Sixth Station: Jesus scourged and crowned with thorns

They put a purple robe on Jesus, made a crown out of thorny branches, and put it on his head. Then they began to salute him: ‘Long live the King of the Jews!’ They beat him over the head with a stick, spat on him, fell on their knees, and bowed down to him. [GNB Mark 15.17-19]

In the Anglo-Saxon poem The Dream of the Rood, the poet has a vision of a glorious and bejewelled cross, presumably on the altar of a wealthy church. As the dream goes on, he sees through the gold and jewels to the blood-stained wood beneath, whereupon the cross itself begins to tell its own story.

It is much the same with the account of Jesus’ scourging. How is it that we have turned instruments of torture into works of art? A brief search of internet images will bring up elegant, neatly-woven and sometimes flowering crowns of thorn, so far from the reality of the passion of Christ as to be almost meaningless.

This is not to despise the place of art in the Christian tradition: the early church did not use art for its own sake but as a means to an end, as a window into heaven, a doorway to worship. As we spend at least part of this day today remembering and giving thanks for Jesus’ sacrificial death for us – it is after all Good Friday – it will be important for us to recall the cost of what Christ did. And as human beings, we understand best of all the cost of physical pain.

Consider for a moment your reaction to pain, however small that experience may have been. It’s likely to have been a reaction of anger and frustration, a sense of being cut off from the world and disabled from really living and being productive. Now consider Jesus’ reaction, exactly the same in human terms, coupled with a deep sense of abandonment by his heavenly Father.

And here, even as he was scourged and whipped and brutally scratched with thorns, he had to face the third and profoundest reality of all: that he was being cut off from the land of the living in order for his brothers and sisters, so scarred by sin, to find a life-giving, hopeful and eternal way of living in that land. ‘Father, I will pour myself out for them.’ It’s entirely beyond comprehension. But as I wish you a blessed and holy Good Friday, my prayer is that you will be filled with joy that the one who alone could do this for you did it. Because he died, we live.

Lord Jesus, you faced the torment of barbaric punishment and mocking tongue:

be with those who cry out in physical agony and emotional distress.

You endured unbearable abuse:

be with those who face torture and mockery in our world today.

To you, Jesus, the King crowned with thorns,

be honour and glory with the Father and the Holy Spirit,

now and for ever.

Fifth Station: Jesus judged by Pilate

But what crime has he committed? Pilate asked. They shouted all the louder, ‘Crucify him!’ Pilate wanted to please the crowd, so he set Barabbas free for them. Then he had Jesus whipped and handed him over to be crucified. [GNB Mark 15.14-15]

All in a day’s work for Pilate, it was. Not the crowd-pleasing, but walking the political tightrope of excessive control and social disorder. I’m writing this on a day when the BBC Breakfast News is discussing whether schools in this country are agents of social engineering or simply of good, old-fashioned learning, whatever that is.

Pilate was certainly afraid of riot, and so are we. And, fearing it, we want to explain it, police it, punish it, restore order for those of us who consider ourselves decent citizens. As if our citizenship stood separate from the social construction in which we all live.

In Jesus’ case, he’s the pawn of a social construct which sweeps all before it, the Pax Romana, the much vaunted reason for the Roman Empire, its peace and order and well-oiled military and economic machinery. What does one person count in that setting? Not much at all, especially if he’s a Palestinian around whom there always seems to be the whiff of trouble. Who can blame Pilate for that?

Yet we are offended that Jesus became a pawn of the games of others, and so we should be. We must always be offended when systems are privileged over people, outcomes over values, expediency over love. And as we are offended, perhaps we need to be reminded that it’s all too easy for us, in the little worlds that we inhabit, to make everything fit our systems, our expediency, our outcomes. Those things that make life comfortable or maybe just bearable, need to be set aside for the sake of the ‘other’, the one who doesn’t count. We who inhabit the Kingdom of God need to learn to live in it especially when it becomes uncomfortable, and when we are tempted back into the simpler, broader path of worldly comfort.

Lord Jesus, you were condemned to death for political expediency:

be with those who are imprisoned for the convenience of the powerful.

You were the victim of unbridled injustice:

change the minds and motivations of oppressors and exploiters to your way of peace.

To you, Jesus, innocent though condemned,

be honour and glory with the Father and the Holy Spirit,

now and for ever.

