The Veil Was Torn, The Earth Trembled, and the Grave Was Silent
He Descended.
I want to come back again to the foot of the Cross.
Not in the chaos of the shouting crowd…
Not in the violence of the soldiers…
But in reverent awe.
Writing about the crucifixion was the hardest thing I’ve ever written.
Not just because of the brutality…
But because of the love—so deep, so costly, it broke me more than the nails ever could.
But now…
The suffering is complete.
The offering has been made.
The Lamb of God has been slain.
And Jesus, after every breath had been paid for in blood, yielded His spirit back to the Father.
He didn’t slip away.
He didn’t fade.
He gave.
“Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit.” —Luke 23:46
And then… It happened.
The very moment He gave up His life, the world responded.
Something shifted.
Not just in the temple…
Not just in Jerusalem…
But in heaven and on earth.
Everything had changed.
This is Article 6 in a 7-part series on the last week of Jesus’ life. If you missed the lead-in article that is the background to this reflection, you can read it here:
The Unbearable Weight of Perfection: Wrestling with Jesus' Humanity
Here are the links to the other articles:
1 - Welcomed With Palms, Left with Silence
2 - Righteous Fire in a Holy Place
3 - The Table, The Garden and The Kiss
4 - Condemned By Cowards
5 - The Sky Went Dark When He Bowed His Head
7 - Before the Stone Was Rolled Away
They Pierced His Side
“But one of the soldiers pierced His side with a spear, and immediately blood and water came out.” —John 19:34
He had already yielded His spirit.
He was already gone.
But they pierced Him anyway, to confirm death.
And what came out wasn’t just blood.
It was blood… and water.
Atonement and Cleansing.
A sign of completion. A body utterly poured out.
A heart likely ruptured in grief and agony.
This wasn’t just random cruelty towards him.
This fulfilled the words of Zechariah:
“They will look on Me whom they have pierced.” —Zechariah 12:10
The Veil Was Torn
“And behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom…” —Matthew 27:51
This wasn’t a poetic metaphor.
How many times have I heard the phrase “The Veil was rent in twain”?
In Herod’s Temple, the veil was an estimated 60’ tall and 30’ wide.
This was stone and fabric, and divine power tearing the barrier between God and man.
The veil in the temple separated the people and priests from the Holiest of Holies.
Only the high priest could pass through it (and only once a year), offering sacrifice for sins.
And if the veil was torn at 3 p.m. …
It’s likely the priests were there, offering the afternoon Tamid (sacrifice).
That would mean that they likely saw it and heard it.
The earth shook, and the barrier removed.
But still… they held their positions.
But for us… Our Great High Priest has offered Himself.
And as He breathed His last, the veil tore.
Not from bottom to top, as man might tear it.
But from top to bottom, as God Himself removed what once stood in the way.
The separation was over.
“We have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus,
by a new and living way opened for us through the veil—that is, His flesh.”
—Hebrews 10:19–20
The veil was torn because His body had been torn.
The separation was over, not by priestly ceremony, but by divine sacrifice.
The law had been fulfilled.
The blood had been shed.
No more yearly sacrifice.
No more need for another lamb.
The Lamb of GOD had come.
The Earth Trembled
Creation responded when Jesus died.
The Earth didn’t whisper.
It shouted.
“…and the earth shook, and the rocks were split.” —Matthew 27:51
The Son of God, the one who had had a hand in creation… had died.
And the world beneath His feet could not stay still.
This was not ordinary grief.
This was heavenly grief.
Even the earth knew something eternal had just happened.
The Tombs Opened
I have to admit, this moment is mysterious.
“The tombs were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised…” —Matthew 27:52–53
We don’t know their names.
We don’t know what they said.
But we know they were holy ones. Saints who had trusted in God.
The graves broke open.
It’s as though the earth not only trembled, it gave up part of what it held.
Perhaps we could say that even as His own body hung lifeless on the cross,
the grave itself was beginning to crack at the seams.
And though those saints did not rise until after His resurrection,
even in death, Jesus was disturbing the power of the grave.
A mighty foreshadowing of what was to come.
