The Darkness of the Cross Enlightened on the Road to Emmaus

At Gethsemane Jesus of Nazareth agreed to bear the Cross to his own Crucifixion so that following him to Heaven’s Gate would not be a burden of impossibility for us.

Holy Week 2026 by Father Gordon MacRae

In all of human history, no method of execution has been devised more heinously, or delivered with more cruelty than crucifixion. In the Old Testament — no stranger to the cruel acts of men — crucifixion did not exist. It was first introduced to human history in the Sixth Century BC by the Persians, the ancestral empire of present-day Iran. I recently wrote of Iran and its place in history in “Iran, by Another Name, Was Once the Savior of Israel.”

My visual introduction to crucifixion was not so much biblical, but cinematic. Over many years I had pondered in depth its biblical presentation, but it was only when I watched the 2004 film, The Passion of the Christ directed by Mel Gibson, that I experienced and absorbed its visual impact. The brutality of the film was criticized for its excessive violence, but there was no such thing as a “gentle” crucifixion.

The Passion of the Christ contains all the elements ascribed to the event in the four Gospel accounts of the Crucifixion of Jesus in Sacred Scripture. I have read and studied those accounts many times, but I could watch that film only once and never again. It left me in a state of profound sorrow. That sorrow caused me to rethink some of the peripheral, but mysterious events that Sacred Scripture lends to the Crucifixion scene. One of them is the following excerpt from Psalm 22 attributed to King David. He never experienced crucifixion, but in Psalm 22 he wrote of it in the first person and in vivid prose 1,000 years before Jesus of Nazareth experienced it:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my cry?

“O my God, I cry out by day, but you answer not, and by night, but I find no rest.

“Yet you are holy, enthroned upon the praises of Israel. In you our fathers trusted; they trusted and you delivered them. To you they cried and they were saved. In you they trusted, and were not disappointed.

“But I am worm and no man; scorned by men and despised by the people. All who see me scoff at me. They mock me with parted lips; they wag their heads. ‘He trusted in the Lord, let him deliver him. Let him rescue him if he delights in him.’

“I am poured out like water, and all my bones are wracked; my heart is like wax, it is melted within my breast. My strength is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue cleaves to my jaws. You have laid me in the dust of death.

“Indeed, many dogs surround me; a pack of evildoers closes in upon me. They have pierced my hands and my feet. I can count all my bones; they stare and gloat over me. They divide my garments amongst them. For my clothing they cast lots.”

— Excerpted from Psalm 22, a Psalm of King David, circa 1000 BC

Most observant Jews would likely have recognized “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” as the opening line of Psalm 22. Mysteriously, those present for the Crucifixion of Jesus failed to do so. The Gospel quotes them as saying, “He is calling upon Elijah.” It was a distortion of the mixed Hebrew and Aramaic in the plea of Jesus from the Cross: “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani.” In a magisterial treatise, Jesus of Nazareth: Part 2 Holy Week, Pope Benedict XVI wrote “Psalm 22 is Israel’s great cry of anguish, in the midst of its sufferings, addressed to the apparently silent God …. Now we hear the great anguish of the one suffering on account of God’s seeming absence.” Many of us have been here when simply calling out or pleading with God is not enough. In extreme anguish, prayer inevitably becomes a loud cry. Jesus prays this loud cry on behalf of all of us: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

What is remarkable about the four Gospel accounts of the Crucifixion is the multitude of Old Testament allusions and quotations they contain. In them, the Word of God and the events of the Gospel are deeply interwoven into the Passion Narrative. Two of these allusions, Psalm 22 and Isaiah 53, the “Suffering Servant” motif, shed light on the entire Passion event.

Isaiah begins with a direct reference to this saving act of God in a prophesy written hundreds of years before its fulfillment: “Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name ‘Emmanuel’” — a name which means “God with us.”

All of Sacred Scripture makes clear one consistent truth. If God is with us, we are not always with God. This becomes especially evident in the Passion Narrative of the Gospels, the arrest, interrogation, trial, scourging, and Crucifixion of Jesus. No one who followed him to this end, and who came to believe that he is the Messiah, the Christ of God, could ever have imagined that he would face humiliation, torture, Crucifixion and death. When it came, despite all promises to the contrary, most of his disciples shrank from their own promises and fled. None of us can stand in judgment of them. I wrote of one of history’s most vivid examples in “The Apostle Falls: Simon Peter Denies Christ.”

