We Too, Amazed
Read Mark 15:21-32.
In yesterday's reading, Pilate was amazed. Now it's our turn.
Mark gives us only the barest of descriptions, as (we have hopefully learned) is typical of Mark. "And they crucified him" (15:24). Everyone who read those words originally would have known the horror of crucifixion; there was no need to go into detail. Unlike the practice of our current culture, Mark feels no need to give all the gruesome details. Simple. To the point. Horrific. "They crucified him."
This man we've seen heal lepers and give sight to the blind. This man who spoke words of peace and healing. This man who called fishermen to follow and told storms to fade. They took this man...
...and they crucified him.
The two on either side were rebels. They were the normal sort that Rome crucified, as an example. They wanted people to see such punishment and realize, "This is what happens to people to defy Rome." They wanted parents to whisper to their children, "Don't do wrong, or this could happen to you." But what did parents say to their children about the man in the middle? He had done no wrong. He had actively helped people. He had told funny stories and welcomed children on his knee. Yet they took him...
...and they crucified him, too.
The crowds taunt. The rebels ridicule. The body twists and turns, trying to catch a breath. The nails wound. The words cut deeply. The placard above his head both tells the truth and lies. The soldiers gamble. His followers weep. The priests and religious leaders miss it.
And what about us? What do we do as we stand at the foot of this cross in the middle? Point? Offer platitudes? Shake our heads and say, "He went too far"? Do we hide in the shadows or stand in the sunlight? Do we brush away the flies and walk on? Do we dare look too long?
Maybe the best response—the only necessary response—is to stand at the foot of the cross and respond to this dying man the same way Pilate responded when he was in the palace.
We, too, should stand amazed.
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| Skull Hill at the Garden Tomb, 2012 |
In yesterday's reading, Pilate was amazed. Now it's our turn.
Mark gives us only the barest of descriptions, as (we have hopefully learned) is typical of Mark. "And they crucified him" (15:24). Everyone who read those words originally would have known the horror of crucifixion; there was no need to go into detail. Unlike the practice of our current culture, Mark feels no need to give all the gruesome details. Simple. To the point. Horrific. "They crucified him."
This man we've seen heal lepers and give sight to the blind. This man who spoke words of peace and healing. This man who called fishermen to follow and told storms to fade. They took this man...
...and they crucified him.
The two on either side were rebels. They were the normal sort that Rome crucified, as an example. They wanted people to see such punishment and realize, "This is what happens to people to defy Rome." They wanted parents to whisper to their children, "Don't do wrong, or this could happen to you." But what did parents say to their children about the man in the middle? He had done no wrong. He had actively helped people. He had told funny stories and welcomed children on his knee. Yet they took him...
...and they crucified him, too.
The crowds taunt. The rebels ridicule. The body twists and turns, trying to catch a breath. The nails wound. The words cut deeply. The placard above his head both tells the truth and lies. The soldiers gamble. His followers weep. The priests and religious leaders miss it.
And what about us? What do we do as we stand at the foot of this cross in the middle? Point? Offer platitudes? Shake our heads and say, "He went too far"? Do we hide in the shadows or stand in the sunlight? Do we brush away the flies and walk on? Do we dare look too long?
Maybe the best response—the only necessary response—is to stand at the foot of the cross and respond to this dying man the same way Pilate responded when he was in the palace.
We, too, should stand amazed.
It is awe inspiring to think of all He went through and, yet, He was quiet until it was time to take care of business on the cross.
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