Matthew 27:35-36 / Luke 23:34
They had a job to do, and they did it efficiently. They drove the nails, raised the cross, divided the crowd into a manageable perimeter, and settled in to wait. Standard procedure for a Roman execution. Once the condemned was secured, the soldiers were entitled to whatever clothing remained. So they cast lots. They rolled the dice. They argued, perhaps, over who got what. And while they haggled over the hem of a garment, the Author of all creation hung dying three feet above their heads.
This is one of the most staggering scenes in all of scripture. Not because of what the soldiers did wrong, but because of how ordinary their distraction was. They were not worshipping false gods or committing great crimes in that moment. They were doing what distracted people have always done. They were focused on what was on the ground when everything that mattered was above them.
The garment was real. It had value. It was seamless, woven in one piece from top to bottom, which is why they chose to cast lots rather than tear it. It was worth something. And that is precisely the point. The distractions that pull us furthest from God are rarely worthless things. They are real things, legitimate things, things that glitter just enough in the peripheral vision of our lives to keep our eyes from rising to where they need to be.
John Chrysostom noted that while the soldiers were gambling beneath the cross, they were in fact wagering something they did not know they were betting. Every soul at Calvary that day was making a choice, not just about a carpenter from Galilee, but about eternity itself. The thief on the right looked over and found salvation. The thief on the left looked over and hardened. The centurion looked up at the moment of death and declared, surely this was the Son of God. The soldiers looked down. And they won the garment. And they lost everything else.
There is a question that this scene presses into the chest of every honest believer. What are you gambling over at the foot of the cross? What fabric of this world has captured your full attention while something eternal waits just above your gaze? It is rarely dramatic. It is rarely obvious. It is the scroll of a phone in a quiet moment that was meant for prayer. It is the relentless pursuit of comfort, security, approval, and accumulation that feels so reasonable, so responsible, so normal, until you realize how long it has been since you truly looked up.
The soldiers were not miles from Jesus. They were inches away. Close enough to hear Him breathe. Close enough to have reached out and touched the cross. And they never knew what they were near.
Proximity is not the same as encounter. You can be in church and never meet God. You can read the words and never hear the voice. You can sit beneath the shadow of the cross and spend the whole time looking at what is on the ground. The invitation of this season is not to go somewhere new. It is to look up from where you already are.
He is not far. He has never been far. The question has never been where God is. The question is always where your eyes are.
Look up. Everything you have been gambling for cannot compare to what you are standing next to.
Heavenly Father, forgive us for the times we have sat at the foot of Your cross distracted by things that will not last. Open our eyes to see what is right in front of us. Quiet the noise of this world long enough for us to recognize what we are near. We do not want to be close and still miss You. Pull our gaze upward. Remind us that no garment, no gain, no glittering distraction on the ground is worth missing the moment of encounter with You. We choose to look up. In Jesus’ name, amen.
