The seventh and final word of Jesus, spoken from the cross.

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Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” When he had said this, he breathed his last.

Luke 23:46

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I suppose you must know when you’re dying. When you’ve got just one breath left. When you’ve started your last sentence. When you’ve finished your final phrase.

And focusing on Jesus’ final words has made me wonder what I might possibly come out with at the end, not if I get there, but when.

Which thoughts might spark through my mind? Which words would form at my dying lips? What would be the preoccupation of my soul, as my eyes start to close, as the light begins to fade, and my heart issues its final quivering beat?

Maybe that’s a morbid thought, but it’s worth thinking about. Because I believe that Jesus’ final words at his own death, can give you a concrete confidence and an abundance of hope, for when you arrive at yours.

Song from the cross

Jesus’ final words from the cross are yet another quotation from the Psalms, the songbook of God’s people.

Which is fitting really. The Psalms contain lyrics of both worship and lament, they speak of joy and sorrow, and were written by people acquainted with both hope and suffering. And so, this is where Jesus goes to in his final moments of life, in the midst of suffering in the extreme. To song. To worship.

And notice that it wasn’t with a gentle whisper either. His final words weren’t spoken with a quiet, uncertain voice. No, despite the mutilating hours of his crucifixion, his voice was loud. His words were strong. His confidence in the words he spoke, unwavering.

So as he quotes just the fifth verse of Psalm 31, I suspect he had been considering the preceding verses before he spoke. As he hung there, all alone on the cross. He might have been reciting the first 4 verses in his head before he spoke the 5th.

“In you, O Lord, do I take refuge;
    let me never be put to shame;
    in your righteousness deliver me!
² Incline your ear to me;
    rescue me speedily!
Be a rock of refuge for me,
    a strong fortress to save me!

³ For you are my rock and my fortress;
    and for your name’s sake you lead me and guide me;
⁴ you take me out of the net they have hidden for me,
    for you are my refuge.
⁵ Into your hands I commit my spirit”

Psalm 31:1-5

Note the central theme of refuge. The cross had meant total exposure and defencelessness for Jesus. Yet even at his most weak and fragile, he had a granite assurance of a strong and mighty refuge, in God himself. He knew that there was no shame in such a shelter. There was no danger behind such a defence. There was no fear in such a fortress. He was guided from the traps of men to God himself, his refuge that wouldn’t fail him.

But having this refuge did not mean that the nails no longer hurt. Nor that the burning in his bones stopped. Or that the agony of his weeping wounds ceased. His pain was at its awful peak as he spoke these last words. God doesn’t promise to take away your cross. In fact, he beckons you to take one up and follow him. And he knows that this will inevitably mean struggle, pain, and even loss. And sure, God could make it all disappear in a heartbeat, but instead, he beckons you to himself, the rock of refuge in the midst of the raging seas of life. To the one shelter that will keep you safe, in both life, and death.

The storms of your life will still rage, your pain will persist and your struggles won’t disappear. The waves of trial and sorrow may still loom large before you, but take heart in the heart of the refuge himself. Then, instead of drowning in despair, those waves you so much dread, will crash upon the invincible walls of the fortress that God is for you. You will not be overcome. You are a refugee, secure behind the bastion of God’s perfect refuge. And how amazing that this was the image that was occupying Jesus’ mind at the end. If he goes there, so should we. If it was balm for him in his agony, so it can comfort us in ours.

Hear also, the imperative plea for deliverance in these words. Three times they beseech God; To deliver! To rescue! To save! You are not less of a Christian if you ask God to help you. To relieve you from the suffering you might find yourself in the midst of. In fact, seeking God’s assistance in trouble is precisely what we should be doing. In turning to our strong and righteous God for aid, we acknowledge our own weakness, whilst proving that God is our all-providing helper.

The Father’s hands

See how Jesus adds a word to the beginning of verse 5. This was personal for him. A son singing to his Father. The final verse of the unique song that was his life. One that was obedient and blameless to the last. And its final act? To entrust his spirit into the Father’s hands.

Jesus had no doubts about where his spirit was going when he died. He knew that it wasn’t destined for a dark nothingness. It wasn’t headed for an empty void, where spirits float, without destination. No, he was placing it, laying it down, into the mighty, loving, tender hands of his Father. Hands he knew he could trust. The same hands of his adoring Father, which he had left behind in order to come to earth as a man. The same hands that would soon welcome him back into glory.

This surrender of oneself to another is a scary prospect. To entrust or commit your spirit to someone else should terrify you. I certainly don’t think I’d know what to do if someone entrusted theirs to me. Into my hands. It is no small thing. It demonstrates complete confidence in the hands, in the holder. And Jesus knew there was no cradle more secure for his spirit, than the open hands of his Father.

And because of the cross, these same hands are extended to receive you also. These hands which were once clenched at your sin, slacken as Jesus dies on the cross. The fist loosens, and they open wide to receive you, just as you are. And know that there are everlasting arms, holding up these hands. Their grip is not flimsy, they don’t tire. You can trust them forever. They cannot, and will not, let you down, or let you go. Jesus knew the wonderful assurance of this. So can we.

The words unspoken

Jesus left verse 5 unfinished. He is only recorded as saying the first half of it. But there is no doubt in my mind that he knew the second half off by heart too. This is just conjecture, I don’t want to put words in Jesus’ mouth, nor thoughts in his head. But it stirs me to think that perhaps, as he breathed his last, he was thinking of the next line of the Psalm. The words he knew came next in the song:

“You have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God.“

Psalm 31:5

Jesus breathed his last, confident in the finished, redeeming work of God. What a final thought to think. Could there be a more secure, sweet, or satisfying conclusion to come to at your death? That God is a faithful redeemer. And that he has redeemed you!

Maybe you’ve come to a different conclusion. Perhaps you’ve come to no conclusion at all. To quote a good friend, maybe the conclusion that fits best is inconclusive. But the wonder of Christianity is that this redemption is freely offered to all. Nothing can disqualify you from it, and nothing but the grace of the cross can qualify you for it. So speak to your weird Christian friend, bring your questions to an Alpha course, go along to a church on Sunday. Discover that God is indeed a faithful redeemer. See that he can redeem you too.

King David knew this wonderful truth for himself. Countless others have too. I have known it myself for over 10 years now, and the wonder of it still never ceases to amaze me. How I, with all my past mistakes and current struggles, can know that I have been redeemed by God. Once and for all. This unshakeable truth launches forward from the cross, arching over my life and on into eternity. Today, I can cling to God, my redeemer, I can shelter in Him, my refuge, confident that whether in life, or death, he is faithful to the end, and indeed, beyond the end, into everlasting light with Him. My God.