Robert Kolb (PhD, University of Wisconsin) is mission professor of systematic theology emeritus at Concordia Seminary in St. Louis. He is the author or coauthor of numerous books and articles.
We encounter the hosts and hordes of the Deceiver and Murderer on battlefields scattered across our lives. They come at us not only in daily confrontations with all the luring offers of pleasure and profit in media of all kinds, but also assault us with a plethora of opportunities to gain an advantage over others or take advantage of them at work, at home, at school, or at play. We stumble upon some battlefields as we pursue the regular course of life, finding it boring and turning to new adventures and experiments with how to live. We fall into the midst of other battlefields as we try to rescue the world and set the lives of others straight. And we recognize that we are in the midst of life and death struggles as we toss and turn in bed at night, disappointed in the Lord’s disapproval of plans we longed to fulfill or plagued by memories of mistakes and failures of trivial or of colossal dimension. Since leaving Eden, human beings have not slept well. The struggle God initiated when he countered the Deceiver’s offer with his promise of a deliverer who would crush the serpent’s head continues. The battle lines shift as Satan blindsides us from one unexpected direction or another. He wears us down with the manifold weapons in his arsenal. But the Victor has already been determined. The Victor is the one who hung on the cross.
"A cross does not appear to be a place to find a victor; it does not have the shape of a throne, but precisely under the appearance of what seems to be the opposite of winning, Jesus emerges as the one who conquers every evil and swallows up all that threatens his people."
We enjoy sunny days, but suddenly skies grow gray and light fades. The fog of doubt disorients us and clouds the clarity of our hearing God’s voice. Other sources of meaning or security cover the sun; this eclipse chills and dims the day. In medieval paintings, arrows often represented the plague, and Christ or angels were depicted breaking through the rain of arrows falling through the air, descending on the population of a town. Arrows of conscience and temptation darken our skies, continuing to fly as Satan takes his bow in hand, encouraging us to repeat Eve’s doubt that the Word of the Lord is sufficient. He casts his shadow over our confidence that our Creator is indeed the source and sustenance of life. The devil fires his toxic darts in our vulnerable moments, planning to lead us away from dependence on Christ to reliance on himself. Those arrows make our days grow dark, blotting out the light of our lives, Jesus the Deliverer.
It is precisely this light of our lives who lifts his hand to block the arrows of the devil, to catch them in his flesh so their venomous tips do not poison us. There are holes in his hands, but he catches the arrows nonetheless. From his cross, he asserts his power, the power of this broken, bloody body that defeats the deceiving, murderous enemy and snatches victory from defeat. The combat ended with his return to life after dying on the cross for all sinners, of whom, in those nights of terror-filled wrestling with temptation or guilt, we imagine we are chief.
A cross does not appear to be a place to find a victor; it does not have the shape of a throne. What we hear at the foot of the cross—“I thirst” or “My God, why have you forsaken me”—does not seem to be the proclamation of a victory. But precisely under the appearance of what seems to be the opposite of winning, Jesus emerges as the one who conquers every evil and swallows up all that threatens his people. Contrary to our concept of winning, the Messiah carries the banner of death from the battlefield by submitting to death and then devouring it. Death came to Golgotha drooling in anticipation of eliminating the threat of God in human flesh to its domination of human life. With its bite on Good Friday, it contracted an infection—lockjaw—and there is no vaccination that counters the fatal poison that Christ’s resurrection shoved down death’s throat. Death’s writhing still makes itself felt in our world, but there can be no doubt. Death’s power is fatally maimed; death’s future is past. Sending Christ to the cross turned out to be Satan’s terminal mistake. It handed the victory to the One on the cross.
The nails that pierced Jesus’s hands and feet, the spear that punctured his side, went through his mortal body to strike mortal blows to Satan, sin, doubt, and death itself. Thus, his cross struck the blow that ended their domination of the lives of his human creatures who cast their gaze on the Savior who hung upon that tree. For they know that he is no longer there. He has risen from death and gobbled down every form of evil, from the Evil One to every kind of misery and malevolence that he has fashioned to plague us.
The word from the cross, as foolish and weak as Paul told the Corinthians (1 Cor. 1 and 2) it is, as seen from the perspective of this world, is really God’s power and wisdom. We hear his word from the cross that forgives those who do not know what they are doing and even those who do when they repent. We see him there Friday, and then we notice that by Sunday morning he is neither on the cross nor in the grave. We grasp the promise that he has given to those who look to him, trusting that his death and resurrection have determined who they are: people with sins buried in his tomb and risen to walk in his footsteps, trusting him through every trial and turmoil.
In the dark hours of the night, when arrows prick and pierce, Jesus comes to call us to the foot of his cross. There he tramples on the devil’s bloodied head, already crushed by his heel through our Lord’s suffering, death, and resurrection. Filled with confidence in him, we go forth to live out his victory in our own suffering as his faithful servants, loving the world for which he died and bringing it the message of his delivering power.