God Rescues Us from Evil

Introduction

Good morning, beloved community. Today is Passion Sunday, a sacred pause in our journey toward Easter. It's a day when we intentionally slow down—away from the rush of daily life—and turn our hearts to remember the profound story of Jesus' suffering and death on the cross. This isn't some distant legend or fairy tale spun from imagination. No, this happened in real time, in the gritty reality of our world—a world filled with powerful governments, marching armies, unpredictable crowds, and ordinary people just like us, going about their lives.

Imagine it: Jesus, the eternal Son of God, stepping boldly into that chaotic human history. He didn't come as a conqueror with weapons drawn, but on a mission of pure, unwavering love from the Father. His purpose? To bring salvation—to rescue us, to heal our deepest wounds, to offer forgiveness that washes away our failures, and to breathe new life into our weary souls. He came to draw near to us in our mess and, in turn, to draw us close to him, into the very heart of God.

At the core of this story, woven through every moment, is a truth that changes everything: God rescues us from evil. It's a rescue that echoes through the ages, reaching even into this room today.

As we dive into Matthew's account in chapter 27, verses 11 through 54, we'll see two starkly contrasting ways of being human—two paths we can walk in this life. We can call them light and darkness. Now, let me clarify right away: when I speak of light and darkness here, I'm not talking about the literal day and night that God created and declared good. The rhythm of sunlight and shadow, the dark of night that brings rest and renewal—these are beautiful parts of God's design.

No, in this biblical sense, light symbolizes God's goodness, his love, truth, humility, and grace. Darkness, on the other hand, represents evil and sin: a spiritual blindness that keeps us from seeing who God truly is and who we are meant to be as his beloved creation. This blindness distorts everything—it leads to harm, to missing the mark of the wholeness God intends for us. We call that missing the mark "sin," and it shows up in fear, pride, injustice, and violence.

In this passage, we'll see the Trinity at work—God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—in perfect unity. We'll witness Jesus, the Light of the world, empowered by the Spirit, walking in quiet obedience to the Father, even to the cross. And through it all, God rescues us from evil.

Let's open our Bibles and our hearts now. I'll read Matthew 27:11–54 from the NRSVUE, or if you'd like, follow along as [name a reader or invite someone] reads it for us.

1. The Nature of God's Rescue: Not a Contest, but a Rescue Mission

Now, as we reflect on this heart-wrenching narrative, let's step back for a moment and consider how we often talk about what happened on the cross. You've probably heard phrases like "Love wins" or "Evil doesn't get the last word." These are powerful, aren't they? They capture something true. But if we're not careful, they can paint a picture of salvation as some kind of epic battle—a contest where light and darkness are locked in a fierce struggle, like two evenly matched teams on a field, and we're all on the edge of our seats wondering who will come out on top.

But friends, that's not the story the Bible tells. That's not the gospel. Darkness—evil, sin, the power of death—is not God's equal. It's not a worthy opponent in a cosmic tug-of-war. No, let's be crystal clear: when Jesus came and stripped death and sin of their power, it was never a contest. It was a rescue mission from start to finish. Darkness never stood a chance.

Think about it this way: God and his goodness have always existed—eternal, unchanging. Light came first; it's the original reality, the right-side-up way God designed the world. In the beginning, God said, "Let there be light," and it was good. Humanity was meant to thrive in that light, in harmony with our Creator.

Only later did darkness creep in—like a shadow cast over paradise—through sin, hatred, selfishness, greed, and our distrust of God. Darkness is the upside-down, the unreality, the distortion of what should be. So when Jesus stepped into our world, he wasn't here to duke it out in a fair fight. He came to recreate us, to restore what has always been true. Jesus, the true Light of the world, shines into the shadows and brings us back to God's original intent.

And let me tell you, this rescue wasn't easy. Jesus is fully God and fully human—he felt every lash, every thorn, every nail. His real body bled real blood; his final breath escaped real lungs. But because he is God, the outcome was never in doubt. God rescues us from evil—not through a nail-biting victory, but through sovereign, loving re-creation.

As we see this rescue unfold in Matthew 27, it becomes clear that the darkness isn't just "out there" in some abstract evil force. It's woven into the human heart—into every character in the story, and yes, into us. Let's turn now to how this passage exposes that darkness.

2. The Human Heart Exposed: We All Participate in the Darkness

Picture the scene: Jesus stands before Pilate, accused by the chief priests and elders. The air is thick with tension. Pilate asks, "Are you the king of the Jews?" Jesus replies simply, "You say so." And then... silence. No defense, no arguments. The governor is amazed—baffled, really—by this quiet composure amid the storm of accusations.

But look around at the others. Each group in this story reveals a facet of human darkness, like a mirror held up to our own souls. We can probably see ourselves in them, if we're honest. The religious leaders—those who should know better—twist the truth like a rope to hang onto their power. They stir up the crowd with lies, manipulation, and fear, pushing for violence to protect their status. Pride and control blind them.

Then there's Pilate, the Roman governor, sitting on his judgment seat. He knows—deep down, he knows—Jesus is innocent. His own wife warns him in a dream: "Have nothing to do with that innocent man." Yet Pilate caves. He washes his hands in a basin of water, declaring, "I am innocent of this man's blood; see to it yourselves." But is he? No, his refusal to do what's right—his cowardice in the face of a riot—shows the darkness of injustice, of choosing self-preservation over truth.

