The Book of Luke

Word Study

"fault," Greek aition (αἴτιον). The word means a cause, a ground of accusation, a charge that would justify punishment. "I find no fault in this man," Pilate declares, and again, "I have found no cause of death in him." Luke deliberately records the verdict of innocence three times from Pilate, and adds Herod's, "nothing worthy of death is done unto him." The point is unmistakable: the One condemned to the cross was found guiltless by His judges. He died not for any fault of His own but as the sinless Substitute; the innocent bore the sentence of the guilty. Every declaration of "no fault" underlines the great truth of the atonement, that "he hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin" (2 Corinthians 5:21).

Explanation

The leaders accuse Jesus before Pilate, who finds "no fault in this man" and shuttles Him to Herod, who mocks Him and sends Him back. Three times Pilate declares Him innocent, yet yields to the mob crying for Barabbas, a murderer, over the sinless One. "He released... him that... had committed murder... but he delivered Jesus to their will" -- the guilty man walks free while the innocent is condemned in his place, the gospel enacted in a Roman courtyard. Pilate's repeated verdict of innocence stands as the official record: the Lamb led to slaughter was without blemish, condemned by injustice for the sins of others.

Gospel Focus

The rulers bring Jesus to Pilate with political charges, twisting His words: they claim He forbids tribute to Caesar (the very opposite of what He taught) and stirs rebellion as a rival king. Pilate examines Him and reaches a clear verdict: "I find no fault in this man." Seeking to be rid of the case, Pilate sends Jesus to Herod, who rules Galilee. Herod is merely curious, hoping to see a miracle as entertainment, but Jesus, who had healed multitudes, gives this mocking king not one word; there is a silence of judgment for those who treat Christ as a spectacle. Herod and his soldiers mock Him, dress Him in "a gorgeous robe," and send Him back, and the two rulers, once enemies, become friends over their shared contempt for Christ. Pilate then assembles the leaders and pronounces the double acquittal: neither he nor Herod found anything "worthy of death." By every legal standard Jesus should walk free. But the crowd, stirred by the priests, demands the release of Barabbas, "who for a certain sedition... and for murder, was cast into prison." Here is the gospel in a living picture. Barabbas the guilty, a real insurrectionist and killer, goes free, while Jesus the innocent is condemned in his place. Barabbas is every sinner: he deserved the cross, and the sinless Christ takes his exact place upon it. Three times Pilate protests, "Why, what evil hath he done? I have found no cause of death in him," but the mob's cry, "Crucify him, crucify him," prevails. Pilate, "willing to release Jesus," at last surrenders to the pressure and "gave sentence that it should be as they required." The most infamous miscarriage of justice in history is also the deepest mercy of God: the guilty man released, the spotless Lamb "delivered... to their will." What Pilate did in weakness, God ordained in love, that the sinless One should die for the guilty, and Barabbas, and we, should go free.

Word Study

"paradise," Greek paradeisos (παράδεισος). The word, drawn from an old Persian term for a walled garden or royal park, came to mean the place of blessedness where the redeemed are with God; it is the word used for the garden of Eden in the Greek Old Testament, and Paul uses it of the third heaven. "To day shalt thou be with me in paradise," Jesus tells the dying thief. The heart of the promise is not the place but the Person: "with me." Paradise is to be where Christ is. And the word "to day" is precious: not after long ages, but that very day, the moment the thief died he would be present with the Lord, proof that the believer at death passes at once into conscious blessedness in the presence of Christ.

Some ask how the thief could be with Christ in paradise that Friday when the risen Jesus told Mary on Sunday, "I am not yet ascended to my Father" (John 20:17). There is no conflict. Paradise, the abode of the righteous dead, is not the same as the Father's throne to which Christ would ascend bodily in His glorified humanity. That Friday, in the spirit, the Lord and the believing thief were together in paradise; the bodily ascension "to my Father" came afterward, at the resurrection and going up. And His word to Mary was not "I have never been with the Father," but "Touch me not... I am not yet ascended" (John 20:17) -- telling her not to cling as though to detain His bodily presence, for the lasting fellowship awaited His ascending. The promise to the thief stands exactly as spoken: "to day," that very day, "with me in paradise."

Explanation

On the road to Golgotha Jesus turns to the weeping women: "weep not for me, but weep for yourselves," for judgment is coming on the city. Crucified between two malefactors, He prays, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do" -- interceding for His executioners even as they nail Him. And one dying thief, rebuking the other, turns in faith: "Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom," and hears the sweetest promise, "To day shalt thou be with me in paradise." A criminal with no time for works is saved by a single believing cry -- the gospel of grace displayed in the last hour of a dying man.

