Zechariah & Mourning

And I will pour out on the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem a spirit of grace and pleas for mercy, so that, when they look on me, on him whom they have pierced, they shall mourn for him, as one mourns for an only child, and weep bitterly over him, as one weeps over a firstborn. On that day the mourning in Jerusalem will be as great as the mourning for Hadad-Rimmon in the plain of Megiddo. The land shall mourn, each family by itself: the family of the house of David by itself, and their wives by themselves; the family of the house of Nathan by itself, and their wives by themselves; the family of the house of Levi by itself, and their wives by themselves; the family of the Shimeites by itself, and their wives by themselves; and all the families that are left, each by itself, and their wives by themselves.

The text of Zechariah 12.10–14 describes a distinctly Passover-like event: a firstborn son has been slain; an overlord has been disposed of; and each family in Israel has gathered together in response. (Israel’s mourning at Megiddo refers to the death of Josiah: Zech. 12.11, II Kgs. 23.29, II Chr. 35.24.)

But if this is a Passover, then it’s a Passover with a major difference. It’s not the Egyptians who’ve lost their firstborn son, but the Israelites; it’s not an ungodly Egyptian ruler who’s been disposed of, but a godly Israelite (and he’s been disposed of by a Pharaoh); and, rather than each family gathering together to eat the Passover, each family has gathered together to mourn their loss, just as the Egyptians did (Exod. 12.21, 29–30).

These oddities make Zechariah 12.10–14 a remarkably apt depiction of Israel’s Passover in AD 30, when the Israelites looked upon the God whom they had pierced (John 19.33–37). In one sense Jesus’ death was Israel’s loss (since Jesus was her king and Messiah). Yet at the same time it was the means by which Israel could have life and could be redeemed from the curse of the old covenant (Gal. 3.10–14, Heb. 9.15ff.). The water that flowed forth from Jesus’ side became ‘a fountain’ by means of which Jerusalem could be ‘purified’ (John 19.33–37, Zech. 13.1ff., Lam. 1.17), like the water that flowed forth from underneath the ‘shoulder’ of Ezekiel’s Temple (Ezek. 47.1).

True, not many of the chief priests or Pharisees mourned Jesus’ death at the time of the Passover in AD 30 (Isa. 53.8). But some new covenant Israelites did so (Mark 16.10). And over time this trickle became a river. Thousands joined the disciples at the time of Pentecost (Acts 2). And, apparently, thousands more did likewise as disaster befell Jerusalem in AD 70 (Matt. 24.30), all of which foreshadows a greater harvest to come (Rom. 11.23ff.).

Israel’s history thus reflects a spread of mourning that will ultimately extend ‘from the least to the greatest’ (Jer. 31.34), encompassing kings and priests (the houses of David and Levi), well-known and lesser-known lineages (the houses of Nathan and Shimei) (Exod. 6.17, II Sam. 5.14), husbands and wives.

Yet Israel’s isn’t a mourning that goes uncomforted. It’s a godly sorrow that leads to salvation—a sorrow that’s ultimately turned to joy (Isa. 61.1–3, II Cor. 7.11).

Typologically, this reflects the book of Esther. Haman and the king sit down to drink wine while mourning overtakes the Jews (Est. 3.14, 4.3). But by the end of the book the roles have been reversed. Haman mourns (6.12) while the Jews’ mourning is turned into feasting—feasting that has a distinctly Passover-esque feel in that it occurs on the fourteenth day of the month (9.17, 9.22).

And this drama will ultimately be played out on a much wider stage. The world that passed Purim-like gifts to one another as the Church suffered (Rev. 11.9–10) will lament and mourn at the fall of her beloved Babylon (18.1ff.). Meanwhile, a Hallelujah chorus will break out in heaven as the marriage feast begins (19.1ff.).

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.