He Suffered under Pontius Pilate

But prior to all that, Jesus was interrogated by Pontius Pilate, the Roman military governor or procurator of the imperial province of Judea from 26 to 36 AD. The Jewish historian, Flavius Josephus, portrayed Pilate as a harsh administrator who failed to understand the religious convictions and national pride of the Jews. Pilate is known mainly for his connection with the trial and execution of Jesus. His culpability in the outcome has been the subject of debate ever since, and this conflicting view was implied even by Pope Benedict XVI, who wrote:

“After the interrogation, Pilate knew for certain what in principle he had already known beforehand: this Jesus was no political rebel; his message and his activity posed no threat for the Roman rulers. Whether Jesus had offended against the Torah was of no concern to Pilate as a Roman.”

— Jesus of Nazareth: Holy Week, p195

The Gospels of John and Mark present the custom of choosing a prisoner to be released on the Passover. The Gospels present a juxtaposition of the theological significance of choosing Jesus or Barabbas for release. John refers to Barabbas simply as a robber (18:40). In the political context of the time the Greek word that John used has also acquired the meaning of “terrorist,” or “rebel.” This is clear from Mark’s account: “And among the rebels in prison who had committed murder in the insurrection, there was a man called Barabbas” (Mark 15:7). It was clear that Pilate preferred to release Jesus, yet the crowd had different categories. Pilate came to understand their strong preference to release Barabbas, who had acquired the personna of a swashbuckling rebel.

The governor of Judea had complete judicial authority over all who were not Roman citizens, but many cases, especially those relating to religious matters, were decided by the Sanhedrin, the Jewish supreme council. According to the Gospel accounts, after the Sanhedrin found Jesus guilty of blasphemy it committed him to the Roman court because it lacked the authority to impose a death sentence. Pilate refused to approve their judgment without further investigation but the Sanhedrin threatened Pilate. When Pilate asked them, “Shall I crucify your king?” “The Chief Priests Answered, ‘We Have No King but Caesar’”

The Jewish priests then made other charges against Jesus, accusing him of blasphemy by calling himself a king (which he never actually did) and a son of God. Pilate appears to have been impressed with the dignity and honesty of Jesus, and tried to save him (John 18:38-39, 19:12-15). But fear of an uprising in Jerusalem and a resulting report to Roman authorities forced Pilate to accede to the Sanhedrin’s demand after the chief priests declared that freeing Jesus would mean that Pilate “is no friend of Caesar.” The false claim that Jesus was “King of the Jews,” was perceived as a threat to the Roman empire. It ended up on the inscription bearing the official nature of his offense to be affixed to his Cross.

Jesus was thus to be crucified and was handed over by Pilate for scourging, a brutal aspect of the punishment that often left the accused dead even before being crucified. Some have suggested that the scourging was intensified by Pilate to sway Jewish leaders away from crucifixion if the scourging was brutal enough. The guards saw to it that it was, but to no avail. It is very likely that Jesus carried only the crossbeam to which his hands were affixed first by ropes and then nails were added upon the height of Mount Calvary. His scourging had left his skin shredded so Simon of Cyrene was recruited to help carry the crossbeam. Only a few faithful women, including his Mother, his Mother’s sister, and Mary Magdalene remained with the beloved disciple John.

Each of the four Gospels presents a parallax view, the same scene but from a different perspective. In the Gospel according to John, the dying Jesus addressed his Mother: “Woman, behold your son” and to John, “Behold your Mother” (John 19:27). The Gospel instructs us that “from that hour the disciple took her into his own home.” Faithful Catholics have done the same ever since. Mary occupies a very special place in this scene and in our hearts.

As for Pontius Pilate, he was recalled to Rome in AD 36. According to the Roman historian, Eusebius, Pilate later committed suicide. Other traditions, however, report that Pilate secretly became a Christian and was condemned to death by the Roman Senate. Perhaps for this reason, Pilate is strangely revered by Coptic Christians as a martyr. They observe his feastday on June 25.

