The Untorn Robe

 Let Earth Receive Her King image of print by G. Carol Bomer

John 19:23-24

When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his garments and divided them into four parts, one part for each soldier; also his tunic. But the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from top to bottom, so they said to one another, “Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it to see whose it shall be.” This was to fulfill the scripture which says,

“They divided my garments among them,

    and for my clothing they cast lots.”

So the soldiers did these things.

This was what I was reading this morning when I was internally stopped to ask and wonder: What was the significance of the seamless, untorn tunic? It was the words “woven in one piece from top to bottom” followed by “Let us not tear it” that got my attention—because we’ve seen some of those words in other books of the Bible recounting this very same series of events, but used differently.

What was torn, almost immediately after this scene? The Temple curtain. How was it torn? From top to bottom. Surely John’s choice of language is not accidental. Is there a connection to be made?

In John’s account alone, this detail about the tunic is given. And from John’s account alone, the detail about the Temple curtain is omitted. So I ask, “Why, John? Why the maverick approach? Why the different focus but the similar language? What is it you want to show us by taking this very specific but alternate track?"

Matthew, Mark, and Luke all affirm that while Jesus is being crucified, his garments are divided near the foot of the cross. All three also tie his death to the curtain being torn in two. Both Matthew and Mark specifically say the curtain tore from top to bottom. (The word used actually means “from above.” Fascinatingly, it’s the same word that is used for Jesus who came “from above,” and for the power Pilate has, which would not be his if it were not granted him “from above.” The curtain tore “from above”—perhaps implying that the power that tore it was not earthly. This robe, then, woven in one piece “from above”. . . what might you make of that?)

But, Matthew, Mark, and Luke don’t mention the single-piece robe among the garments. Only the curtain and the garments in general.

Scholars all seem to be in agreement that the mention in all four gospels that the garments are divided is a reference meant to show that Jesus filled the prophecy of Psalm 22:18: “They divide my garments among them, and for my clothing they cast lots.” From this same Psalm come the words Jesus cries out from the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” and also the imagery, “They have pierced my hands and feet.” These are all signposts: Evidences that the Christ who was prophesied to come is indeed this very Jesus now upon the cross. A thousand years passed from the time Psalm 22 was written until it was fulfilled. 

But that answer, while good, doesn’t completely satisfy. They divided his clothing to fulfill the prophecy, to show us that he is that fulfilment. But why clothes? And why these particular clothes? What is the meaning of the single-piece tunic that was woven from top to bottom (or from above) and not torn? Who cares if it was torn or not? Does it matter? Indeed, I now think it does.

First, I think, we need to address what this garment was to Jesus and to people of the day. The tunic was not an outer robe. It was an undergarment, worn close to the skin. (There was likely also a loin garment as well, but the point is that it covered nakedness. Its purpose was not to signify status or role, outwardly—like the purple cloak that the soldiers put on him at his scourging, when they mocked his kingship.) When did the need for these undergarments first come about in human history? Let’s go all the way back to Genesis chapter 3.

After the first six days of creation, when God had made it all and set it into motion, he rested. After all that creative activity, the next thing that we are told about God making is a pair of tunics. (Genesis 3:21) Adam and Eve initially enjoyed complete fellowship with one another and with God and all was very good—with nothing at all standing between them. Not even a thin layer of fabric. There was no shame in their nakedness because there was no reason for shame. There was no reason for them to be at all divided, disunified, from one another and from their Creator, whose image they bore. But it didn’t last, because they sinned. They broke that fellowship and created a division. Their nakedness was no longer a sign of unity, but of shame and guilt and rebellion. (Treason, one might even say.) They could not stand uncovered before him and live.

So in his mercy, God created again. He made tunics for them, and he covered them. 

The need of a tunic was established at the beginning of our story. 

