Guest Article: Field of Blood by Jason Humber

It is always gratifying to discover “up and coming” preterist students and writers. I recently “discovered” a young man by the name of Jason Humber. He wrote the article below and since I had written an article along the same lines many years ago, I was naturally fascinated to see what he had to offer. Well, as you will discover, Jason has brought some great insights to share with us! This is an excellent article, so enjoy!!

Don K. Preston

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THE FIELD OF BLOOD

“But the chief priests, taking the pieces of silver, said, ‘It is not lawful to put them into the
treasury, since it is blood money.’ So they took counsel and bought with them the potter’s field as a burial place for strangers. Therefore that field has been called the Field of Blood to this day.” (Matthew 27:6-8)

The religious leaders took the money they had paid to have Jesus killed, and they used it to buy
a graveyard. That is the plain event. And in that single act, without meaning to, they signed the
deed on the judgment of their own city.

Most readers pass over these verses as a sad footnote to the story of Judas, or as a small
oddity about a field with a grim name. Some stop only long enough to puzzle over why Matthew
seems to name the wrong prophet two verses later.

I want to make a different claim. This little field is a sign of the judgment that was coming on
Jerusalem, purchased with the rejected price of the Shepherd, and it points straight to the fall of
the city in AD 70. And it opens onto something larger still. The law itself declared that a land
soaked in innocent blood could be cleansed one way only, by judgment on the guilty. Not by
sacrifice. Not even by the cross. So the land was never on a path to glory. It was on a path to
judgment, and that judgment came.

I will take it in six steps. First the purchase itself. Then the price they paid. Then the prophet
Matthew names, and why. Then the blood that cries out from the ground, all the way from Abel
to the martyrs. Then the law in the Torah that explains why a land soaked in innocent blood had
only one possible future. And last, why that law means the land was cleansed by judgment and
not by the cross, and why that is good news and not grim.
It begins with what they thought they were doing.

THE PURCHASE

Judas had thrown the thirty pieces of silver back into the temple and gone out to hang himself.
The chief priests were left holding the coins, and they had a problem. Their own law would not
let them put this money into the treasury, because it was the price of blood. Matthew records
their words: “It is not lawful to put them into the treasury, since it is blood money” (Matthew
27:6).

So they held a meeting and reached a decision. They would use the blood money to buy a field,
and they would turn that field into a burial ground for strangers. Matthew tells us the result: “So
they took counsel and bought with them the potter’s field as a burial place for strangers”
(Matthew 27:7).

There is a bitter irony in it. Men who had just condemned the most innocent blood ever shed
were suddenly very careful about the letter of the law. They would not defile the treasury. Yet
they were content to buy a graveyard with the very price of that blood. They thought they were
disposing of a problem quietly and cleanly. They were doing something far larger than they
knew.

And the name stuck. “Therefore that field has been called the Field of Blood to this day”
(Matthew 27:8). The city itself remembered what that ground was bought with. Acts records the
same memory: the field “was called in their own language Akeldama, that is, Field of Blood”
(Acts 1:19). A field of blood, bought with the price of blood, made into a place of graves.

THE PRICE

The amount matters, because Scripture had already fixed its meaning long before Judas ever
counted it.

Thirty pieces of silver was the price of a slave. The law in Exodus set it plainly: “If the ox gores a
slave, male or female, the owner shall give to their master thirty shekels of silver, and the ox
shall be stoned” (Exodus 21:32). When a man’s animal killed someone’s slave, thirty shekels
covered the loss. That was the going rate for a dead servant.

So when the leaders weighed out thirty pieces for Jesus, they were not naming a great sum.
They were naming the price of a gored slave. That is what they judged the Son of God to be
worth.

The prophet Zechariah had already acted this out in advance. Speaking as the rejected
shepherd of Israel, he asked the people to set his wages, and they weighed out the insult: “And
they weighed out as my wages thirty pieces of silver” (Zechariah 11:12). Then the LORD told
him what to do with it. He was to throw it to the potter in the house of the LORD, calling it the
lordly price at which He had been valued by them (Zechariah 11:13). The word “lordly” there is
spoken with sorrow, not praise. This was the paltry sum they set on their own God.