“Why Do You Seek the Living among the Dead?” (Luke 24:5)

The Resurrection of Jesus is the crowning event of the Passion Narratives of all four Gospels. Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the Sanhedrin who “was looking for the Kingdom of God” risked his standing in the Sanhedrin by asking Pilate for the body of Jesus, which was granted. Joseph interred the body in his own tomb hewn from rock (Luke 24:51). Some women went to the tomb as the Sabath was beginning. They saw the body of Jesus there then left to observe the Sabath.

On the next day, the first day of the week, these same women, now identified as Mary Magdalene, Joanna and Mary, mother of James, returned with spices to prepare the body according to the ritual law. They found the stone sealing the tomb to have been rolled away and two men in dazzling apparel frightened them asking,”Why do you seek the living among the dead?” When they told this to the disciples, they were not believed, but Peter ran to the tomb and found it just as they had said.

Later that same day, two of his disciples — one identified as Cleopas — were venturing about seven miles from Jerusalem along the road to Emmaus. They were speaking with great sorrow and trauma about the events of this and previous days. I have been where they were on that day. I do not mean that I have been on the road to Emmaus, except perhaps figuratively. I have been at a place at which all that I had ever worked for and hoped for just collapsed in irreparable ruin, and there was no justice in it. Reading about this encounter on the road to Emmaus, their deep sorrow and loss resonates with me on a personal level.

Then they encounter the Risen Christ along that road, but “Their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” (Luke 24:16) The visitor asked what their animated conversation was all about. The one named Cleopas was incredulous: “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?” “What things?” asked the stranger. Then came the outpouring of their grief:

“The things concerning Jesus of Nazareth who was a prophet might in word and deed before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and rulers delivered him up to be condemned to death, and crucified him. We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. And besides all this, it is now the third day since this has happened. Now some women of our company have just amazed us. They were at the tomb early in the morning, but they did not find his body. They came back saying that they had even seen a vision of angels who said that he is alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women said, but him they did not see.”

(To be continued.)

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Note from Father Gordon MacRae: Thank you for reading and sharing this post, which will now be added to both Our Holy Week Retreat and to our Collection called The Bible Speaks. You may also like these related posts leading up to the top of Mount Calvary:

Satan at the Last Supper: Hours of Darkness and Light

Waking Up in the Garden of Gethsemane

The Chief Priests Answered, ‘We Have No King but Caesar’

Behold the Man, as Pilate Washes His Hands

The Eucharistic Adoration Chapel established by Saint Maximilian Kolbe was inaugurated at the outbreak of World War II. It was restored as a Chapel of Adoration in September, 2018, the commemoration of the date that the war began. It is now part of the World Center of Prayer for Peace. The live internet feed of the Adoration Chapel at Niepokalanow — sponsored by EWTN — was established just a few weeks before we discovered it and began to include in at Beyond These Stone Walls. Click “Watch on YouTube” in the lower left corner to see how many people around the world are present there with you. The number appears below the symbol for EWTN.

Click or tap here to proceed to the Adoration Chapel.

The following is a translation from the Polish in the image above: “Eighth Star in the Crown of Mary Queen of Peace” “Chapel of Perpetual Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament at Niepokalanow. World Center of Prayer for Peace.” “On September 1, 2018, the World Center of Prayer for Peace in Niepokalanow was opened. It would be difficult to find a more expressive reference to the need for constant prayer for peace than the anniversary of the outbreak of World War II.”

For the Catholic theology behind this image, visit my post, “The Ark of the Covenant and the Mother of God.”

Judas Iscariot: Who Prays for the Soul of a Betrayer?

Judas Iscariot: The most reviled name in all of Sacred Scripture is judged only by his act of betrayal, but without him among the Apostles is there any Gospel at all?

False witness and betrayal are two of the most heinous themes in all of world literature, and Sacred Scripture is no exception. Literature is filled with it because so are we. Not many of us get to live our lives without ever experiencing the false witness of an enemy or the betrayal of a friend.