The crowd? Oh, the crowd is us on our worst days. Pilate offers them a choice: Barabbas, a notorious criminal, or Jesus the Messiah. Jealousy has already poisoned the air. The leaders persuade them, and the people shout, "Barabbas!" And when Pilate asks what to do with Jesus, they cry, "Let him be crucified!" Even when he presses, "Why? What evil has he done?" they shout louder, "Crucify him!" In a chilling moment, they declare, "His blood be on us and on our children!"

Those words sound terrifying, like a self-imposed curse. But here's the grace: Jesus has already said his blood is poured out "for the forgiveness of sins." They ask for judgment; he gives mercy. That's the gospel in a nutshell—grace for the undeserving, again and again.

And the soldiers? They take cruelty to new depths. They strip Jesus, drape him in a scarlet robe, twist thorns into a crown, and mock him: "Hail, King of the Jews!" They spit, strike him with a reed, then lead him away to Golgotha. Human violence on full display.

Every one of these—leaders, Pilate, crowd, soldiers—shows the blindness of sin in the human heart. Fear drives them. Pride blinds them. Injustice and violence rule them. And if we're truthful, we see echoes in our own lives: the times we've manipulated to get our way, avoided hard truths, gone along with the crowd, or lashed out in anger. We all participate in this darkness. We all need rescue. God rescues us from evil.

But in the midst of this swirling storm of human failing, one figure stands unshaken. Let's look now at Jesus' response—the light piercing through.

3. Jesus' Faithful Response: Absorbing Evil Without Returning It

At the very center of this chaos is Jesus. Silent. Steady. Faithful. Earlier in his ministry, in the wilderness, he faced temptations: to seize power, to avoid suffering, to prove himself with spectacles. Now, those same voices echo from the cross: passersby deride him, "You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! If you are the Son of God, come down!" The chief priests mock, "He saved others; he cannot save himself." Even the rebels crucified beside him taunt him.

But Jesus refuses. He won't save himself because his mission is to save us. He won't come down because he's here to lift us up—into his eternal life with the Father, by the Spirit.

Watch what he does: Jesus absorbs every cruel word, every lash, every spit, without giving any back. He's like that sponge the soldiers lift to him on a stick, soaked in sour wine. He takes in the bitterness, the hatred, the fear we heap on him. In a profound way, Jesus becomes that sponge—lifting up all our brokenness, soaking up every drop of sin, carrying the weight of our distortions.

He draws out the evil of the world—all the hatred, fear, cruelty—so he can destroy it through his love. As darkness rises around him, he doesn't return it. He absorbs it, takes it to the cross, and there, in his death, it's like he wrings out that sponge. The power of sin and death pours out into the grave. Nothing is left. Nothing holds him—or us—captive anymore.

At three o'clock, from the depths of his soul, Jesus cries out the words of Psalm 22: "Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?"—"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" In that moment, he steps fully into our human suffering. He knows abandonment, loneliness, the silence of God. Yet even here, he trusts. He remains faithful to the end, breathing his last with a loud cry.

God rescues us from evil—not by avoiding the pain, but by entering it fully and breaking its hold forever.

And as Jesus breathes his last, something shifts—not just in the hearts of those watching, but in the fabric of creation itself. Let's see the signs that mark this as the turning point of all history.

4. The Turning Point of History: Signs of New Creation

From noon until three, darkness covers the land—like a cosmic veil drawn over the sun. Then, as Jesus dies, creation erupts in response. The curtain in the temple—the thick veil separating the holy from the ordinary—tears in two, from top to bottom. God himself is ripping open the barrier, inviting us into his presence.

The earth shakes violently. Rocks split apart. Tombs burst open, and the bodies of saints who had died are raised—foreshadowing the resurrection power at work. These aren't random events; they're signs that Jesus' death is no mere tragedy. It's the hinge of history swinging wide. The power of darkness is crumbling. The old order of sin and death is fracturing. A new creation is dawning—right there, at the foot of the cross.

Even a hardened Roman centurion, standing guard with his soldiers, witnesses the earthquake and the wonders. Terrified, he declares, "Truly this man was God's Son!" An outsider sees the truth: what humanity meant for evil—the killing of an innocent man—God uses for ultimate good.

God rescues us from evil, turning the instrument of death into the gateway of life.

Application

Beloved, this isn't just a story locked in the pages of ancient history. It's a living narrative that shapes us here and now, in our everyday lives. Jesus still reaches into our darkness—the fears that keep us up at night, the pride that isolates us, the shame that weighs us down, the sins we can't shake on our own. He draws us out, forgives us freely, and pulls us into his light—the life he shares eternally with the Father and the Spirit.

But the cross doesn't stop at saving us. It propels us forward. It sends us into the world as ambassadors of this rescue. Jesus invites you—yes, you—to join his mission of healing. Not in grand, unattainable ways, but in the simple rhythms of daily life.

Choose kindness when anger flares—offer a listening ear to a hurting friend. Forgive as you've been forgiven, even when it hurts. Stand beside those who are marginalized or in pain, reflecting the One who stood with the outcast. Work for justice in your community, your workplace, your family—pursue peace over division.

As we live this out, we become part of God's ongoing rescue—lights in a world still shadowed by evil. Will you say yes to that call today?

Conclusion

The cross stands as the ultimate revelation of God's heart: a Creator who doesn't abandon his creation to the upside-down of darkness, but rescues it through self-giving love. Jesus absorbed our evil so we could thrive in his light. He shattered the chains of sin and death, not in a contest of equals, but in a mission of mercy.

This is our good news: God rescues us from evil. Forever. Amen.