Every piece of that prophecy came true in the temple. The exact amount. The silver thrown into
the house of the LORD. The potter. The money that ended up bound to a potter’s field. Matthew
is quoting Zechariah almost word for word.
Which brings us to a puzzle that has troubled readers for centuries.

THE NAME

When Matthew tells us this prophecy was fulfilled, he names the wrong prophet. Or so it seems.
Here is what he writes: “Then was fulfilled what had been spoken by the prophet Jeremiah,
saying, ‘And they took the thirty pieces of silver, the price of him on whom a price had been set
by some of the sons of Israel, and they gave them for the potter’s field, as the Lord directed me'”
(Matthew 27:9-10).

The words come from Zechariah. Search the whole book of Jeremiah and you will not find thirty
pieces of silver anywhere. So why does Matthew say Jeremiah?

This is not a slip, and it is not a small thing. Matthew was a careful Jewish writer who knew his
Scriptures well. When he names Jeremiah while quoting Zechariah, he is doing something
deliberate. He is reaching for the pictures that belong to Jeremiah, and he wants us to carry the
whole of Jeremiah’s message with us.

And what does Jeremiah own? The potter. The broken vessel. The valley of burial. The city
judged for innocent blood.

In Jeremiah 19, God sent the prophet to buy a clay flask from a potter and carry it out to the
Valley of Hinnom, the very valley where the Field of Blood would later sit. There God told him to
smash it in front of the elders and to speak these words: “Thus says the LORD of hosts: So will I
break this people and this city, as one breaks a potter’s vessel, so that it can never be mended.
Men shall bury in Topheth because there will be no place else to bury” (Jeremiah 19:11).

Set that beside the potter’s field. A potter. A city broken beyond mending. So many dead that
there is no room left to bury them. Jeremiah spoke it first over Jerusalem’s fall to Babylon.
Matthew reaches for Jeremiah’s name because that same broken-vessel judgment was about to
fall on the city again, this time in AD 70.

There is a pattern here that Matthew wants his reader to feel. When Jerusalem was drowning in
innocent blood in Jeremiah’s day, God did not overlook it. He brought a foreign army against the
city as His own instrument of judgment, and He even called the pagan king His servant for the
task. “Behold, I will send for all the tribes of the north, declares the LORD, and for
Nebuchadnezzar the king of Babylon, my servant, and I will bring them against this land”
(Jeremiah 25:9). Babylon was the rod in God’s hand. The city fell in 586 BC because innocent
blood had filled it and judgment had been declared. By reaching for Jeremiah’s name, Matthew
sets that whole history beside his own moment. The same Judge was watching the same city fill
again with innocent blood, the greatest measure of all in the death of the Son. And the same
kind of sentence was coming, carried this time by a new army. Babylon then, Rome now. The
prophet who announced the first judgment is the prophet Matthew names for the second.
Jeremiah had already named that valley a place of slaughter. He said they would “bury in
Topheth, because there is no room elsewhere” (Jeremiah 7:32). The leaders bought a burying
ground in the valley of slaughter, with the price of innocent blood, and Matthew tags the moment
with the name of the prophet who foretold exactly that. The name is not an error. It is a finger
pointing at the judgment coming on Jerusalem, the same sentence Jeremiah had watched fall
once before.

THE BLOOD THAT CRIES OUT

There is a deeper thread running under all of this. Innocent blood, in Scripture, has a voice. It
cries out from the ground, and it cries for justice. It began with the first murder. When Cain killed his brother, God said to him: “What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood is crying to me from the ground” (Genesis 4:10). Abel was dead, yet his blood was not silent. It called out to God from the very soil that had soaked it up.

That cry never stopped. It became one of the longest threads in the whole Bible, the blood of
the righteous crying out and waiting for God to answer.

By the time we reach Revelation, that same cry has gathered into one voice under the altar.
John sees the souls of the martyrs, those killed for the word of God, and he hears them: “They
cried out with a loud voice, ‘O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before you will judge and
avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?'” (Revelation 6:9-10). It is Abel’s question,
now on the lips of many. How long until You act?

Jesus Himself had already answered that question, and He answered it with a time. Standing in
the temple, He charged the whole history of righteous blood to the generation in front of Him. He
traced it back to the very first murder: “so that on you may come all the righteous blood shed on
earth, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah the son of Barachiah, whom
you murdered between the sanctuary and the altar” (Matthew 23:35). He begins where Genesis
begins, with Abel. And then He fixed the time: “Truly, I say to you, all these things will come
upon this generation” (Matthew 23:36).

