“Silent witness: Nails”
Psalm 22:16
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus.
Thirty years ago, back in December of 1990, while workers were widening a road just south of Jerusalem, they stumbled across a large cave. And in that cave, they discovered an ancient Jewish burial ground containing twelve limestone ossuaries, what we today call, “bone boxes.” Immediately, they contacted Jerusalem’s Antiquities Authority. Zvi Greenhut, it’s chief archaeologist, was there within hours.
And when he stepped inside that cave, he was speechless. Though many of the boxes had already been broken into by grave robbers, there were a few that were left untouched and in perfect condition. And of those boxes, there was one, in particular, that stood out beyond all the rest.
It wasn’t just a limestone box. It was a beautiful, ornately-carved, limestone box, inscribed with the words, in Aramaic, “Joseph, son of Caiaphas.”
Since then, it’s been called one of the most exceptional and significant archaeological finds of the twentieth century.
But when they looked inside that box, they discovered even more. Not only did they find the bones of what they believe to be a sixty-year-old man, they found two iron nails, bent at the end, and eaten away by rust.
Which made them wonder, why were they there? What made them so important, so significant, that someone would hide them inside that box? Could it be that they were the nails that once held Jesus to the cross?
Listen to the words of Psalm 22: “To the Choirmaster: According to the Doe of the Dawn. A Psalm of David. My God, my God, why have You forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but You do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest” (Psalm 22:1-2). Then verse 16: “For dogs encompass me; a company of evildoers encircles me; they have pierced my hands and feet--I can count all my bones--they stare and gloat over me; they divide my garments among them, and for my clothing they cast lots” (Psalm 22:16-18).
It’s easy to say that the Old Testament is all about Christ. Isaiah wrote that He’d be born of a virgin, and He was. Micah wrote that He’d be born in Bethlehem, and He was. Moses wrote He’d be a descendant of Abraham and of the tribe of Judah. Hosea said He would escape to Egypt, and Isaiah called Him a Nazarene.
Malachi said He would cleanse the Temple, Zechariah said He would ride a donkey, then would be betrayed for thirty pieces of silver. Isaiah said He’d be rejected, spit on, silent before His accusers, and crucified with thieves. And the Psalms said He’d be mocked, given gall and vinegar to drink, that He would rise from the dead, ascend into heaven, then sit at the right hand of God.
The Old Testament is really all about Christ.
So it is here in the words of Psalm 22, what’s been called, “The Psalm of Suffering” and “The Psalm of the Cross.”
When Luther wrote about this psalm, he called it, “a gem among the Psalms...excellent and remarkable.” He said, “It contains those deep, sublime, and heavy sufferings of Christ, when agonizing in the midst of the terrors and pangs of divine wrath and death which surpass all human thought and comprehension.”
And nineteenth-century preacher Charles Spurgeon wrote, “For plaintive expressions uprising from unutterable depths of woe, we may say of this Psalm, there is none like it. It is the photograph of our Lord’s saddest hours, the record of His dying words, the lachrymatory of His last tears, the memorial of His expiring joys.” And he said, “We should read it reverently, putting our shoes off from our feet, as Moses did at the burning bush, for if there be holy ground anywhere in Scripture, it is in this Psalm.”
And it all begins with this--a cry, the most anguished cry in all of human history. In Hebrew it reads: “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani.” In English: “My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”
Sound familiar? It should, for it’s the very words Christ cried from the cross. It’s a cry of abandonment, rejection, and depression. It’s as if to say, “I can understand why You would forsake those who have crucified Me or why You would forsake all of sinful humanity. But why have You forsaken Me?”
But you know, there’s much more going on here than you, at first, might imagine. You see, back in Jesus’ day, the Jewish people had an insatiable love for the Scriptures. In fact, by the time a Jewish boy was twelve years old, he was expected to memorize the first five books of the Bible--Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy.
And you should know that it wasn’t until centuries later that Bible scholars added in “chapters” and “verses.” So in Bible times, when a rabbi taught his students, he couldn’t say, “Psalm 22, verse 16.” And he didn’t need to. Since people knew their Bibles so well, he could simply say the first verse of a passage, and they could fast forward through the rest of it in their minds.
So what does the rest of the psalm say?
Verse 6: “But I am a worm and not a man, scorned by mankind and despised by the people. All who see me mock me; they make mouths at me; they wag their heads; ‘He trusts in the Lord; let Him deliver him; let Him rescue him, for He delights in him!’”
Verse 14: “I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax; it is melted within my breast; my strength is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to my jaws; You lay me in the dust of death.”
And verse 16: “For dogs encompass me; a company of evildoers encircles me; they have pierced my hands and feet--I can count all my bones--they stare and gloat over me; they divide my garments among them, and for my clothing they cast lots.”
