Mark 15.32-39: Jesus’s death.

When the sixth hour after sunrise came, it became dark over the whole land till the ninth hour, and at the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Elo’i Elo’i, lamá azavtáni?” which is translated, “My God, my God, why did you leave me behind?”

Some of the bystanders, hearing it, said, “Look, he calls Elijah.” Somebody had run and filled a sponge with sour wine; putting it on a reed, he was giving Jesus a drink, saying, “Hold on; we can see whether Elijah comes to take him down.” Jesus, letting out a great cry, stopped breathing.

The temple curtain split in two, from top to bottom. The centurion who had been there against him, seeing that he’d stopped breathing this way, said, “Truly this person is a son of God.”

—

Around noon it got dark. We don’t know why. Some people speculate a solar eclipse, although none last three hours. More likely it was cloudy weather. I’ve heard Christians claim it was because the Father didn’t want to watch the Son as he was dying, so he dimmed the lights; I think that sounds stupid, for Jesus’s suffering was meant to be seen.

Then, around 3 p.m., Jesus died.

“Why did you leave me behind?”

Various Christians claim Jesus shouted this because he felt despair—he felt like the Father abandoned him. Some of ’em even teach the Father had abandoned him—that because the sins of the world were laid upon Jesus, the Father had to turn his face away, and so created a schism in the Trinity. This is crap, but since it’s an intriguing idea, people spread it around all the same. If Jesus was feeling despair, considering how much pain he was in, why would he give vent to his frustrations in an academic language, Hebrew, instead of his first language, Aramaic; or even his second, Greek?

Unless he intentionally meant to be misunderstood. And he kinda did; he was pulling the same old “Those who have ears to hear” bit as found in his parables. If people don’t want to understand, they won’t. They’ll just keep sharing the same old heretic story about the Trinity no longer being One—as if that’s even possible.

The King James has Jesus say, “Eloi, Eloi,” (or “Eli, Eli” ) “lama sabachthaní?” These are transliterations—putting the words of one alphabet into another—of the first four Hebrew words of Psalm 22. I did my own transliteration direct from Hebrew, instead of transliterating Mark’s Greek. Comes out a little different.

The Jews didn’t call it “Psalm 22” back then. They called it by its first words, and technically Elo’i Elo’i, lamá azavtáni? is its title. Jesus wasn’t reciting half a verse. Ever the teacher, he was referring to the appropriate psalm for the situation. Because it was happening. Right there. In front of them.

I’m a grub, not a man, humanity taunts.

People despise me.

All who see me, mock me.

Lips open, they shake their heads.

“He follows the LORD?

So let God rescue him!

Let God take him away,

for God delights in him.”

—David,

Heck, the priests were as much as quoting it as they mocked him: “He trusts in God? Now let God take him away, if he wants him.”

But y’know, between having his hands and feet pierced, having people throw dice for his clothes, blood poured out like water and bones out of joint, the mockery, and the priests even half-quoting David’s accusers, this psalm was clearly being fulfilled in Jesus’s death. Those who had ears to hear, could go to synagogue that very night, look up that psalm, and be stunned at all the similarities.

The bystanders didn’t have ears to hear: They didn’t realize he was speaking Hebrew. Despite what Benjamin Netanyahu believes, first-century Jews didn’t speak Hebrew. Only educated Jews knew it. And the priests and scribes, tired of mocking Jesus and having Sabbath services to prepare for, left a while ago. The bystanders assumed Elo’i/“my God,” since it sorta sounded like Eliyáhu/“Elijah” (which incidentally means “my God is Yahw[eh]”), meant Jesus was calling for the prophet Elijah. In the Pharisees’ End Times timeline, Elijah was supposed to have a second coming, and prepare the way for Messiah. This, Jesus explained earlier, was John. But the folks mocking Jesus are unlikely to have believed in John either.

Still, it wasn’t entirely on deaf ears. People heard it, got the news to Mark, and it got into his gospel.

Breathing his last.

Somebody tried to give Jesus wine—though at this point, the only wine they had available was óxos/“sour wine,” which was technically vinegar. Rather than hold the jar to Jesus’s bloody lips, and get bled on, dribbled on, or drooled on, they put it on a sponge, put the sponge on a stick, and smushed it into his face.

In John, this was because Jesus said he was thirsty; in Mark it sorta looks like they were trying to moisten his dry mouth so they could hear something more out of him. Maybe he had another miracle in him, and could invoke Elijah.

But all they got was another loud noise—maybe “It’s done,” but they didn’t understand him—and then death.

Specifically, Jesus exépnefsen/“breathed out,” or “stopped breathing.” It’s a euphemism, like “expire,” for “died.” Interpreted literally, it means Jesus stopped struggling to breathe, and let himself suffocate. But let’s not interpret it literally.

Perhaps simultaneously—we don’t know—the temple curtain split. This was the curtain separating the Holiest Place, in which was set the Ark (which, at this point in history, the Jews no longer had). It wasn’t a thin curtain. It wouldn’t just rip on its own. But even if it did, it’d be an odd coincidence, ripping just when Jesus died.

The writer of Hebrews interpreted this event this way:

So, fellow Christians, we have free access to the doors of holy places through Jesus’s blood, which made a brand-new way for us, a live one, through the curtain. This’d be his flesh.

—

Nearly all Christians agree the temple curtain was no longer necessary, because once Jesus died, and sin with him, there was no point in separating sinful humanity from God. Sin is dealt with. Barriers are obsolete. Jesus’s flesh was torn; so was the curtain.

Much is made of the centurion’s quote, “Truly this person is a son of God”—often translated “the son of God,” as if this pagan Roman had a sudden revelation of Christianity before the fact. But Roman gods could have kids; lots of them. Jupiter was known for fathering children with human women whenever the mood struck him. The centurion probably figured Jesus was a noble guy, like Hercules or Aeneas or Augustus Caesar, who probably had a little divine ichor mixed in his blood. But a lot of us Christians would like to think he got saved just then, so we over-optimistically assume so.

Still, it’s an interesting contrast: Romans were expected to say Caesar was the son of God—it was one of his titles—and instead this guy was saying the crucified “king of Judeans” who just died right in front of him, was deserving of that same title. He didn’t know the half of it. Jesus merited it far more than Caesar ever did.