Good Friday: A House Condemned

Of the various characters that appear in the Gospels’ accounts of Good Friday—Pilate, Herod, the chief priests, the soldiers, Simon of Cyrene, the thieves—one character that is often forgotten is the temple.

Throughout the Gospel narratives, the temple looms as a significant player in the story. Jesus cleanses it twice (John 2:13–17; Matt. 21:12–13), teaches in it (Matt. 21:23; John 7:14), references its destruction (Matt. 24:1–2), and discusses its symbolic rebuilding (John 2:18–22). False witnesses paint Jesus as a terrorist planning to destroy the temple (Matt. 26:60–61; Mark 14:57–58), a train of thought echoed in Acts in the claims made about the apostles and other disciples (Acts 6:13–14). Notably, Judas throws the thirty pieces of silver into the temple after his betrayal (Matt. 27:3–5). And on the cross Jesus is mocked concerning his claims made about the temple (Matt. 27:39–40).

With this backdrop in mind, consider the significance of the sequence of events that take place as Jesus expires. After hanging on the cross for about six hours, Jesus “uttered a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom” (Mark 15:37–38; cf. Matt. 27:50–51; Luke 23:45). This was no ordinary drapery but the heavy veil separating the most holy place, where the presence of God was regarded as residing, from the rest of the structure. Even the term “veil” is misleading, since tradition maintains that the fabric itself was some four inches thick. Imagine the sheer force involved in tearing through something as thick as a mattress—supposedly two horses pulling in opposite directions could not rend this veil in two. Behind it only the high priest could enter, and he but once a year, and not without sacrifice (Lev. 16:2, 14–15; Heb. 9:6–7).

The reason for the heavy barrier should be plain. God cannot dwell with iniquity (Hab. 1:13). Our sins have made a separation between us and our God (Isa. 59:2). Since Adam and Eve had been barred from the garden, God only dwelled with his people in a provisional manner behind layers of ceremony, purification rites, and protective barriers—lest his people perish or his holiness be tainted (Gen. 3:23–24; Ex. 33:20). The veil to the Holy of Holies was the ultimate picture of this distance between God and man.

Yet Christ in his death as a priestly, sacrificial offering dealt with our sins, guilt, and impurity before our holy God. He had by one sacrifice forever perfected those who belong to God (Heb. 10:14; cf. 9:11–12). To signify this, the veil was torn—seemingly of its own accord, or perhaps by the act of an angel or of God directly—not just asunder, but from top to bottom, from heaven to earth. The curtain itself was about 60 feet tall and, according to Josephus, required hundreds of priests to manipulate. The statement made by this miracle is thus unmistakable; God has done what no priest or religious rite could do—he himself has reached down and rent in two the barrier between his people and his presence.

It is not an overstatement to say, however, that for the Jewish ruling class of the first century, the temple and its rites had become their functional god. The Old Testament prophets had long ago warned against those who would appeal “the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord” without making their hearts right before God (Jer. 7:4), but such warnings had been rejected for generations. Jesus had predicted both the destruction of the “temple” of his body, metaphorically (John 2:19–21), and the literal destruction of the temple in Jerusalem (Matt. 24:1–2, 34) within one generation, or approximately 40 years. This happened exactly according to his word; the climax of the Jewish-Roman war from A.D. 67–70 was the sacking and decimation of the temple, down to its last stone (cf. Matt. 24:2). It has never been rebuilt.

This was both God’s judgment on what had formerly been his house, which had now become Ichabod—his glory having departed it (cf. 1 Sam. 4:21; Ezek. 10:18–19)—and also his statement to the world that he does not dwell in houses made with hands (Acts 7:48; 17:24) but that true worship would now be global in spirit and in truth (John 4:21–24). In light of this reality, the tearing of the veil is the opening salvo in the dismantling of the temple—and the whole old covenant system of worship—that was to be concluded 40 years later. It was the painting of a great “X” over the house to indicate that the inspector had come and condemned the property. Now it was marked for demolition. No wonder the author of Hebrews warned the early Jewish converts that the old covenant form of worship was growing obsolete and ready to pass away (Heb. 8:13).

Judaism has never been the same since. Modern Judaism differs dramatically from Old Testament religion in at least one major sense—it has had to figure out, through the teachings of the Talmud, how to carry on without a temple, a priesthood, or sacrifice. In this sense it is a different religious system altogether than that which the Old Testament revealed.

By contrast, the believer in Christ, standing on this side of history, has the immense privilege of approaching the Holy of Holies, the presence of God, through the veil, knowing he is loved and redeemed by his Father through the work of the Messiah (Heb. 10:19–22). The darkest day in history, Good Friday, became a source of unquenchable joy for the people of God who can now commune personally with a holy God, in spite of their sin—all because our Lord willingly offered himself upon the cross at Calvary. Let us draw near to his presence through the veil—that is, through the body of Christ, torn to make us whole.