Judgment Come

Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. The soldiers also twisted together a crown of thorns, put it on his head, and clothed him in a purple robe. And they kept coming up to him and saying, “Hail, king of the Jews!” and were slapping his face.

Pilate went outside again and said to them, “Look, I’m bringing him out to you to let you know I find no grounds for charging him.” Then Jesus came out wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said to them, “Here is the man!”

When the chief priests and the temple servants saw him, they shouted, “Crucify! Crucify!”

Pilate responded, “Take him and crucify him yourselves, since I find no grounds for charging him.”

“We have a law,” the Jews replied to him, “and according to that law he ought to die, because he made himself the Son of God.”

When Pilate heard this statement, he was more afraid than ever. He went back into the headquarters and asked Jesus, “Where are you from?” But Jesus did not give him an answer. So Pilate said to him, “Do you refuse to speak to me? Don’t you know that I have the authority to release you and the authority to crucify you?”

“You would have no authority over me at all,” Jesus answered him, “if it hadn’t been given you from above. This is why the one who handed me over to you has the greater sin.”

From that moment Pilate kept trying to release him. But the Jews shouted, “If you release this man, you are not Caesar’s friend. Anyone who makes himself a king opposes Caesar!”

When Pilate heard these words, he brought Jesus outside. He sat down on the judge’s seat in a place called the Stone Pavement (but in Aramaic, Gabbatha). It was the preparation day for the Passover, and it was about noon. Then he told the Jews, “Here is your king!”

They shouted, “Take him away! Take him away! Crucify him!”

Pilate said to them, “Should I crucify your king?”

“We have no king but Caesar!” the chief priests answered.

Then he handed him over to be crucified.

Then they took Jesus away. John 19:1-16 (CSB) 

What a distorted mockery. Remember just a few days ago when we witnessed Jesus’ triumphal entry? It was the image of God returning to Jerusalem and returning to his temple. What we clearly see now is that people did not recognize him, but rather they had a distorted image of who they believed God was, and what they wanted him to do. 

This is kind of the main thesis of John’s. He says so right at the beginning after he declares Jesus as the logos incarnate: 

The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was created through him, and yet the world did not recognize him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. But to all who did receive him, he gave them the right to be children of God, to those who believe in his name, who were born, not of natural descent, or of the will of the flesh, or of the will of man, but of God. John 1:9-13 (CSB) 

They not only don’t recognize him, but they cast a distorted image of him. The crown of thorns, and the cries to crucify him are reverberations of what we did to God in the garden. They are shadows of his true regal image, seen through the lens of men who would sooner take his place through regicide. He is even presented in mockery by the perceived powers of the world. God turned into a joke, worthy of debasement.  As if they have real power.

“We don’t need him!” 
“He’s not our God!” 
“We can be like him!” 
“He is no king!”

If you’ve never heard that rebellion within your own heart, then you’ve not fully internalized the reality of our condition. 

But John also gives us salvation. While most won’t, some will recognize him for who he is. And these, these ones who see beyond the shadow veiled before their eyes, are invited to be Children of God. They will be born anew by the living Spirit (John 3:3) that is available upon recognition. I heard recently in a sermon by Bp. Robert Barron that all it takes for God to forgive is the tiniest tear. The smallest shift of the eye. The subtlest pause. The conscience piques, and our throat closes as we jeer “crucify” from the crowd. 

Wait, we say.
What am I doing? Maybe it is not him. 

And, like a flood, the light pours in, like water gushing through a broken dyke. 

It is enough. 

Child, welcome, the Father speaks. 

And suddenly that crown of thorn glows brighter than all of the gold and emeralds of the earth, and the blood a deep hue, more royal than any dye. 

With broken wills, we separate from the crowd. Run, dash away anywhere. The pressure is intense. Overwhelming. 

And as Pilate pronounces his judgment, all else pauses, while Jesus remains silent. It’s as if there’s a whole other play being enacted before us, one in which Pilate is unaware of the strings that draw upon him. He speaks but no sound comes forward. As if in slow motion a separation, the crowd, Pilate, and the scene are but surreal shadows of the true drama. Not paying any attention to the kangaroo court before which he stands, Jesus, instead, turns his eyes and his heart to follow after you. For upon that dais he stands, not to defend himself, but as true victor and true King. Our eyes finally see.

Glory upon glory we fall, and weep as Peter wept. Salvation. 

The dark pall that covers the earth trembles in its final convulsions. Those whose eyes it continues to blind continue in their perverse reveries. But Jesus, with consequence, moves his gaze from you, to him who he came to destroy. Him whose lies besot humankind, enslaving it to himself. Who troubled the gentle rest of the garden. Who tickled the ears of our first father and our first mother with his silver tongue. 

Serpent. The King declares. Your time has come. For you, and your children. 

For judgment has come.