Fourth Station: Peter denies Jesus

Just then a rooster crowed a second time, and Peter remembered how Jesus had said to him, ‘Before the rooster crows two times, you will say three times that you do not know me.’ And he broke down and cried. [GNB Mark 14.72]

One verse says so much. One moment of panic changed Peter’s life; one slip, which actually made no difference to Jesus’ journey towards Calvary, though it made it an even lonelier journey.

Imagine your sins being written into the narrative of God’s redeeming work with humanity. We could let our imaginations run riot over Peter’s thoughts now: a wry smile perhaps, or we hope that he’s so taken up with looking at the glory of God that all that’s past?

However, it’s better to look at our response to shame, our sense of letting ourselves down, which is where this episode left Peter. He’s the rock on which the church is to be built. Certainly in one major tradition of the scripture material, he’s the first apostle, but he’s a fractured vessel, a cracked pot, a blunt instrument for the work of God. In essence, he’s St Punctured Pride Peter. And so are we.

We spend quite a lot of our time thinking of ourselves as fundamentally OK folks, glad to be blessed by the grace of God. And then the momentary lapse which cannot be called back. The words are out in the public domain, and the relationship will never be the same again. At the point of our shame, we know ourselves as we actually are before God, naked, empty, lost, the shame of Adam and Eve is our shame.

Extraordinarily, this point, when Peter weeps, when we lament our lost innocence (an innocence we never had) is the point at which God really begins to do business with us. We discover grace: love that does not measure us by our actions; the gift of reconciliation though we don’t deserve it. And in our tears, as we watch Jesus watching us, we find a new and more honest way to live, the way of the redeemed sinner, ever indebted, ever grateful, never doubtful of God, because it does not depend any more on anyone’s opinion of our actions, not even ours.

Lord Jesus, as Peter betrayed you,

you experienced the double agony of love rejected and friendship denied:

be with those who know no friends and are rejected by society.

You understood the fear within Peter:

help us to understand the anxieties of those who fear for their future.

To you, Jesus, who gazed with sadness at your lost friend,

be honour and glory with the Father and the Holy Spirit,

now and for ever.

Following Jesus through the stations of the cross

Over Holy Week, we are going to post short reflections on each of the biblical Stations of the Cross, with prayers that you might like to use. Do join us on this journey.

1^st Station: Jesus in agony in the Garden of Gethsemane

They went to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, ‘Sit here while I pray.’ He took with him Peter and James and John, and began to be distressed and agitated. And he said to them, ‘I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.’ And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He said, ‘Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.’

Mark’s account of the garden prayers is the more shocking, because it comes immediately after Peter’s protestation that he will never forsake Jesus: he said vehemently, ‘Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.’ And then he falls asleep. Peter, the master of the grand gesture, who so often, like me, seems to miss the small detail of discipleship: just sit here while I pray, says Jesus. Remain here. Not too tall a talk. Keep awake.

The small things in our following Jesus are the most symptomatic of the health of our spiritual life, and the details determine the trajectory of our journey of faith. It’s worth the mathematically-minded among you remembering that one degree of movement to the left or right takes us hundreds of miles off course. No wonder Jesus spoke about a narrow path leading to eternal life, lest we lose our way.

Now let’s look briefly at the components of Jesus’ prayer at the beginning of the crisis of his last days:

1.      He names God intimately, confidently, as one in relationship with him. We too can speak the language of Jesus in prayer.

2.      He tells the truth about God: for you all things are possible. This is what praise is: not flattery, not exaggeration. Just the simple truth, and it’s a perfect model for our praise.

3.      He makes a request, and then – almost as quickly – withdraws it. Well, not quite. He is honest with God, doesn’t beat about the bushes: remove this cup. At the same time, however, he speaks with courtesy to the one who know best, and whose will must be done for the sake of the world’s salvation.

And here too we learn from Jesus, to be bold, to be honest, but to be willing for it all to happen another way. Just stay awake long enough to pray this prayer, with its three simple components: My God, you are great. Help me, and help me your way...

Lord Jesus, you entered the garden of fear, and faced the agony of your impending death:

be with those who share that agony nd face death unwillingly this day.

You shared our fear and knew the weakness of our humanity:

give strength and hope to the dispirited and despairing.

To you, Jesus, who sweated blood, be honour and glory with the Father and the Holy Spirit,

now and forever. Amen.

Prayer (c) Archbishops' Council 2012 from Times and Seasons page 239