This is the hinge of the whole matter. The vengeance the martyrs ask for in Revelation is the
same vengeance Jesus had already dated to His own generation. Not some far-off century. This
generation. The people standing in the temple courts.

Jesus had also named the city. He said plainly that “it cannot be that a prophet should perish
away from Jerusalem” (Luke 13:33), and He wept over her as “the city that kills the prophets
and stones those who are sent to it” (Matthew 23:37). If Jerusalem is the city that kills the
prophets, then Jerusalem is the city where the blood of the prophets is charged.

Revelation seals it. All that blood was found in one city: “And in her was found the blood of
prophets and of saints, and of all who have been slain on earth” (Revelation 18:24). All of it,
from Abel forward, charged to a single city. And Revelation tells us which city it is: “the great city
that symbolically is called Sodom and Egypt, where their Lord was crucified” (Revelation 11:8).
There is only one city where the Lord was crucified. It is old Jerusalem, and it was judged in AD
70.

So the martyrs cried “how long,” and Jesus had already answered from the temple steps. Not
someday. This generation. The full account of innocent blood, running all the way back to Abel,
came due on the one city that shed the blood of the Son.

THE LAW OF THE DEFILED LAND

Now the potter’s field and the crying blood come together, and they come together in the law
itself. There is a statute in the Torah that explains why a land soaked in innocent blood cannot
simply move on. It is not a poem, and it is not a feeling. It is case law, given by God to Israel.
Here is the statute in full: “You shall not pollute the land in which you live, for blood pollutes the
land, and no atonement can be made for the land for the blood that is shed in it, except by the
blood of the one who shed it. You shall not defile the land in which you live, in the midst of which
I dwell, for I the LORD dwell in the midst of the people of Israel” (Numbers 35:33-34).
Each line of that law carries its own weight.

First, innocent blood pollutes the land. The idea is concrete, not symbolic. Shed blood defiles
the ground it falls on, like a stain the soil drinks in. The land itself becomes unclean.
Second, that defilement cannot be cleansed by sacrifice. The law is exact: “no atonement can
be made for the land.” The ordinary remedies are closed. No offering, no ritual, no ceremony
can wash this out.
Third, there is one and only one thing that cleanses a land defiled by innocent blood. It is the
blood of the one who shed it. Justice on the guilty is the sole remedy. The debt is paid in no
other coin.
Fourth, the reason for all of this is that God dwelt in that land under the old covenant. “I the
LORD dwell in the midst of the people of Israel.” His presence among them was exactly why the
defilement could not be ignored. The holiness of the place did not soften the demand. It
sharpened it. A land where God had set His name could not hold innocent blood in its soil and
remain at peace.

Set that statute over the history of that generation. They shed the most innocent blood that was
ever spilled, the blood of the Son of God Himself. By the plain terms of their own law, that blood
defiled the land. By the plain terms of their own law, no sacrifice could cleanse it. By the plain
terms of their own law, only one thing could answer for it, and that was judgment on those who
shed it.

This is why the land was not on a path to glory. It was on a path to judgment. And the little Field
of Blood is that same law in miniature. Innocent blood bought it. Innocent blood cried over it.
And the statute says such ground has only one future.

I want to be careful with this point. Moses did not have any modern system in view when he
wrote this law, and I am not claiming that he did. I am simply following the statute where it
plainly leads. But once it is followed, it lands with force against a very common way of reading
the land today.

Many teach that the physical land was, and still is, the permanent object of God’s favor, a
possession to be prized, protected, and restored. Yet the Torah’s own murder statute says the
opposite about a land filled with innocent blood. The very thing that is appealed to, the holiness
the land once carried because God had set His name there under the old covenant, is the
reason the defilement demanded a reckoning. On the terms of the law itself, a land that had
shed the blood of the Son was not to be praised. It was to be judged.

And His presence did not stay. The judgment of AD 70 was the removal of that whole old order,
temple and all. God does not dwell in a plot of ground now. He dwells in His people, the true and
living temple in Christ. The land is not holy ground today, and the reason is the plainest one of
all. He left it.