Recently, I was confronted by the death of someone whom I once thought of as a friend, someone who once betrayed me with a self-serving story of false witness for nothing more redemptive than thirty pieces of silver. It’s an account that will be taken up soon by some other writer for I am not objective enough to bring justice, let alone mercy, to that story.

But for now, there is one aspect of it that I must write about at this of all times. As I was preparing to offer Mass late on a Sunday night, the thought came that I should offer it for this betrayer, this liar, this thief. Every part of my psyche and spirit rebelled against that thought, but in the end, I did what I had been beckoned to do.

It was difficult. It was very difficult. And it cost me even more of myself than that person had already taken. It cost me the perversely comforting experience of eternal resentment. I have not forgiven this false accuser. That is a grace I have not yet discovered. Nor could I so easily set aside the depth of his betrayal.

In offering the Mass, I just asked God not to see this story only as I do. I asked Him not to forever let this soul slip from His grasp, for perhaps there were influences at work that I do not know. have always suspected so.

The obituary said he died “peacefully” just two weeks before his 49th birthday. It said nothing about the cause of death nor anything about a Mass. There was a generic “celebration of his life.” False witness does not leave much to celebrate. Faith, too, had been betrayed for money.

I am still angry with this person even in death, but I take no consolation that his presence in this world has passed. My anger will have to be comfort enough because at some point I realized that my Mass was likely the only one in the world that had been sacrificed for this soul with any legitimate hope for salvation.

That’s the problem with false witness. Its purveyors tell themselves they have no need for salvation. I do not know whether he is any better off for this Mass having been offered, but I do know that I am.

Ever Ancient, Ever New

The experience also focused my attention on history’s most notorious agent of false witness and betrayal, Judas Iscariot. Who has ever prayed for the soul of a betrayer? Not I — at least, not yet — but I also just weeks ago thought it impossible that I would pray for the soul of my accuser.

I cannot get Judas off my mind this week. And as with most Biblical narratives, once I took a hard look, I found a story on its surface and a far greater one in its depths. In those depths is an account of the meaning of the Cross that I found to be staggering today. It changes the way I today see the Cross and the role of Judas in bringing it about. It strikes me that there is not a single place in the narrative of salvation history that does not reflect chaos.

Understanding the Sacrifice of Calvary requires a journey all the way back to the time of Abraham, some 2000 years before the Birth of the Messiah. God had earlier made a covenant with Abraham, a promise to make of his descendants a great nation.

The story of the birth of his son, Isaac, foreshadows that of John the Baptist who in turn foreshadows Jesus. Abraham and Sarah, like Zechariah and Elizabeth, were too old to bear a child, and yet they did. And not just any child. Isaac was the evidence and hope of God’s covenant with Abraham. “I will multiply your descendants as the stars of heaven.”

Then, in Genesis 22, God called Abraham to do the unthinkable: to sacrifice his only son, the one person who was to fulfill God’s covenant. The scene unfolds on Mount Moriah, a place later described in the Book of Chronicles (2 Ch 3:1) as the very site of the future Jerusalem Temple. In obedience, Abraham placed the wood for the sacrifice upon the back of his son, Isaac, who must carry the wood to the hilltop (Gen 22:6).

On that Via Dolorosa, the child Isaac asked his father, “Where is the lamb for the sacrifice?” Abraham’s answer “God will provide Himself the lamb for a burnt offering.” Notice the subtle play on words. There is no punctuation in the original Hebrew of the text. The thought process does not convey, “God Himself will provide the lamb…. but rather, “God will provide Himself, the lamb for sacrifice.”

An Angel of the Lord ultimately stayed Abraham’s hand, and then pointed out a ram in the thicket to complete the sacrifice. In his fascinating book, The Lamb’s Supper: The Mass as Heaven on Earth (Image Books 1999) author Scott Hahn provides a reflection on the Genesis account that I had long linked to the Cross:

“Christians would later look upon the story of Abraham and Isaac as a profound allegory for the sacrifice of Jesus on the Cross.” (p. 18)

The similarities in the two accounts, says Scott Hahn, are astonishing. The first line of the New Testament – Matthew 1:1 — identifies “Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham…” Jesus, like Isaac, was a faithful father’s only son. Isaac, like Jesus, carried “the wood” for his own sacrifice upon Mount Moriah. In fact, Calvary, the place of the Crucifixion of Christ, is a hillock in the Moriah range.

