By Jefferson Weaver
I have always loved blacksmithing.
Whether my love of metalwork is philosophical or genetic, I cannot say. At least one ancestor was a blacksmith who became a machinist; his sons in turn became businessmen, largely because of their father’s work. Others before him were undoubtedly blacksmiths out of necessity, since only one or two of my long-dead kin came to America with any real money (and one of them was a silversmith who may have gotten his start in an ironworks).
I am no master of the craft, by any means. My work, even when I was at a forge several times a week, was never art, but utilitarian. The rhythm of a properly handled hammer, the regular wheeze of a bellows, and the crackle of a forge were always music to me, and still draw me like a siren’s song.
There is just something about heating a piece of iron or steel to the proper temperature, pounding it into a shape you can see in your mind, and making something useful – a hook, a tool, a knife, a chain, nails, a horseshoe – and seeing that product put to use. There’s pride in a job done right, and satisfaction that you have made a difference.
It might be strange, but I have often wondered about the blacksmiths of Jerusalem.
Ironwork was reaching one its early apex moments in what we now call the First Century. The Romans had established the so-called Pax Romana, a time when law and order ruled their conquered lands and trade flourished. Israel was one of those lands, of course, and archaeological evidence points to trade brought from other parts of the Roman Empire. With new cultures comes new techniques in all trades; that’s just human nature.
The Roman Empire used a lot of iron. Bronze swords had been replaced with steel; shields were a combination of steel and bronze. Spears and arrows were tipped with steel. The sandals of the soldiers bore little resemblance to the flip-flops and Rainbows of today, and had iron reinforcements on the soles to improve traction and reduce wear.
Wagons that carried supplies had shod wheels, as did the chariots that went into battle. Armor protected both the footsoldier and the horseman, and iron backed with leather was far more practical than bronze and cloth padding. Steel and iron tools were far more efficient than wood for digging and building.
Pegs, dowels and joints would dominate woodwork for another dozen centuries, but some jobs could only be done with metal nails.
I wonder if the soldiers tasked with crucifying Jesus had a particular smith who handled their work – a defense contractor, if you will. Jerusalem was a busy, vibrant city; there would have been plenty of ironworkers to choose from.
It’s entirely possible the craftsman who fashioned the crosses of Golgotha also supplied the nails used in that “unpleasant business,” as crucifixion is described in the translation of one Roman commander’s description. We do not know, nor do we have any way of knowing for sure, whether the crosses were made of dogwood, or of a combination of pine, cypress and cedar, as some traditions insist. The Bible really doesn’t tell us. Scholars, theologians and enthusiasts of minutiae have argued this point literally for more than a thousand years (and likely longer).
Considering that crucifixion was a fairly common style of execution, I’d consider it likely that the ever-practical Romans used whatever wood was available. An oft-neglected point is that many crosses were actually reused. The type of wood likely didn’t matter – it just had to be sturdy.
The nails, however—the nails that held the condemned man to the tree would have to be carefully made.
Forging a nail is one of the first basic skills a blacksmith must learn. The iron is drawn to a point to cut through the wood, but not too fine of a point, lest it snap halfway into the wood.
It must be properly hardened and tempered; not like an axe or a knife, but moreso than a common pot-hook or spoon. The head is then formed in a swage (similar to a mold). Four or five strikes around the center of the nail help provide a dense, hardened surface wide enough to be consistently struck with a hammer in such a way that the force is concentrated on the center.
Until the 16th century, many nails had to be “clinched” after being driven through the wood. This involves securely bending the end of the nail so the weight of its burden wouldn’t pull the nail out. Crosses bearing those who were to be crucified were typically flipped over with the victim facedown in the dirt while the nails holding their hands and feet were clinched into place. The dirt of Calvary’s Hill had to be stained with blood and filth from hundreds, if not thousands of crucifixions before the one we remember.
Technically, Christ was nailed to the cross using spikes, not “nails” in the strictest sense of the word, but the intricacies of hardware weight are not important in this case. The nails used to crucify Jesus of Nazareth would have been made the same as the finely-wrought decorative nails used on a rich man’s cabinet, or a poor widow’s front door. It was just a matter of size and weight bearing ability. Stout square nails roughly a half- to three-quarters of an inch in diameter were commonly used in crucifixions. They had to be well-made, since they would be used again and again, after being straightened and at least brushed off to prevent rust.
I wonder if the blacksmith who made those nails took pride in his work, despite the nature of what purpose they would serve. It’s possible he was like many military contractors throughout history, and did just enough to get by and get paid. Perhaps he was a craftsman who took pride in even the most grisly task, taking comfort in the quality of his work regardless of its purpose.
I‘d love to know if the blacksmith was among those who cowered as the skies grew dark when his work nailed the Son of God to the cross. Did he make the spear shoved into Christ’s side, a spear that would have been turned slightly as it was withdrawn, to make a more serious wound? Did he, like some of the Roman soldiers, stare with wonder and realize that this man on the cross was truly innocent? Did he feel guilt, or sorrow, or horror?
Or did the blacksmith just go about his daily work, cleansing coal into coke and turning bars of iron into tools?
Yet, despite the best efforts of man, Christ didn’t remain nailed to that tree. He didn’t remain in the borrowed tomb.
The carpenter arose, still bearing the marks of the blacksmith’s craft.
He arose, offering the gift of eternal salvation to all mankind, none of whom even deserve to stand in his shadow, since all have sinned and fallen short. He willingly gave his life in a horrible manner, so we would not have to face the same fate.
Despite the best work of the blacksmith, the soldier, the woodworker, the politician — the carpenter arose, and went to build a new home for all who love him.
Although we are in a frightening time, I hope you will remember that this Sunday, we commemorate when God fulfilled his first promise. He is in control, and there is no power, no politician, no army, no virus – or any nail forged by man – that can stand against him.
I hope you and your family have a blessed, peaceful, and healthy Resurrection Day, and always remember:
Christ arose. Hallelujah, He arose.
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