The Centurion Believed
“Now when the centurion… saw the earthquake and the things that were happening, he said, ‘Truly this was the Son of God!’” —Matthew 27:54
I want to approach this man with compassion.
In the past, I would want to judge him for his hand in the death of Jesus.
But now, this Roman soldier…
A man trained in death, now face to face with LIFE revealed through sacrifice.
Undoubtedly, he had seen crucifixions before.
Likely he had hoisted condemned men.
He would listen to them cry.
He would listen to them curse.
He would listen to them taking their ragged scratchy breaths.
Thinking only of themselves.
Crying “Save me!” or “End my Misery!”
But never like this. Not this man.
He saw the sky go dark.
3 hours of darkness. And back then, they wouldn’t have known what was happening.
How long would it last?
He heard Jesus cry out.
And then… He died like a King laying down His crown.
He felt the earth shake.
And something pierced his heart deeper than any spear could reach.
As he stood on shaking ground, something inside him bowed.
Not “a good man”.
Not “A prophet”.
“Truly… this was the Son of God.”
Is it possible that the first confession after the cross didn’t come from a disciple?
But rather it came from a Gentile soldier in Rome’s armor.
Standing near the bloodied body of Christ.
I wonder what he might have said when he went back to his barracks or home that night?
Would any other soldiers believe him?
The religious missed it in their pride.
Pilate missed it in his fear.
The crowd missed it in their frenzy.
But this soldier, stationed at the foot of the cross, he saw it.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the beginning of his own resurrection.
The Crowd Went Home Changed
“And all the crowds… when they observed what had happened, began to return, beating their breasts.” —Luke 23:48
They had come for spectacle. To watch a man die.
They had shouted “Crucify Him!”
They had laughed when he stumbled under the crushing weight.
They hurled insults, mistaking his silence for weakness.
Crucifixion was a brutal show.
But this time, they left stunned.
They walked away beating their chests.
This wasn’t superstition.
This wasn’t religious show.
This was a visceral expression of deep sorrow.
This man had uttered: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do”
How can you hear the words of a selfless, dying man, and not feel the hardness in your heart begin to crack?
These people knew that they had just witnessed something they couldn’t explain.
Something had broken through the noise.
And maybe, just maybe, this would be the start of repentance on the road to redemption.
The Women Watched From Afar
“And all His acquaintances and the women who accompanied Him from Galilee were standing at a distance, watching these things.” —Luke 23:49
Still near. Still weeping. Still waiting.
They didn’t run. They didn’t speak.
They just watched the body of the one they loved—broken, bruised, and now hung still and silent.
Slumped and lifeless, hanging from the cross.
I can see Mary, weeping, bowed to the ground.
Her tears, falling to the ground, as drops of his blood fell.
Surrounded by other trying to comfort the grieving mother who had witness the cruel death of her son.
Mary knew who Jesus was.
She conceived and bore him in her own body.
She birthed him in humble beginnings and angels sang.
The baby she had tenderly held in her arms, was now a man held by brutal nails.
The forehead she had kissed in love, now crowned in piercing thorns.
For Mary, this was her son.
She knew. But knowing is feeble preparation for witnessing the agony.
I just wonder if her heart didn’t both shatter in pain…
… Sorrow deeper than words.
… And yet swell in gratitude.
This was her son. And yet, this too, was her salvation.
Joy and sorrow interwoven.
Joseph and Nicodemus Came Forward
“After these things Joseph of Arimathea, being a disciple of Jesus, but a secret one for fear of the Jews, asked Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus; and Pilate granted permission. So he came and took away His body.” —John 19:38
These men, one a Pharisee who had first come to Jesus in secret… in fear. Another a secret disciple.
They knew back then that this Jesus was different.
And now they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. This Jesus was the Son of God.
Nicodemus stepped out of the shadows. Joseph alongside him.
And they pleaded for the body of Jesus. Openly identifying with him.
Nicodemus, John’s gospel tells us, brought with him “a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about a hundred litras”, which was roughly 75 pounds (John 19:39).
This was an extravagant amount, and far more than would be used for a common burial. It was the burial fit for a king.
Whether they carried Jesus together or enlisted the help of trusted servants, we do not know.
