Jesus’ words cut and comfort at once: “And so upon you will come all the righteous blood that has been shed on earth, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah son of Berekiah, whom you murdered between the temple and the altar” (Matthew 23:35). He is not merely reciting trivia about ancient murders. He is surveying the whole witness of Scripture and holding a generation accountable for standing at the end of a long line of refusals to heed God’s voice (Matthew 23:29–31). To hear Him rightly, we have to step back into the story—back to the first murder in Genesis, forward to a prophet slain in the temple courts in 2 Chronicles, and then ahead to the cross where blood speaks a better word than any blood spilled before (Genesis 4:8–10; 2 Chronicles 24:20–22; Hebrews 12:24).
At the heart of Jesus’ indictment lies love’s grief. He has warned, taught, healed, and pleaded; He has sent “prophets and sages and teachers,” knowing some would be killed, others flogged, and still others hunted from town to town (Matthew 23:34). The Seven Woes are not a cold lecture; they are a last public sermon before the cross, delivered to leaders who honor dead prophets with tombs while plotting to kill the living One standing before them (Matthew 23:27–32). When He names Abel and Zechariah, He is setting bookends on the Hebrew Scriptures and saying, “Your response to Me reveals where you stand in that story.”
Words: 2756 / Time to read: 15 minutes
Historical and Cultural Background
In the first book of the Bible, Abel appears as the first human to die, and his death springs from a worship conflict that exposes the heart. Abel brings the firstborn of his flock with fat portions, and the Lord looks on him and his offering with favor; Cain brings some of his produce, and the Lord does not accept it, warning him that sin is crouching at the door and urging him to rule over it (Genesis 4:3–7). Cain lures Abel into the field and kills him, and God declares that Abel’s blood is crying out from the ground, a vivid way of saying that injustice has a voice God will not ignore (Genesis 4:8–10). Early in Scripture, then, the pattern is set: righteous witness, sinful jealousy, violent silencing, and divine remembrance (Hebrews 11:4).
On the far end of the Hebrew canon stands the story of Zechariah, slain in the temple court during the reign of Joash. Chronicles records that “the Spirit of God came on Zechariah son of Jehoiada the priest,” and he called the people back from disobedience; at the king’s order they stoned him “in the courtyard of the Lord’s temple,” a betrayal of both message and place (2 Chronicles 24:20–21). Jesus, in Matthew, says “son of Berekiah,” which raises a small textual question. The simplest reading is that He is invoking the Zechariah whose death occurred in the temple courts; the difference in the patronym may reflect a scribal slip (copying mistake) or a broader use of “son of” meaning descendant, while the narrative facts align exactly with the stoning described in Chronicles (Matthew 23:35; 2 Chronicles 24:20–22). Either way, Jesus is not confused about the location, the crime, or the prophetic point.
It matters that Jesus spans from Genesis to Chronicles because that is the ordering of the Hebrew Bible in His day—Law, Prophets, Writings—with Chronicles closing the Writings. When He says “from Abel to Zechariah,” He is saying, “from the first righteous blood in the opening book to the last righteous blood recorded at the end,” thereby encompassing the whole Scriptural testimony to the cost of truth-telling in a world set on its own way (Luke 11:50–51). Within that sweep lies Israel’s calling and failure, God’s patience and judgment, and the relentless thread of mercy that promises restoration after discipline, all of which give shape and weight to the Lord’s words in Jerusalem that spring week (Nehemiah 9:26–31; Hosea 11:8–9).
Biblical Narrative
Matthew frames Jesus’ indictment within the Seven Woes against hypocrisy. The leaders tithe herbs while neglecting matters of the law like justice, mercy, and faithfulness; they clean the outside of the cup and leave the inside full of greed and self-indulgence; they build tombs for prophets as if they would have behaved differently, yet they are about to fill up the measure of their ancestors by killing the Son (Matthew 23:23–32). Jesus names their lineage bluntly—“You testify against yourselves that you are the descendants of those who murdered the prophets”—and then announces that wisdom will send messengers whom they will persecute, bringing the accumulated witness of righteous blood to a head (Matthew 23:31–36).
Abel’s story stands at the beginning because it marries worship and violence in a way that echoes through the ages. The writer to the Hebrews explains that “by faith Abel brought God a better offering than Cain did… and by faith Abel still speaks, even though he is dead,” naming faith, not mere form, as the difference God commends (Hebrews 11:4). Cain’s angry face and fallen countenance are the face and heart of every generation that prefers self-made religion to humble trust, and the field where he spills his brother’s blood becomes a shadow of every place where the righteous are silenced for exposing sin (Genesis 4:5–8; 1 John 3:12). God’s interrogation—“What have you done?”—and His declaration that blood cries out remain a standing truth, a warning that justice will not be forever delayed (Genesis 4:10).