There is a second edge worth naming. It is common to hold up the blessing side of the covenant
while quietly setting aside the curse side. But this statute is not even the blessing chapter or the
curse chapter. It is the blood-guilt law. On its own terms, in its own words, it says a land this
defiled has exactly one path to cleansing, and it is not a treaty and not a rebuilt temple. It is the
blood of the guilty.

There is even a single verse that ties the whole thread together, the crying blood and the defiled
land in one breath. In the Song of Moses, God promises to answer the blood of His servants
and to cleanse the land in the very same motion: “for he avenges the blood of his children and
takes vengeance on his adversaries. He repays those who hate him and cleanses his people’s
land” (Deuteronomy 32:43). Some translations render that last line “and makes atonement for
his land and people.” But hold the word “cleanses” to what Numbers 35 already defined. The
only thing that cleanses a blood-defiled land is the blood of the guilty. So this cleansing is not a
restoration, and it is not a pardon. It is a sentence carried out. The land is cleansed the way a
debt is cleared, by the judgment falling where it was owed. That is precisely what happened to
Jerusalem in AD 70. The old order that had shed the blood was brought to its end, and the
account was closed by judgment, not by favor.

CLEANSED BY JUDGMENT, NOT BY THE CROSS

There is a claim buried in this law that sounds startling until it is stated with care. The cross did
not cleanse the land. Only judgment could do that.
That sentence has to be guarded on both sides, because it is easy to hear it wrong.

Here is what it does not mean. It does not mean the blood of Christ was too weak to cover the
sin of shedding innocent blood. It was not too weak. The cross atones fully and freely for every
person who comes to Christ, and that includes the very people charged with His death. On the
day of Pentecost, Peter stood in front of a crowd in Jerusalem and told them plainly that this
Jesus was “delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God,” and that
“you crucified and killed” Him “by the hands of lawless men” (Acts 2:23). Then he held out full
forgiveness to them anyway. About three thousand of them repented, believed, and were
baptized that very day (Acts 2:41). People whom Peter charged with the Lord’s death were
washed clean the moment they came under His blood. So no one may say the cross could not
atone for that sin. It could, and it did, for everyone who turned to Him.

Here is what it does mean. The cleansing of a person and the cleansing of the land are two
different questions, and the law answered them in two different ways. A person is cleansed by
coming under the blood of Christ in faith. But the land, the defiled ground itself, had only one
appointed remedy under the Torah, and that remedy was not sacrifice. Numbers 35:33 had
already shut that door with its own words: “no atonement can be made for the land for the blood
that is shed in it, except by the blood of the one who shed it.” The land is cleansed by the blood
of the guilty party. That is the single remedy the law named.

So the covenant nation stood at a fork with only two roads, and there was no third.

The first road was open to anyone. Repent, come to Christ, and your own blood-guilt is washed
away in His blood. Thousands walked that road, beginning at Pentecost.

The second road was for the house that refused the first. The old covenant nation, in its official
leadership, did not come under that blood. It hardened, and it went on shedding the blood of the
messengers Christ sent after Him, exactly as He said it would. He told them, “some of them you
will kill and crucify, and some you will flog in your synagogues and persecute from town to town”
(Matthew 23:34). For that unrepentant house, the law left only the other remedy. The blood of
the guilty, answering for the blood they had shed.

This is exactly what Jesus said would happen. He did not speak of it vaguely. First He named
who they were, sons of the men who killed the prophets: “Thus you witness against yourselves
that you are sons of those who murdered the prophets” (Matthew 23:31). Then He told them to
finish what their fathers had started: “Fill up, then, the measure of your fathers” (Matthew 23:32).
He said that all the righteous blood, from Abel forward, would “come upon this generation”
(Matthew 23:35-36). And then He pronounced the sentence over the house itself: “See, your
house is left to you desolate” (Matthew 23:38).

He had drawn the whole thing as a story once before. A landowner planted a vineyard and sent
servant after servant to gather its fruit, and the tenants beat them and killed them. “Finally he
sent his son to them, saying, They will respect my son” (Matthew 21:37). They killed the son
too, to seize his inheritance. Then Jesus asked what the owner would do to those tenants, and
the answer that came back was that he would “put those wretches to a miserable death” and
hand the vineyard to others (Matthew 21:41). The servants were the prophets. The son sent last
was Christ. The miserable death of the tenants was AD 70. He had already told them, in a story,
exactly how it would end.

