The King on a Cross
Jesus, mocked as king, crowned with thorns, and crucified in weakness, endures to the end—refusing to save himself so that by his wounds the world might be healed.
Mark 15:16 The soldiers led Jesus away into the palace (that is, the Praetorium) and called together the whole company of soldiers. 17 They put a purple robe on him, then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on him. 18 And they began to call out to him, “Hail, king of the Jews!” 19 Again and again they struck him on the head with a staff and spit on him. Falling on their knees, they paid homage to him. 20 And when they had mocked him, they took off the purple robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him out to crucify him.
After the flogging, the soldiers drag Jesus into their barracks. They call the whole cohort together—not because he’s dangerous but because they want to make a show out of him. What unfolds is a parody of a royal coronation. A blood-soaked purple robe is draped across his shredded back. A crown, not of gold but of thorns, is pressed into his skull. They bow before him, mocking the King of the Jews, spitting on him, and striking him. It is cruelty of the highest order, but woven into their derision is truth. This is his coronation—he is King, and his throne will be a cross.
And here’s the reality: at any moment he could have ended it. A single word from his mouth would have leveled the soldiers, silenced the laughter, and unleashed angel armies. Yet he doesn’t. He refuses the path of power, walking all the way down as the suffering servant.
21 A certain man from Cyrene, Simon, the father of Alexander and Rufus, was passing by on his way in from the country, and they forced him to carry the cross. 22 They brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha (which means “the place of the skull”). 23 Then they offered him wine mixed with myrrh, but he did not take it. 24 And they crucified him. Dividing up his clothes, they cast lots to see what each would get.
25 It was nine in the morning when they crucified him. 26 The written notice of the charge against him read: the king of the jews.
27 They crucified two rebels with him, one on his right and one on his left.
When the cross is placed on his shoulders, he carries it as far as he can. When his body collapses under the weight, God provides another—Simon of Cyrene—to carry it the rest of the way. At Golgotha, the Place of the Skull, Jesus is stripped, nailed, and lifted up. His last possessions are gambled away, and a mocking sign declares the irony of the moment: The King of the Jews. James and John had once asked to sit at his right and left when he came into his glory; now, flanking him are not disciples but condemned criminals. His glory is revealed in humiliation.
29 Those who passed by hurled insults at him, shaking their heads and saying, “So! You who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, 30 come down from the cross and save yourself!” 31 In the same way the chief priests and the teachers of the law mocked him among themselves. “He saved others,” they said, “but he can’t save himself! 32 Let this Messiah, this king of Israel, come down now from the cross, that we may see and believe.” Those crucified with him also heaped insults on him.
The mockery swells. Passersby jeer that if he really had power, he should climb down and save himself. The religious leaders echo the taunts: “He saved others, but he can’t save himself!” They think they’ve scored a point, but they miss the upside-down truth. He cannot save himself because he is saving others. His refusal to come down is not weakness—it is love.
33 At noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. 34 And at three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”).
35 When some of those standing near heard this, they said, “Listen, he’s calling Elijah.”
36 Someone ran, filled a sponge with wine vinegar, put it on a staff, and offered it to Jesus to drink. “Now leave him alone. Let’s see if Elijah comes to take him down,” he said.
At noon, the sky itself groans in grief. Darkness swallows the light for three long hours. Creation mourns its Creator. And then, near the end, Jesus summons what breath he has left and cries out: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” It is a raw lament and yet also a prayer. He is quoting the first line of Psalm 22, a psalm that begins in despair but ends in trust and victory. Even in abandonment, even in the silence of heaven, Jesus clings to his Father.
37 With a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last.
Then, after a final cry and one last breath, it is finished. The suffering servant has completed his work. The lamb of God has been slain. Isaiah’s 53rd chapter is no longer abstract poetry but brutal reality:
“He was pierced for our transgressions,
crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed.”
Reflection Question
How does the cross challenge your assumptions about what real power looks like?