Zechariah’s story, placed at the canonical end, exposes how far compromise can travel when leaders and people turn from the Lord. Joash was a boy-king raised under the priest Jehoiada’s guidance, but after the priest’s death he listened to officials who bowed to idols; Zechariah, Jehoiada’s son, confronted them, saying, “Why do you disobey the Lord’s commands? You will not prosper,” and for that faithful word he was stoned in the very courts meant for prayer and sacrifice (2 Chronicles 24:17–21). Dying, he said, “May the Lord see this and call you to account,” and in time judgment fell as Aramean invaders defeated Judah and Joash was assassinated by his own officials, a sober case study in sowing and reaping (2 Chronicles 24:22–25). Jesus’ echo of that scene—“between the temple and the altar”—is deliberate; He is not only identifying a murder location but reminding His hearers that holy spaces do not shield hard hearts from accountability (Matthew 23:35).
Luke preserves a parallel in which Jesus says, “This generation will be held responsible for the blood of all the prophets that has been shed since the beginning of the world… from the blood of Abel to the blood of Zechariah,” and then He weeps over Jerusalem, longing to gather her children as a hen gathers chicks under her wings, but she is not willing (Luke 11:50–51; Matthew 23:37). The prophetic rhythm is the same across the books: truth sent, heart resisted, messengers rejected, blood spilled, judgment warned, compassion extended. Seen as a whole, the Bible’s storyline makes Jesus’ words neither rash nor harsh; they are the faithful summary of centuries of history leading to a climactic decision about Him (Acts 7:51–53).
Theological Significance
The sweep “from Abel to Zechariah” carries at least three theological currents into view. First, it underlines God’s perfect memory and justice. Abel’s blood cries out from the ground; Zechariah’s blood stains the temple court; the psalmist laments that the blood of God’s people was poured out like water around Jerusalem; and the Lord Himself promises to avenge the blood of His servants (Genesis 4:10; Psalm 79:3; Deuteronomy 32:43). God does not misplace righteous suffering in His books. He remembers, He records, and in His time He repays, whether in immediate historical judgments like Jerusalem’s fall in A.D. 70 or in the final day when hidden things come to light (Matthew 24:2; Romans 2:5–6).
Second, the sweep exposes the human heart’s settled resistance to divine appeal, apart from grace. From Cain’s fury to Joash’s betrayal, people repeatedly reject God’s messengers because light exposes beloved darkness (John 3:19–20). Jesus says that Wisdom keeps sending servants, and He Himself comes as the Son, and the vineyard tenants kill Him, imagining that the inheritance will become theirs, a parable that names both guilt and grace’s surprising victory (Matthew 23:34; Matthew 21:33–39). The indictment, then, is not the last word; the cross is. The very blood that this generation will shed is the blood that mediates a new covenant and speaks “a better word than the blood of Abel”—not a cry for condemnation but a cry for mercy that satisfies justice and secures forgiveness for all who believe (Hebrews 12:24; Romans 3:25–26).
Third, the sweep honors the integrity of the Hebrew Scriptures and the way they point to Christ. Jesus’ use of the canonical span—Genesis to Chronicles—assumes a fixed, honored canon (official list of Bible books) and treats its storyline as unified under God’s authorship (Luke 24:44–47). A grammatical-historical reading that takes promises and warnings in their plain sense finds here both continuity and culmination: the same God who judged Cain and Joash will also judge the generation that rejects His Son; the same God who preserved a remnant will keep His promises to Israel and bring blessing to the nations through the Messiah (Genesis 12:3; Romans 11:1–2, 25–29). In dispensational terms, the church does not erase Israel; rather, the present age of gospel proclamation advances God’s plan while future national promises await literal fulfillment under Christ’s reign (Acts 1:6–8; Revelation 20:4–6).
There is also a textual humility in the way believers talk about Zechariah’s patronym. Jesus names him “son of Berekiah,” while Chronicles calls him “son of Jehoiada” (Matthew 23:35; 2 Chronicles 24:20). The simplest reconciliations are sufficient: “son of” can mark a descendant rather than an immediate father, or a scribal slip accounts for the difference; in either case the narrative facts—stoning in the temple court—match precisely, and Jesus’ canonical point stands. We refuse to trip over a detail in order to miss the plain sense: God’s messengers bled in sacred spaces, and the Lord saw (2 Chronicles 24:21–22).
