Robert Kolb is mission professor of systematic theology emeritus at Concordia Seminary in St. Louis. He is the author or coauthor of numerous books and articles.

The words “it is finished” may be uttered as a postlude, a sigh, a song of relief that the suffering has come to an end, that the mission of coming to the cross to die for sinners has been completed. The way it turned out, Jesus’ “it is finished” functions as a prelude. Mission accomplished, sins gone—and then on to the follow-up. Jesus sets out to reclaim life for his people by rising from the dead.

The second person of the Holy Trinity began agonizing over his runaway human creatures in Eden. He, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, came looking for us and crying out, “where are you?” back then already. Following the plan formulated before the foundation of the world (Eph. 1:3-11), he came, like a good shepherd, to try to find us in the haunts where prodigals hang out. He came into our flesh and blood, our skin and hair, so that he could slog through swamp and slime in the search for the people whom he wanted to enjoy his company into the stretches of eternity. No shame too great, no pain too intense, he came intending to pay for us, not with gold or silver as if human beings can be bought and sold like a slave commodity. He came to pay for us as a soldier pays on the battlefield, with his holy precious blood and his innocent suffering death. He died to liberate his people from Satan, sin, and death. For he was bound and determined—Pilate bound him and determined he should die—that we might belong to him and come back under his protective rule. He came to rise from death itself so that we might serve him forever, righteous, innocent, and blessed beyond belief.

The crucifixion of Jesus the Messiah—the King of the Jews, to use Pontius Pilate’s words—proves that injustice and cruelty seem to triumph in human history. He had not merited any punishment, to say nothing of dying in the most excruciating fashion invented by humankind. Condemned to death by a man who knew injustice when he saw it and bowed despite knowing better to its pressure, Jesus took the rap for rebellious children like you and me.

The nails that pierced his hands and feet had probably been meant for others. The spear that pierced his side had perhaps the blood of hundreds on it, from military campaigns abroad and police action in Judea. The whips that left his back bloody had served that purpose on countless criminals. The crown of thorns was something demonic made just for him. The instruments of the passion depicted in paintings and statuary served many a medieval believer as a focus of meditation on the horrors of Christ’s suffering. These instruments tortured the spotless lamb, the lamb without blemish, who died for those who crucified him and for those like us of other times and places who still so often pass by without taking the meaning, the horror, of the event on Golgotha seriously.

His agony came not only in the biting pain in his hands and his feet, in the pressure put on his lungs from hanging there. His agony came from the shame of exposure to the world, from the taunts of those for whom he was dying and the mocking from his own countrymen. His agony came from having to leave his mother behind. His agony came from sensing what it is to be forsaken by the Father. His agony far exceeds our imagination.

And then it was finished. He commended his spirit into the hands of his Father, our Father, and breathed his last, to be taken from the cross cold and stiff and laid in a grave. We cannot imagine the surprise the grave experienced when its resident, whom it expected to be a long-term guest, got up and left three days later. Martin Luther soliloquized on a Saturday evening before Easter with an expression of thanks to the grave for holding his sins out of the sight of the heavenly Father, but that was not the expectation of the grave when Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea rolled the stone into its mouth. The surprise of the disciples when they lost their Rabbi was dwarfed by their surprise when they found out that their Messiah had left the grave to continue on his path to his throne at the Father’s right hand.

It was complete. The sacrifice that satisfied the law’s demand for the death of sinners was accomplished.

Jesus had no need to mess with sin any more. He had new life to inaugurate for his people. He bade our sins and the grave adieu and proceeded on his way to glory and power, to reigning over all. The “hosannas” of Palm Sunday turned into Easter morning’s “hallelujahs.” Shame silenced, guilt gone, fear vanished. His triumph has become our triumph as he shares it with us in baptism and our daily experience of absolution.

The “hallelujah”—praise the Lord—echoes through our every day as we encounter his self-giving, blessing-giving love in countless ways. God initiated his program of providing food and clothing, protection and direction, for his human creatures in Eden. Israel had experienced his faithfulness in the wilderness, in occupying the Holy Land, in the years of whiplash being a player and a pawn in the struggle of the nations. God shines his sunlight and lets the rain fall on his human creatures regardless of their attitude toward him. Nonetheless, the God who provides for all temporal needs is the God who has provided liberation from sin, death, and Satan’s rule for us, and he did that by completing his work of dying to sin for us and rising to give us righteousness as children of the heavenly Father. The pledge of forgiveness, life, and salvation that comes from the finished business of the cross and the empty tomb enriches and spices up all the other blessings that God continues to pour on ungodly and godly alike. Hallelujah!