But we do know this: they came in reverence. And they came prepared to honor the Lamb who had just been slain.
It’s likely that Joseph, as the one who owned the tomb (Matthew 27:60), was responsible for retrieving the body from the cross. Either by working with the soldiers or overseeing the process of carefully lowering Jesus down.
The Gospels are brief in detail, but what we do know is enough to move us to tears.
“Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth…” —Matthew 27:59
And though John’s Gospel mentions both men, it is Nicodemus who brings the spices. Perhaps he took on the task of preparing the body, while Joseph oversaw the arrangements. Or perhaps they worked side by side.
We can’t say for certain how the body was transported to the tomb. Scripture only tells us the tomb was “in the place where He was crucified”, and that it was “nearby” (John 19:41–42).
Many scholars believe it was no more than a few hundred feet away. A short walk, but one likely filled with awe, sorrow, and sacred weight.
They may have used a simple wooden bier, or a linen sling, or even carried Him wrapped in a cloak.
Gently, reverently, each step marking the beginning of burial but not the end of hope.
The Sabbath was coming and time was short.
According to Jewish custom, a body was to be washed gently.
Warm water, soft cloths. The taharah, a ritual cleansing. A final act of love and respect.
And so I imagine that as the washed him, not scrubbing, not rushing—just reverently wiping away the dust, the dried blood, the bruises that had covered their King.
But how do you wash a body torn by scourging?
How do you clean wounds that are still weeping?
And maybe they didn’t. Maybe they left some of the blood.
Because to the Jews, blood was life. And in the case of a violent death, especially one believed to be holy—blood was not always removed.
So they honored Him as best they could.
Then they anointed Him with myrrh and aloes. 75 pounds worth.
The scent must have filled the air.
Myrrh, described as bitter, earthy, sacred.
Aloes, cool, fragrant, costly.
They would have soaked the linen wrappings with it.
Layer upon layer. Spice and cloth.
Love and loss.
And they they wrapped Him.
First they would wrap the limbs, then the body, then finish with a cloth around His face and jaw.
Not as a ritual of preservation, but a ritual of love.
This wasn’t simply embalming.
It was honoring. It was devotion. It was worship.
Wordless, reverent worship with every fold of linen.
And in their silence, I see something beautiful:
They didn’t bury Him as a failed Messiah.
They buried Him like a King.
Like One they still believed in.
Like One whose story wasn’t finished yet.
The Stone Was Rolled in Place
“And they laid Him in a tomb cut into the rock… and he rolled a large stone against the entrance.” —Mark 15:46
There was no light.
There were no more crowds.
Only quiet. Stone. And the silence of death.
Jesus’ body, now wrapped in burial cloths, was sealed in darkness.
The Pharisees Still Plotted
“Sir, we remember that when He was still alive… that deceiver said, ‘After three days I am to rise again.’” —Matthew 27:63
They couldn’t rest.
They couldn’t let go.
Even now, they feared His words.
They feared the possibility.
They feared… He might still rise.
So they went to Pilate.
They asked for guards.
They asked for the tomb to be sealed.
“Lest His disciples steal the body…” they said.
But what they feared couldn’t be stopped by stone or soldiers.
Because Jesus was not done.
And Then… He Descended
“He also descended into the lower parts of the earth…” —Ephesians 4:9
“He was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit, in which also He went and made proclamation to the spirits in prison…” —1 Peter 3:18–19
This is where the veil of Scripture grows thin.
And we must walk carefully.
We do not know all that took place. And I
But we know this:
He did not descend to suffer. That was finished.
I believe that He descended to proclaim Victory. Triumph.
The war was won.
He descended into death itself and declared that it was finished.
“O Death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”— 1 Cor 15:55 (KJV)
What Comes Next?
Death does not get the final word.
The silence of the grave would not last forever.
And on that glorious resurrection morning, the cry rang out:
HE. IS. RISEN.
https://jonathanmclernon.substack.com/p/before-the-stone-was-rolled-away
We 'know the end of the story' but they did not. A tough meditation, the weight, the darkness of not knowing. .perhaps sleepless nights, tears, whispered conversations, "we thought . ." Still. Today. Trust through times of not knowing fully. 🦅