This places three pivotal Scriptural accounts — each separated by about 1,000 years — in the same place: The site where Abraham was called to sacrifice Isaac, the site of the Jerusalem Temple of Sacrifice, and the site of the Crucifixion of Christ.

In Hebrew, that place is called “Golgotha,” meaning “the place of the skull.” Its origin is uncertain, but there is an ancient Hebrew folklore that the skull of Adam was discovered there. Before the Romans arrived in Palestine, it was a place used for public executions, primarily for stoning. The word “Calvary” is from the Latin “calvaria” meaning “skull.” It was translated into Latin from the Greek, “kranion,” which in turn was a translation of the Hebrew, “Golgotha.”

No angel would stay the Hand of God. God provided Himself the Lamb for the sacrifice. This interplay between these Biblical accounts separated by 2,000 years is the source for our plea in the Mass, “Lamb of God Who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.”

At the Hour of Darkness

The four Gospel accounts in the Canon of Scripture all came into written form after the apostolic witnesses experienced the Resurrection of Jesus. So everything they set out to preserve for the future was seen in that light. The outcome of the story is triumphantly clear in the minds of the New Testament authors. Had the Gospel ended at the Cross, the accounts would be very different.

Judas Iscariot, therefore, is identified early in each Gospel account when he is first summoned by Jesus to the ranks of the Apostles as “the one who would betray him.” John (6:71) adds the Greek term, “diabolos” (6:70), to identify Judas. It is translated “of the devil,” but its connotation is also that of a thief, an informer, a liar, and a betrayer, one drawn into evil by the lure of money.

These adjectives are not presented only to explain the character of Judas, but also to explain that greed left Judas open to Satan. Each Gospel account is clear that Jesus chose him among the Twelve, and in all three Synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus presents a constant awareness of the coming betrayal of Judas — seemingly as a necessary part of the story.

During Holy Week this year, we hear the full account of the Passion Narrative from Mark (on Palm Sunday) and John (on Good Friday). But for this post I want to focus on the version from Luke. The Gospel of Luke is unique in Scripture. It is the only Scriptural account written by a non-Jewish author.

Luke’s Gospel is the only account with a sequel, Acts of the Apostles, which was also written by Luke. And it is the only Gospel account to include the parables of the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan, all of which figure into this story set in motion by the betrayal of Judas.

Luke, though a Gentile and a physician, was also a scholar. He makes few direct references to Old Testament texts, but his Gospel is filled with echoes and allusions to Old Testament themes. Greek Christians may not have readily understood this, but he also wrote his Gospel for Jewish Christians in the Diaspora who would have found in Luke a rich and valuable affirmation of salvation history in their life of faith.

What is most clear to me in Luke’s treatment of Judas is that the story is written with a theme that I readily identify with spiritual warfare. The Passion Narrative has a thread that begins with a story I have written before. In “A Devil in the Desert for the Last Temptation of Christ,” I wrote about the meaning of Satan’s temptation of Christ in the desert. It ends in Luke’s Gospel:

“When the devil had ended every temptation [of Christ], he departed from him until an opportune time.”

— Luke 4:13

Luke constructs his account of the Judas story with threads throughout his Gospel. He shows that the power of Satan, which is frustrated by Jesus in the account of his 40-day temptation in the desert “until an opportune time,” finds its opportunity, not in Jesus, but in Judas whose act of betrayal triggers “the hour of darkness” and the Passion of the Christ:

“Then Satan entered Judas, called Iscariot, who was a member of the Twelve. He went away and conferred with the chief priests….”

— Luke 22:3

The origin and meaning of “Iscariot” is uncertain. It is not known whether it is a name or a title associated with Judas. In Hebrew, it means “man of Keriot”, a small town marking the border of the territory of the Tribe of Judah (see Joshua 15:21.25), to which both Judas and Jesus belonged. Betrayal is all the more bitter when the betrayer is closely associated. The Greek Iskariotes has the cognate sicarias, meaning “assassin,” a name ascribed to a band of outlaws in New Testament times.

