Veiled Victory

Jeremiah 18:1-6                    2 Corinthians 4:1-7                  John 19:25-30

Veiled Victory

Imagine yourself, for a moment, as a follower of Jesus on the road to Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. The jubilant cries of "Hosanna!" fill the air, while vibrantly coloured garments are cast onto the ground before Jesus. Dust rises from the stamping and dancing feet of the crowds. Tall palm branches wave above, and the sounds, smells, and sunlight fuel your racing thoughts and soaring emotions. You've been waiting for this moment for years. Finally, the Messiah will be revealed, and he will restore the kingdom to Israel. Can you feel the excitement? There’s your Rabbi, riding on the back of a donkey’s foal, fulfilling ancient prophetic Scripture. You feel important, proud, fulfilled, triumphant even, as you walk beside the one being hailed by the crowds as the Son of David.

Now, try to imagine yourself as Mary, the mother of Jesus, walking perhaps at a respectful distance behind your son. What emotions fill your heart? For years, you have pondered the words of the angel Gabriel in your heart, the words of the shepherds, the Magi, Anna, the prophetess, and the aged Simeon. You’ve remembered the words of your twelve-year-old son in the Temple, you’ve listened to his teachings, and you’ve been witness to his miracles. And now, your unwavering faith in him appears to be paying off. Even when you were mocked and scorned by those who didn’t believe your explanation of your pregnancy, by those who didn’t understand – even members of your own family, your own children – even then, you held onto what you knew was true. Perhaps, from time to time, the words of Simeon about a sword piercing your heart troubled you, but for the most part, it was easy to suppress even the most foreboding of statements and predictions, even those uttered by Jesus himself. And now, you seem vindicated. Your son will soon be crowned king by the crowds.

But then, imagine only a few days later, standing at the foot of a Roman cross, watching as your hope, along with the lifeblood of Jesus, drain away, drop by agonising drop. What conflicting thoughts and emotions tug at your heart now? While the soldiers callously gamble for the only earthly belongings your son possessed, you stand helpless, not knowing what to do or expect. Perhaps you wail, or perhaps you are stunned into silence. Now, you hear the words of Simeon echoing in your ears as waves of pain and anguish sweep over you. All your hopes, all your dreams, all your ambitions are slowly dying before your eyes.

Imagine for a moment, Mary’s exhausted mind trying to make sense of it all – groping for something, anything to hold on to. Perhaps she thought that her whole life had been one long nightmare. Perhaps this was all a cruel joke. Had she deceived herself into thinking her son was God’s Messiah? But then, how could she explain him? How could she explain his words? His life? His miracles? The water turned to wine…

The disciples, too, were no longer feeling so proud and triumphant. No more hosannas. No jubilant crowds to bolster their faith. We all know that it is easier to display courage when surrounded by like-minded individuals, but when you are all alone…well, only a faith that has been tried in the fires of affliction can stand on its own.

Now, besides the executioners, a few of the leaders, perhaps a few friends or family members of the thieves, and others with a morbid fascination with the sufferings of the victims, there were very few devoted and brave followers of Jesus gathered at the foot of the cross that day. There were three Marys: Mary, the mother of Jesus; the well-known Mary Magdalene, whose devotion to Jesus is unparalleled in the Gospels; and an unknown Mary, the wife of a man named Clopas. It is possible that this Clopas and Cleopas, mentioned in Luke 24:18, are the same person, which could explain why Luke associates him and his partner with the other disciples, but we cannot be sure.

There was also an unnamed sister of Mary, the mother of Jesus, standing by. Much scholarly debate has gone into attempting to identify this woman. Some have thought that she is Salome, mentioned in Mark 15:40 and 16:1, who followed and ministered to Jesus in Galilee. Others have thought she was the unnamed mother of the sons of Zebedee, James and John, which would make the ‘beloved disciple’ a cousin of Jesus. This may explain why Jesus entrusted his mother to John’s care, but again we cannot be certain.

You may well ask why Jesus didn’t commit his mother to the care of his siblings. Remember, at this point, his siblings did not believe in him—they only changed their views after the resurrection. So, it’s reasonable to assume that Jesus wanted his mother cared for by a believer, rather than an unbeliever. And therefore, he committed her into the care of her spiritual family rather than her physical family.

Which opens up an interesting possibility regarding God's view of "family." Who truly constitutes the family, and why? A family is generally defined as a group of people related by birth, marriage, or adoption. But is this how God defines family? John’s adoption of Mary as his mother may indicate that family transcends blood or legal relations. Indeed, the bloodline that binds believers together—the blood of Jesus—is stronger than any earthly connection.

And then God’s adoption of us into his family constructs a completely different paradigm regarding those we consider our parents and siblings. Remember when Jesus was told that his family was waiting outside for him? “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” he asked. And stretching out his hand toward his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother” (Matthew 12:48–50). This seems to align with his words in Matthew 10:37: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.” Perhaps this was the very choice Mary had to make as she stood at the foot of the cross.

Now, it’s clear from Scripture that belief in Jesus can and does divide families. However, while becoming a believer might cost you your parents, siblings, or you’re your children, the family you receive is far more glorious, because it is eternal. Just think about it. Beyond the vast family of God that encompasses the past, present, and future, you’ve been grafted into what Scripture calls the Body of the Lord. This is why, in the New Testament, Paul refers to those he writes to as “brothers” and “sisters”, and perhaps why he occasionally refers to himself as a “father” – even though the churches he founded were made up of people from every nation, tribe, and tongue. Indeed, there are no human-made distinctions in this family – no Jew, no Gentile – because we are all one in Jesus, united by his blood.

