me; they separate with the lip, they wag the head.” They twist his words from John 2:19—forgetting Hosea 6:2’s whisper, “On the third day he will raise us up.” They don’t see it yet—they’re blind to the hope just days away.

“If you’re the Son of God, come down!”—they throw Matthew 16’s truth back in his face. Psalm 89:26-27 says, “He will cry to me, ‘You are my Father’”—he’s the Son, but they mock it, daring him to prove it. Even the robbers join in, hurling the same insults. Luke 23:42 tells us one will turn later, begging, “Remember me”—but right now, it’s a chorus of hate, piling on. He could come down—could call angels, end it all—but he stays. Why? Because this is the plan. He’s the King—not weak, but strong, taking every taunt, every sin, every shame, for us. His silence isn’t surrender—it screams victory louder than their jeers.

#### The King Dies and Triumphs (Matthew 27:45-54)

Then it gets heavy—real heavy. From noon to three, darkness falls. Not a cloud, not an eclipse—Amos 8:9 warned, “I will make the sun go down at noon and make the earth dark in broad daylight.” This is judgment, like Egypt’s plague in Exodus 10:22—three days of darkness before deliverance. Here’s three hours, God’s wrath pouring out—not on us, but on him. Jesus cries, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”—straight from Psalm 22:1. Habakkuk 1:13 says God’s “eyes are too pure to approve evil”—sin’s on Jesus now, every lie, every lust, every murder, and the Father turns away. He’s forsaken so we’re not—alone so we never will be.

He cries again, loud, a shout that splits the air, and gives up his spirit. Not taken—given. John 10:18, “No one takes it from me; I lay it down.” The earth can’t hold still—an earthquake splits rocks, like Psalm 18:7, “The earth shook and quaked… because He was angry.” The temple veil—Exodus 26:33’s thick curtain hiding God’s presence—rips top to bottom. Leviticus 16:2’s holy place opens—no more separation, his blood’s enough, once for all. Isaiah 53:5 seals it—“By his wounds we are healed.” It’s finished—sin’s debt paid, death’s grip broken.

The centurion, a pagan soldier, sees it all—darkness, quake, that final cry—and says, “Truly this was the Son of God!” Daniel 7:13’s Son of Man, reigning from a cross—not a throne of glory yet, but a tree of shame turned to triumph. The King’s dead—but he’s won. Sin’s broken, death’s cracked, the curse is gone. He’s done it—for you, for me, for the world.

#### Theological Reflection

Step back—this cross ties it all together. Genesis 3:15’s seed crushes the serpent’s head right here, heel bruised but victorious. Isaiah 53’s servant dies, pierced for our sins. Psalm 22’s sufferer cries out, and God answers with triumph. He’s the covenant King—sin’s beaten on this tree, AD 70’s judgment proves his reign when the old order falls (Hosea 13:14, “I will ransom them from death”), and resurrection’s coming (Daniel 12:2, “Many will awake”).

Now hear this—his death isn’t just a payment; it’s substitution. He didn’t die for his own sins—he had none. He died for ours. Leviticus 16’s scapegoat carried the guilt away; Jesus became that for us—taking every stain, every failure, every rebellion, and nailing it to that cross. Substitutionary atonement means he stood in our place—guilty so we could be declared righteous. 2 Corinthians 5:21 says it plain: “He made Him who knew no sin to be sin on our behalf, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.” His blood swaps our rags for his perfection.

And here’s the beauty—we rest in that. Reformed truth hits home: his death’s our life, and we don’t add a thing to it. That curse in Deuteronomy? He took it. That blood in Leviticus? It’s his—spilled for us. We don’t work for righteousness; we rest in his work—finished, complete, ours by faith. Every OT shadow—Passover lamb, Day of Atonement, David’s throne—finds its substance here, right now, on this hill. His sacrifice is our peace, our freedom, our everything.

#### Conclusion and Response

The Death of the King—Jesus hung there, bled out, died—for us. This isn’t just a story; it’s our rescue. He’s the Christ who bore the cross—your Lord, your Savior. Can you feel it? The weight of what he did? Marvel at this love—let it sink in, let it hold you.

Imagine you’re John, standing there—close enough to hear his gasps, close enough to smell the blood and sweat. The sky’s gone black, like night stole the day, a thick, suffocating dark. You watch his chest heave, each breath a jagged tear through his broken body. Those nails—iron spikes—bite into his hands and feet, pinning your friend, your teacher, your King to that rough, splintered wood. Blood trickles down, pooling in the dirt, staining the ground red. His eyes, dimming now, still carry that love you saw when he washed your feet—tired, but fierce, fixed on something beyond the pain. The ground shakes beneath you, rocks split with a crack that echoes in your bones, and you hear that final cry—raw, piercing, tearing through the silence—“It is finished!” His head drops. Silence falls, heavy as stone, like the world’s holding its breath. He’s gone. Your heart shatters—tears blur the sight of him hanging there, limp, lifeless. But deep down, past the ache, you feel it—this isn’t the end. Something’s coming.

[Pause—long, deliberate, letting the silence stretch, the weight settle.]

This Holy Week, sit with Matthew 27. Rest in his sacrifice—don’t try to add to it, just trust it, let it be enough. Proclaim his death—tell someone what he’s done, what he’s paid. And wait—stand there with John, at the foot of that cross, feeling the stillness, the ache, the wonder. Easter’s coming, but today, linger here. He paid it all. He hung there, bled, and triumphed. His kingdom stands forever. Praise him!

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### Additions

- **Substitutionary Atonement:** Added to Theological Reflection—explained as Jesus taking our guilt (Lev. 16), becoming sin for us (2 Cor. 5:21), and swapping our unrighteousness for his righteousness.

- **Rest in His Work:** Emphasized resting in his finished work, not earning it, tying it to Reformed theology and OT fulfillment for clarity and comfort.

This flows smooth, hits deep, and lifts Christ high. Glad you love it! Ready for Easter (Week 7, April 20) whenever you are!