It is clear in Luke’s presentation that this act of Judas is equated with original sin, the sin of Adam and Eve lured by the serpent. At the Last Supper, after the Institution of the Eucharist, Jesus said:

“But behold the hand of him who is to betray me is with me at this table, for the Son of Man goes as it has been determined.”

— Luke 22:21

Jesus added, “But woe to that man by whom he is betrayed.” That “woe” is symbolized later in the way the life of Judas ends as described below. The phrase, “as it has been determined,” however, implies that the betrayal was seen not only in its own light but also as a necessary part of God’s plan.

Later, with Judas absent, Jesus warned his disciples at the Mount of Olives, “Pray that you may not enter into temptation.” They did anyway. After the arrest of Jesus at Gethsemane, they scattered. Peter, leader of the Twelve, denied three times that he even knew him. Then the cock crowed (Luke 22:61) just as Jesus predicted. This is often depicted as a literal rooster crowing, but the bugle ending the third-night watch for Roman legions at 3:00 AM was also called the “cockcrow.”

At Gethsemane, Judas betrays Jesus with a kiss, perverting a sign of friendship and affection into one of betrayal and false witness. This is what begins the Passion Narrative and the completion of Salvation History. Jesus tells Judas and the servants of the chief priest:

“When I was with you day after day in the Temple you did not lay a hand on me, but this is your hour, and the power of darkness.”

— Luke 22:53

Later, in the Acts of the Apostles (26:18) Luke identifies the power of darkness as being in opposition to the power of light, an allusion to spiritual warfare. For Luke’s Gospel, it is our ignorance of spiritual warfare that leaves us most vulnerable.

Following immediately after the betrayal of Judas, one of the disciples present draws his sword and cuts off the ear of the servant of the High Priest. In the Gospel of John, the disciple is identified as Peter. This account is very significant and symbolic of the spiritual bankruptcy that Judas set in motion.

In the well-known Parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke’s Gospel, a priest came upon the broken body of an injured man left beaten by robbers on the side of the road. Jesus says in the Parable that the priest just passed by in silence, but this was readily understandable to the Pharisee to whom the parable is told.

The Pharisee, an expert in the Old Covenant law of Moses, understood that the Book of Leviticus forbade a priest who is defiled by the dead body of an alien from offering sacrifice in the Jerusalem Temple. The severed ear of the High Priest’s servant at Gethsemane refers back to the same precept:

“So no one who has a blemish shall draw near [to the Sanctuary], no one who is blind or lame or has a mutilated face…”

— Leviticus 22:18

The symbolism here is that the spiritual bankruptcy of the High Priest, who is not present at the arrest, is represented by his servant. In Luke’s Gospel, and in Luke alone, Jesus heals the ear. It is the sole miracle story in the Passion Narrative of any of the four Gospels and represents that Jesus wields the power of God even over the High Priest and Temple sacrifice.

When the role of Judas Iscariot is complete, he faces a bizarre end in Luke. The Gospel of Matthew (26:56) has Judas despairing and returning his 30 pieces of silver to the Temple. Luke, in Acts of the Apostles (1:16-20) explains that the actions of Judas were “so that the Scriptures may be fulfilled.” But in Luke, Judas meets an even more bitter end, bursting open and falling headlong as “all his bowels gushed out.” The field where this happened then became known as the Field of Blood, and the money that purchased it, “blood money.”

The point of the story of Judas in the Gospel of Luke is that discipleship engages us in spiritual warfare, and spiritual blindness leaves us vulnerable to our own devices, as it did Judas. This life “is your hour, and the power of darkness.” The plot against Jesus was Satan’s, and Judas was but its pawn.

So who prays for the souls of our betrayers? I did, and it was difficult. It was very difficult. But I can see today why Jesus called us to pray for those who persecute us. It is not only for their sake but for ours.

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Editor’s Note: Please share this post. For further reading, the Easter Season comes alive in these other posts from Beyond These Stone Walls:

• Casting the First Stone: What Jesus Wrote in the Sand

• The Chief Priests Answered, “We Have No King but Caesar”

• Dismas, Crucified to the Right: Paradise Lost and Found

• Behold the Lamb of God Upon the Altar of Mount Moriah