Spiritual Lessons and Application
Jesus’ words ask every generation to locate itself honestly in the story. The Pharisees claimed they would not have joined their fathers in killing prophets; Jesus says their actions prove otherwise (Matthew 23:30–31). We can make the same mistake by honoring martyrs with words while insulating ourselves from the repentance their witness demands. The question is not whether we build memorials but whether we embrace the message—justice, mercy, and faithfulness as weightier matters; clean hearts, not merely polished appearances; a readiness to hear rebuke and welcome truth even when it costs (Matthew 23:23–28; James 1:22).
These verses also teach us to take persecution seriously without despair. Paul writes that “everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted,” and Jesus warns that His messengers will be flogged, hunted, and killed; yet the same Lord promises presence, reward, and vindication (2 Timothy 3:12; Matthew 23:34; Matthew 5:10–12). Abel still speaks by faith; Zechariah’s dying words still call for God to see and act; the souls under the altar cry, “How long?” and are told to rest until the number of their fellow servants is complete (Hebrews 11:4; 2 Chronicles 24:22; Revelation 6:9–11). Our call is not to calculate outcomes but to keep bearing witness, trusting that the Judge of all the earth will do right (Genesis 18:25; 1 Peter 4:12–14).
There is, further, a word here for leaders. The horror of Zechariah’s stoning is sharpened by where it happened and who ordered it. Sacred spaces can be used to shield sinful decisions, and religious authority can be twisted to silence dissent. Jesus’ woes strip away that veneer: titles, tassels, and seats of honor mean nothing if justice is trampled and truth is muzzled (Matthew 23:2–7, 23–28). Faithful leadership is marked by trembling at the Word, openness to correction, and willingness to lose face rather than lose integrity (Isaiah 66:2; Galatians 2:11–14). Churches and ministries that cultivate that posture become safe places for truth-telling; those that do not walk the well-worn path from Cain’s field to the temple court.
Yet right beside warning stands invitation. After pronouncing woes, Jesus laments, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem… how often I have longed to gather your children together… and you were not willing,” and He promises that a day will come when the city will say, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord” (Matthew 23:37–39; Psalm 118:26). The heart of God is not trigger-happy judgment but patient mercy; He desires all to come to repentance, even as He will not leave the guilty unpunished (2 Peter 3:9; Exodus 34:6–7). The cross proves both truths at once: sin is so serious that only the blood of the Son can atone, and grace is so large that the worst plot against Him becomes the way He saves the very people who nailed Him to the tree (Acts 2:23–24; Romans 5:8–9).
Believers, then, live between Abel’s cry for justice and Jesus’ cry of mercy. We pray like the psalmists who ask God to see, remember, and act; we preach like the prophets who call people back to the Lord; we endure like the early church who rejoiced to be counted worthy to suffer for the Name; and we hope like those who have come to “Jesus the mediator of a new covenant” whose sprinkled blood speaks better than any blood that ever soaked the ground (Psalm 79:10; Jeremiah 26:12–13; Acts 5:41; Hebrews 12:24). That combination—truth without hatred, courage without swagger, tears without cynicism—becomes a living refutation of the hypocrisy Jesus condemns.
Conclusion
From Abel to Zechariah, the Bible bears witness that righteousness is costly and that God keeps the ledger Himself. Abel’s faith pleased the Lord and provoked his brother; Zechariah’s courage rebuked idolatry and cost him his life; and Jesus’ sermon gathers their stories into a verdict on a generation that will finish the pattern by crucifying the Son (Hebrews 11:4; 2 Chronicles 24:20–22; Acts 3:13–15). Yet the same sermon points past judgment to mercy, because the blood that generation will spill will become the blood that cleanses sinners, cancels our debt, and reconciles enemies to God (Colossians 2:13–14; Ephesians 2:13–16). Abel’s blood cries “justice”; Christ’s blood cries “forgiven,” and both cries are heard in heaven, the first to uphold righteousness, the second to open the way for the unrighteous to be made right by faith (Hebrews 12:24; Romans 3:26).
So let Matthew 23:35 sober and steady you. Let it expose any instinct to honor prophets with words while resisting their message. Let it teach you to value justice, mercy, and faithfulness, not as slogans but as obedience. Let it send you to Jesus for cleansing of hypocrisy and courage for witness. And let it fill your prayers for persecuted brothers and sisters with confidence that God sees, remembers, and will set all things right, even as He keeps saving those who once opposed the truth (Psalm 56:8; 1 Timothy 1:13–16). The Lord who heard a cry from the ground still hears; the Lord who saw a murder in the temple court still sees; the Lord who warned a generation still warns ours—and still opens His arms to gather all who will come (Genesis 4:10; 2 Chronicles 24:21; Matthew 23:37).
“But you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem… to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.” (Hebrews 12:22–24)
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