So the land was not cleansed by the cross. The land was cleansed by the judgment of AD 70.
The blood of the guilty answered for the innocent blood they had shed, and the defiled ground
was cleared the only way the Torah ever allowed.

There is one more layer, and it is the deepest of all. On the cross, Jesus did not stand outside
that long river of innocent blood. He stepped down into it. He became the greatest of all the
murdered righteous, the true and final Abel, killed by the same generation that had killed the
prophets before Him. Yet His blood does not cry for vengeance the way Abel’s did. Scripture
says it “speaks a better word than the blood of Abel” (Hebrews 12:24). So the innocent blood
the nation shed became the one fountain that could wash away the guilt of shedding it, for
everyone who would come and plead it. Mercy was held out in the very blood they spilled.
Judgment fell only on the house that would not take the mercy.

ANSWERING THE OBJECTION

The most common reply to all of this is that the reckoning must still be future. The blood of the
martyrs, it is said, has not yet been fully avenged, so the day of vengeance must lie ahead of us
and not behind. And the land, it is said, still waits for its promised glory.
Both objections run into the same wall, and the wall is a single sentence from the mouth of
Jesus.

He said the blood, all of it, from Abel forward, would come upon “this generation” (Matthew
23:36). He did not say a distant generation. He did not say the final generation of world history.
He said this one, the generation standing in front of Him. If words mean anything at all, the
reckoning He described fell within the lifetime of His hearers. History records exactly such a
reckoning when Rome destroyed Jerusalem and the temple in AD 70.

To push that vengeance into our own future, a person has to take the words Jesus used, “this
generation,” and make them mean something He plainly did not say. That is not following the
text. That is overruling it.

The land objection collapses at the same point. The Torah’s own statute gave a defiled land one
path to cleansing, and that was judgment on the guilty. Jesus dated that judgment to His own
generation. So the land did not receive glory in AD 70. It received the very thing the law
required. The account was settled, exactly on time, and exactly as it was written.

And here is the part that should give the objector the longest pause. Grant the claim for the sake
of argument. Suppose the reckoning for innocent blood really were still ahead of us. Even then,
the law would not point where they think it points. A land that still owes a debt of innocent blood
is not a land awaiting glory. By the statute’s own terms, it is a land awaiting judgment. So if the
debt were still open, the thing Scripture would have us watching for is not a bloodstained land
restored and crowned. It is a bloodstained land brought to account. The law makes no provision
anywhere for a land soaked in innocent blood to be handed back its glory with the debt unpaid.
It provides one remedy only, the judgment of the guilty. So even on the objector’s own timeline,
the law points to a reckoning on that land, never to a restoration of it. A blood-soaked land does
not become holy ground again by treaty or by the turning of a calendar. Under the law, it has
one road to cleansing, and that road runs through judgment.

THE BLOOD THAT SPEAKS A BETTER WORD

So we are left with a field of blood, a crying voice from the ground, and a law that demanded a
reckoning. If the story ended there, it would end in dread. But for everyone who is in Christ, it
does not end there. It ends in freedom.

The whole account of innocent blood, from Abel to the martyrs, cried out for vengeance and
received it. That debt is paid. It is behind us, not ahead of us. The believer does not live under
the shadow of an unpaid reckoning, waiting and afraid.

And there is one more blood that speaks, and it does not cry for vengeance at all. The writer of
Hebrews sets the two side by side. He says we have come “to Jesus, the mediator of a new
covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel” (Hebrews
12:24). Abel’s blood cried out for justice against the guilty. The blood of Jesus speaks a better
word. It does not cry for our condemnation. It speaks pardon. It speaks peace. It speaks
welcome.

That is the joy hidden in this grim little field. The leaders took the price of the Shepherd and
bought a graveyard, and they thought they were burying a problem. In truth the price of that
same Shepherd, His own blood, was buying life for all who would come to Him. The blood that
once cried from the ground has been answered. The blood of Christ now speaks a better word
over everyone who trusts Him.

The reckoning is finished. The fear is lifted. Hallelujah.