John, as we’ve seen in other passages, is not overly concerned with every single detail of the events. Rather, he focuses on the theological implications that arise from them. He skips over several incidents recorded in the other Gospels to highlight what he deems of greater importance.

At this point in his narrative, John emphasizes that Jesus perceived in his spirit that his earthly ministry was nearing its end. He had been sent to reveal the Father to his disciples, to provide full atonement, and to satisfy the penalty for humanity’s sin. As we saw last week, he who knew no sin became sin for us. He took upon himself the curse that was ours. And now, he was ready to give up his spirit.

But notice Jesus’ determination. He did not stop until all was accomplished. He did not give up halfway. He followed his mission to its bitter end, even though the physical and spiritual agony must have been unbearable. Should we perhaps follow his example? While he would never expect us to bear what he bore, he may very well call us to a life of frustration and suffering so that his name may be glorified in our response to adversity.

Which prompts me to ask: how do you respond to perceived suffering? Do you get angry? Depressed? Anxious? Do you wonder, "Why me, Lord? What did I do to deserve this?" Or do you think God is unfair? Perhaps you ask, "Why did you make me this way, Lord?" Or, as Tevye says in Fiddler on the Roof, "Lord, who made the lion and the lamb, you decreed I should be what I am. Would it spoil some vast eternal plan if I were a wealthy man?" Do you despair? Do you give up?

Perhaps the hardest thing for us to grasp is the fact that we all have a role to play in this life, just as Jesus did. God will not stop working in you until His purpose for you is complete (Philippians 1:6). Remember, you are his workmanship, re-created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that you should walk in them (Ephesians 2:10). You are the clay in the hands of the Master Potter—who are you to argue with him?

If Jesus did not give up halfway while working out your salvation, don’t for a moment think he will give up halfway while working on your sanctification. No, he will continue until all is accomplished, until you have been conformed to his image.

It’s only when all is done that Jesus speaks of his thirst, a statement John links with what had been written. John likely had Psalm 22:15 in mind: “My strength is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to my jaws; you lay me in the dust of death.” Now, the drink he was offered at this time is different from the one in the other Gospels. That first drink, laced with myrrh, was intended to dull his senses and make his sufferings more bearable. It is possible that he refused it because he wanted to remain in control of his senses because he still had several things to say to those gathered below. But now, as he knew his death was imminent, he received the sour wine.

But I think his final statement, “It is finished,” is very important. The Greek word "tetelestai" conveys more than just completing a task—it means fulfilling something so that what was required has been accomplished. This same word is used in the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Old Testament) in Genesis 2:2 when God is said to have "finished" his work of creation. Perhaps this is why Jesus used this very same word here: on the cross, he had completed the work of re-creation.

As such, the statement tells us that our salvation is, in one sense, a closed book. Of course, there is always the daily need for us to work our our salvation in fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12-13), but when Jesus said, "It is finished," he declared that all the sins of all his people had been dealt with for all eternity. As Paul writes in Colossians: “God erased the record of our debt, which stood against us, by nailing it to the cross” (Colossians 2:14). Or as he said in Romans 8: No one and nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:38–39). Or as Jesus said in John 10: Nothing can snatch us from His hands (John 10:28). “It is finished.” Sin has been paid. Satan has been defeated. The accusation against us has been erased. Our names have been indelibly, permanently,  ineradicably engraved on the palms of His hands (Isaiah 49:16). It is done. There is such peace and security in this powerful and most comprehensive of statements. 

But for those standing at the foot of the cross, peace and security would only come after Jesus had completed his sabbath rest in the tomb. For them, the blessed truth of the crucifixion would only be discovered on the first day of the new creation. They, like us, could only experience joy in salvation by looking back on that event. For them, as for us during our times of struggle, hope seemed hopeless.

And then, there was the final cry, the death rattle, and the last breath. With Jesus' passing, all hopes and dreams were seemingly shattered. The one they believed to be the Messiah was dead, and now there was nothing left to do but prepare the body for burial and begin the painful process of putting their lives back together. No more hope. No more ambition. No more kingdom delusions. No more King. Or so it seemed.

Yet, as I have come to believe, it is often when God is most silent that he is most active.

Life doesn’t stop when you’re exhausted, does it? When your faith is shattered, when your hopes, dreams, and aspirations feel like they’re hanging by a thread. When all feels raw, painful, empty. Perhaps, at this stage, you’ve given up on them, no longer praying or thinking about them. Or perhaps you’ve joined the voices of countless believers throughout history: “How long, O Lord?” Have you forgotten me? Have you forsaken me? 

How long have you held on to a hope that defies worldly logic, waiting for the Lord to help you, relieve you, vindicate you, save you? How long have you held on only to have your hopes deferred or denied time and time again? 

You know, there’s a proverb that says, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life” (Proverbs 13:12). Is your heart sick? Does everything seem dead right now? Does God seem silent and distant?

Could it be, perhaps, that in this moment, God is doing his deepest work in you?

So, before you come to our Lord’s Table, stand beneath the cross for a while. Stand with John, the Marys, and the other women. Feel their pain. Imagine their confusion, desperation, and hopelessness. Or see yourself as clay in the Potter's hands—hard, soft, or pliable—but being shaped into something only he can create—a vessel to display his  glory.

Do not despise the complex days of despair. Instead, as Paul says, rejoice in your suffering, knowing that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope. And hope does not disappoint, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit (Romans 5:3–5).

Or as the author of Hebrews writes, “Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility toward himself, so that you may not grow weary or faint-hearted” (Hebrews 12:3). 

So, linger for a moment, if you will, with John and the women. All is not lost, because God is always in control—whether you can see that or not.

Shall we pray?

© Johannes W H van der Bijl 2025