But that clothing that we now must wear that keeps us separate from one another and from God isn’t always maintained in its own unity. Most of our clothing is made with seams and we all know what happens with seams eventually: They give up. They tear. They rend. Rending clothes is symbolic too, not just a practical matter of use and age. In 1 Kings 11: 29-33, the prophet Ahijah tears his new garment as a symbol of coming disunity. God is going to divide the kingdom over sin. Separation is a reason for mourning. The garment is torn in grief as well as prophecy. When Job learned of the calamity that had befallen him, he tore his clothes in an act of both great mourning and worship—recognizing that he came naked into the world, that all he had was from God, and therefore God’s to take. (Job 1:20). The Bible is full of clothes-tearers: Reuben, Joshua and Caleb, David and his men, Athaliah, Mordecai, Hezekiah… the list goes on and on.

But there was one person of great biblical importance who was not to tear his clothes: Aaron, the high priest, and the high priests who would inherit their position after him, for generations. While the people mourned their separation from God, the high priest donned a tunic that could not be torn, and in it, he entered into God’s holy presence in the Holy of Holies, behind the curtain. With his unrent tunic against his own skin, covering his own shame, Aaron did not mourn. Instead, he dealt with mourning. He brought atonement for the people’s sin that was the reason for mourning. Exodus 28:32 tells us about this garment that went beneath the ephod. “You shall make the robe (or tunic) of the ephod all of blue. It shall have an opening for the head in the middle of it, with a woven binding around the opening, like the opening in a garment, so that it may not tear.”

That certainly sounds like a garment of all one piece, doesn’t it? No seams to reinforce but only the opening for the head. And it is emphasized: so that it may not tear.

These garments were preserved and passed on to other generations of priests. Exodus 29:30 says “The holy garments of Aaron shall be for his sons after him; they shall be anointed in them and ordained in them. The son who succeeds him as priest, who comes into the tent of meeting to minister in the Holy Place, shall wear them seven days.” Each time the high priest entered into God’s presence, behind the curtain, he had to be clothed in these garments, “so that he does not die.” (Exodus 28:35) It’s not time yet for all the shame and sin to be exposed in full. The annual ritual atonement that Aaron and the next generations of priests will perform are always partial, and must be repeated and repeated. 

When Jesus went to the cross, he went in this very significant and noteworthy piece of clothing. He was dressed to make an atoning presentation to God. On the previous Thursday evening, he had received the burden he was taking on, for which to atone. He had become sin then, taking onto himself not just my sin and the sin of those men with him that night, but “the sins of the world.” Aaron declared the sins of the people imputed to an animal. Jesus knelt in Gethsemane, and called it all onto himself. Past, present, future. No wonder he sweat drops of blood. If we think he stumbled on that so-called Via Dolorosa under the weight of the wood he was carrying, perhaps we are not fully aware of the weight he had actually accepted, which set him on that path.

As we work our way through the Stations of the Cross during Holy Week, we note that “Jesus is stripped.” We are reminded to reflect on his humility, that God would be exposed, naked, before the world. But in reality, so great is our union with him in his purpose, that it is not just his nakedness on that tree. It’s all of mine. It’s yours. It’s the apostles, the soldiers, his mother Mary’s. We are bound to him and it is our shame and humility that he purposefully takes there—when his garment is removed. We are exposed with every bit of the ugliness that we brought to Gethsemane. We are naked on that cross, before God and the entire world, for both Jew and Gentile were present there.

I believe two things happened there with the stripping: 1) All the burden of separating sin was laid bare for all the world; and 2) Jesus’ own covering was removed in preparation for his death: He is accepting the forthcoming death—as Aaron could not enter God’s presence uncovered and live.

The atonement complete, the separation is over. This is what he came for. God’s presence is accessible again, without the need for covering and ritual. The curtain is torn completely, “from above,” opening his presence to all who accept the way. As it was in the beginning.

And now, the high priestly garment is . . . gone. There is no need for a next generation priest. Mourning is ended. Separation is ended. Atonement is secured. 

It really is finished.