You know what’s a little strange about this psalm? While it describes crucifixion so perfectly--“My bones are out of joint”...”My strength is dried up like a potsherd”...”They have pierced my hands and feet”...”They divide my garments among them, and for my clothing they cast lots,” crucifixion wasn’t even invented for another six hundred years! Long before the Romans ever lived, David looked through the mists of time and saw Christ crucified on a cross.
And what did he see? An absolute horror of horrors! Life itself. Love itself. Hope itself. God Himself. And there He hangs on a cross, with nails piercing through flesh and bone, muscle and tissue. Jesus--the omnipotent, the all-powerful Son of God--weak, groaning in pain, dying for all the sins of all the world.
In the words of an ancient hymn: “Today, He who hung the earth upon the waters, is hung upon the cross. He who is King of the angels, is arrayed in a crown of thorns. He who wraps the heavens in clouds, is wrapped in the purple of mockery. He who in Jordan set Adam free, receives blows upon His face. The Bridegroom of the Church is transfixed with nails. The Son of the Virgin is pierced with a spear.”
Finally, the hour had come. The Son went for one last visit with His Father. He met Him in a garden of gnarled trees and stony soil. “Does it have to be this way?” asked the Son. “It does,” whispered the Father.
“Is there no one else who can do it?”
The Father swallowed. “None but You.”
He looked at His Son, the Prince of Light. “The darkness will be great,” He said as He passed His hand over the spotless face of His Son. “The pain will be dreadful.” Then He paused and looked at His darkened dominion. When He looked up, His eyes were moist. “But there is no other way.”
The Son looked into the stars as He gave His answer. “Then let it be done.”
Slowly the words that would kill the Son fell from the lips of His Father: “Hour of death, time of sacrifice, the moment of truth has come. Soldiers, you think you lead Him? Ropes, you think you bind Him? Men, you think you sentence Him? He heeds not your commands. He winces not at your lashes. It is My voice He obeys. It is My condemnation He dreads. It is your soul He saves.
“Oh, My Son, My Child. Look up into the heavens and see My face before I turn it. Hear My voice before I silence it. Would that I could save You and them. But they don’t see and they don’t hear. The living must die, so the dying can live. The time has come to kill the Lamb.
“Here is the cup, My Son, the cup of sorrows, the cup of sin. Hammer, nails, be true to your task. Let your sharp blows ring throughout the heavens. Lift Him soldiers. Lift Him high to His throne of mercy. Lift Him up to His perch of death. Lift Him above the people that curse His name. Now plunge the tree into the earth. Plunge it deep into the heart of humanity, deep into the strata of time past, deep into the seeds of time future.”
There is one question that remains from Psalm 22, verse 16: “They have pierced my hands and feet.” Who’s “they”?
It’s not the hammer and nails. They’re only helpless, lifeless objects. In and of themselves, they could never have nailed Christ to the cross, nor could they have possibly held Him there. Someone had to swing that hammer. Someone had to drive those nails.
So was it the soldiers who pierced His hands and feet? It couldn’t have been, for they too were only instruments. Someone else compelled them. Someone ordered them to do it.
So then was it Pilate? After all, he’s the one who washed his hands and said, “Let Him be crucified.”
But then again, we really can’t blame him either. Time after time, he said Jesus was innocent and did all he could to release Him. It’s only because he feared the people that he sent Christ to the cross.
So then was it the Jews and their chief priests, Annas and Caiaphas? If they hadn’t accused Him of blasphemy and demanded His execution, no one would have pierced His hands and feet.
Still it’s not exactly their fault either, for behind the nails were the soldiers, behind the soldiers was Pilate, behind Pilate were the chief priests, and behind the chief priests was someone else. “They pierced My hands and feet.”
Who’s “they”? It’s you and me, for as Paul once wrote to the Romans, “All have sinned and continually fall short of the glory of God.” And Peter wrote, “By His wounds, we are healed.”
It’s our sin that sent Him there. It’s our sin that nailed Him there. We pierced His hands and His feet.
A little over a hundred and fifty years ago, back in May of 1869, workers completed the Great Transcontinental Railway, uniting the country from the Atlantic to the Pacific. And since it was such a remarkable achievement, plans were made to celebrate the event. Special wooden ties were laid, and a 17.6 carat golden spike was driven into place by Leland Stanford, the governor of Utah. The crowd applauded and a telegraph wire flashed the news that the rail was complete, uniting our nation from coast to coast.
Two thousand years ago, there was a day when spikes were driven through the hands and feet of the Son of God. But these nails made, not of gold, but of iron, were driven in while all of heaven and earth looked on. And a shout went out for all to hear: “It is finished.” The distance between man and God was spanned, our debt of sin was paid, and the way between heaven and earth was opened.
All thanks be to God!
We could never thank You enough, dear Father, for all that Your Son, our Savior, has done. Grant that each us may find hope and help in the shadow of His cross, for Jesus’ sake. Amen