Gospel Focus

As Jesus is led out, too weakened by scourging to carry the cross, the soldiers compel Simon of Cyrene to bear it after Him, a picture of every disciple who takes up the cross and follows. A crowd of women weep for Him, and Jesus, even now thinking of others, turns to warn them of the coming judgment on Jerusalem: "weep not for me, but weep for yourselves, and for your children." If such things are done to Him, "a green tree," the innocent and living One, what judgment awaits the guilty and unrepentant, "the dry"? At Calvary they crucify Him between two criminals, fulfilling the word that He would be "numbered with the transgressors." And from the cross comes the first of His words that Luke records, a prayer of astonishing grace: "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do." In the very act of being nailed to the cross, the Saviour prays for His executioners, the perfect embodiment of the love He taught, "love your enemies." While soldiers gamble for His clothes and rulers deride, "He saved others; let him save himself," they mock the deepest truth without knowing it: He would not save Himself precisely because He was saving others. The mocking title over His head, "THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS," proclaims in three languages the truth they meant in scorn. Then unfolds one of the tenderest scenes in Scripture. Both thieves at first rail at Him, but one is changed. He rebukes the other, "Dost not thou fear God?", confesses their own guilt, "we indeed justly," and declares Jesus innocent, "this man hath done nothing amiss." Then, with dying faith, he turns to the crucified Man beside him and, seeing past the blood and shame a King with a coming kingdom, prays, "Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom." It is a breathtaking act of faith: to call a fellow-sufferer "Lord" and believe in His kingdom while both hang dying. And Jesus answers with immediate, full assurance: "To day shalt thou be with me in paradise." No probation, no penance, no time to make amends, only faith in Christ, and that very day he would be with the Lord in paradise. Here at the cross, salvation by grace through faith is displayed in its purest form: a guilty man, unable to do a single good work, saved in his last hour simply by turning to Christ. The dying thief is the trophy of the dying Saviour, the first fruit of the cross, and the everlasting proof that whoever calls on the Lord shall be saved.

Word Study

"commend," Greek paratithemi (παρατίθημι). The word means to set beside, to entrust, to place something in another's keeping for safekeeping. "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit." With His last breath Jesus entrusts His spirit to the Father, quoting Psalm 31:5, the evening prayer a Jewish child was taught to pray at bedtime. He dies not in terror but in trust, placing His spirit into the safe hands of His Father. And notice the sovereignty of it: no one took His life; He "gave up the ghost," laying it down of Himself, as He said, "I have power to lay it down." The same word teaches every believer how to die and how to live, entrusting soul and all into the faithful hands of God, who keeps what is committed to Him.

Explanation

Darkness covers the land, the temple veil is "rent in the midst" -- the way to God opened by His death -- and Jesus dies with a word of perfect trust: "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit." Where Mark records the cry of dereliction, Luke records the final surrender of the Son, entrusting Himself to the Father as He breathes His last. The watching centurion glorifies God, saying, "Certainly this was a righteous man." Joseph of Arimathaea lays the body in a new tomb, and the faithful women mark the place and prepare spices, resting the Sabbath -- keeping watch, unknowing, over the threshold of resurrection.

Gospel Focus

As the Saviour hangs dying, creation itself mourns: "there was a darkness over all the earth" from noon to three, the sun itself veiled while the Light of the world was extinguished, and the darkness of God's judgment fell on the sin- bearing Substitute. Then a great sign in the temple: "the veil of the temple was rent in the midst." That heavy curtain had barred the way into the holy of holies, the symbol that sinful man could not come near to God. Torn from top to bottom by God's own hand, it declared that the way to God was now open through the death of Christ; the barrier of sin was removed, and access to the Father was won for all who come through Him. Then Jesus cries with a loud voice, not the weak whisper of a spent victim but the strong cry of One in command, "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit," and "gave up the ghost." He dies in perfect trust and perfect sovereignty, laying down His life of His own will and placing His spirit in the Father's keeping. The watching centurion, hardened Roman soldier that he was, is moved to confess, "Certainly this was a righteous man", one more witness, from an unexpected mouth, to the innocence of the Crucified. The crowds that came to gawk go home smiting their breasts, and His friends and the faithful women watch from afar. Then God provides for the burial through Joseph of Arimathaea, "a good man, and a just," a member of the council who had not consented to the murder and who "waited for the kingdom of God." Boldly he begs the body from Pilate, wraps it in linen, and lays it "in a sepulchre that was hewn in stone, wherein never man before was laid", a new tomb, fitting for the One who would not see corruption, and a fulfillment of the word that He would be "with the rich in his death." The women mark the place and prepare spices, then rest the sabbath "according to the commandment," even in grief keeping the law of God. So the chapter ends with the Lord of glory in a borrowed tomb, the innocent One dead for the guilty, the veil torn, the way to God opened. But the sabbath rest of the women is not the end; it is the quiet pause before the dawn of resurrection. The Lamb has been slain, the price is paid, and access to the Father stands open through the rent veil of His flesh.