Crowning of Thorns
Contemplate
this new ignominy and suffering of our dear Lord. Approach Him as
He is seated on a stone bench. An old scarlet cloak has been thrown
over His shoulders.......
Wonder that human hearts could be so hard, as not to be satisfied with
the state to which the scourging has brought Him. They can see
that every movement is torture, but no pity is awakened in their hearts.
They are determined to make sport for themselves by dressing Him up as
a king, and doing Him mock-homage. See our dear Jesus as they roughly
drag off His garments, which not even His Mother could have removed without
causing Him intense torture. An old rag around His shoulders, by
way of royal mantle, a reed in His hand, for a scepter-- a crown alone
is wanting. They bring a branch of briar, bristling with sharp points
within and without. They put it on His head and beat it down with
the reed. Oh, mark the agony of Jesus as the thorns are driven into
the eyes, temples, and nerves! See the rush of tears caused by the
intolerable pain! The blood trickles through His hair, disfigures
His face, fills and blinds His eyes...
...Now the mockery begins: See them, as they draw a line and pass
before Him, bowing the knee in derision and saluting Him; "Hail, King of
the Jews!" One takes the reed from His hand and strikes His head,
others pull at His beard and buffet Him. Jesus makes no resistance;
there is no sign of indignation. He does not turn away His face when
they spit upon Him. When they want the reed to strike His head He
gives it, and takes it into His trembling hands when they return it to
Him. Jesus endures beyond the limit of endurance-- supported
by His Divinity-- torture that would have killed the strongest man.
"Spitting upon Him" --This indignity was not only foreseen by the prophet,
but was one of the few pains of the Passion foretold by Himself; "The Son
of Man shall be betrayed and delivered to the Gentiles, and shall be mocked,
and scourged, and spit upon, and put to death." The Blessed and Only
Mighty, The King of kings, and The Lord of lords! How then must He
feel the outrage He endures at the hands of His brutal creatures!
See the Angels surround Him in adoration and astonishment! How they
marvel at the predilection of God, and try to see what He sees in this
human race, that is now being redeemed in so wondrous a way, and at such
a tremendous cost!
See His Divine face, defiled with spittle, besmeared with blood, swollen
and bruised with blows-- a fearful sight to look upon. From this
intolerable pain, His half-closed eyes have all but lost the power of sight.
Dimly, through tears and blood, they discern the long line of mockers,
and the hand lifted to snatch the reed and beat the crown still deeper
into His head. THIS
for atonement for my vanity, my pride, my curiosity, my love of display and notice
of creatures. Consider Who He is that sits among those inhuman wretches
and upon Whom are such pain and contumely showered! Upon Christ,
the Living God, the God of gods, Who at this very moment wields His scepter
over myriads of radiant Angel hosts; they lie at His feet waiting for
a sign, and He sits there in pain and shame, in the power of a miserable
rabble, by whom He is overwhelmed with reproaches. He is the Messiah,
the long expected of the nation, and, behold! Thus His people treat
Him!
Lord
Jesus, Thou art and shall ever be my King. Yes, Lord; in what place
soever Thou shalt be, Lord, My King, either in life or in death, there
will Thy servant be. O Jesus, Savior! Grant me a heart capable
of loving Thee and following Thee closely. Make that possible to
me by grace, which seemeth impossible to me by nature. Lord, Thou
knowest that I want to love Thee with a strong love. Ah, dearest
Lord, here burn, here cut, here mortify all that is opposed to Thy Blessed
Will. Make me Thine at any cost. Mother, draw me close to thy
most pure heart and then give me to Jesus.
