The Servant and the Cross | Mark 15:21-47
Sermon Summary
The Committed Saviour
There is a sacred hush that should fall over our hearts as we walk with Jesus toward the cross. The words of Mark 15 are not just historical—they are holy. They bring us face to face with the suffering, the silence, and the surrender of the Son of God. As we open the pages and hear once again the sounds of scourging, the insults of the crowd, the weeping of the women, and the lonely cries of Jesus Himself—we must not forget why He endured it all. Love. Obedience. Redemption.
The first glimpse we see in this account is that Jesus is the Committed Saviour. From the moment they placed the rugged crossbeam on His torn back, to the cries of mockery that met Him at Golgotha, Jesus never wavered. Though fully God, He took on full humanity and bore not only physical agony but also the emotional and relational wounds of rejection and hatred. He was mocked as King of the Jews, crucified between criminals, and left hanging naked for all to see. But through it all, He remained faithful.
He could have called legions of angels. He could have silenced His accusers. But He chose instead to stay. Why? Because the mission was not yet complete. He was committed to redeeming us—no matter the cost. And even in that moment, when darkness descended at noon, and the world seemed to unravel, Jesus did not flinch. His love for the Father, and His love for us, held Him there. The nails did not bind Him—the will of God and the love of Christ did.
The Completing Saviour
As the sixth hour turned to the ninth, the skies went black, and the earth held its breath. What was happening on that cross was more than death—it was divine judgment. Jesus was not only enduring the wrath of men; He was drinking the cup of God’s wrath against sin. “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” Jesus cried—not in despair but in fulfillment. This cry, echoing Psalm 22, marked the moment when our sin was laid upon the sinless One. The eternal fellowship between Father and Son was pierced so that we could be reconciled.
In that divine darkness, Jesus completed what He came to do. The atonement was not half-finished. The debt was not partially paid. He cried out, “It is finished!”—not in resignation but in triumph. The word used in the Greek, “tetelestai,” means “paid in full.” Jesus, the Lamb of God, had fulfilled every shadow, every type, every prophecy. The curtain in the temple was torn—not from bottom to top by human hands, but from top to bottom by divine decree. Access to God was now open to all who come through Christ.
That thick veil, which separated sinners from the Holy of Holies, had stood for centuries as a symbol of God's unapproachable holiness. But in one violent rip, God declared: the barrier is removed. Christ has made a way. No more priests. No more sacrifices. No more rituals. Just Jesus—the final, full, and forever sacrifice.
The Compelling Saviour
But the cross was not the end. Its power did not only lie in what it accomplished in the heavens but in what it awakens in human hearts. Even at the foot of the cross, people were being transformed. The Roman centurion—trained in death, hardened by cruelty—saw something he had never seen before. When Jesus breathed His last, this man, likely responsible for many executions, declared, “Truly, this man was the Son of God.”
That confession is not to be taken lightly. This man had seen hundreds of deaths—but none like this. What compelled him was not just the way Jesus died, but who He was as He died. In humility, silence, authority, and grace—Jesus revealed the heart of the Father even in agony. His compelling love broke through Roman callousness and awakened faith.
But it wasn’t only the centurion. The gospel account records women standing nearby—Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and others. These faithful followers had supported Jesus throughout His ministry, and now they wept, watched, and waited. Their presence speaks of enduring devotion. Their quiet faithfulness stands in contrast to the absence of the male disciples. Even in pain, Jesus was drawing people to Himself.
And then there was Joseph of Arimathea—a secret disciple, fearful of public association with Jesus while He lived. But something changed that day. Seeing Jesus suffer and die awakened courage in Joseph. He boldly went to Pilate, claimed the body of Christ, and buried Him with dignity and love. He who once hid his faith now publicly declared allegiance to the crucified Christ.
This is what the cross does. It draws the seeker. It melts the hardened. It stirs the silent. Jesus, the compelling Saviour, continues to change lives even in death.
Reflection
So what does this mean for us today? The story of the cross is not just a historical account—it is our hope, our anchor, and our message. Through these hours of agony, we see the Saviour who is committed to us, who completed the work of salvation, and who compels us to respond.
Have you seen Him clearly? Have you paused to hear His cries, to feel His love, and to understand His mission? This is no ordinary death. This is the death of deaths—the moment when the King gave His life for rebels, the Shepherd laid down His life for His sheep, the Lamb of God bore the sins of the world.
Because of the cross:
We are not condemned—we are forgiven.
We are not far—we are brought near.
We are not strangers—we are sons and daughters.
Friend, if you feel distant from God, hear this: the veil has been torn. The way is open. Come. If you have hidden your faith, let the cross embolden you. If you are weary and heavy laden, find rest at the foot of the cross.
Let the cross compel you to worship, to surrender, and to share. As Paul declared, “The word of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God.”
The cross is not just the means of salvation—it is the message we proclaim. And today, we say with hearts full of awe:
Thank You, Jesus, for the cross.
To Him be glory forever. Amen.
