A Different Kind of King

The blisters were the least of his worries. Blood so thick, and hot it blurred his vision.  Salty on his lips.  He had experienced pain.  A mistaken throw of a hammer, shards of wood slicing through his fingertips.  A carpenter becomes accustomed to sweat, and blood, and tears.  This time though, the two by four was multiplied in weight.  This time he was carrying it to break something down, not build it up.  This time, he wouldn’t laugh in, celebrate, and share in the works of his labor.  This time, he wouldn’t be nailing the wood.

He was familiar with anguish.  With torment. But, the piercing at his temples by thorns sharpened like iron caused his head to swell. The dizziness set in.  The stabbing at his brow like sewing needles encircled the crown of his head. With what should have been jewels. But today there was no gold.

The laughing in the background caused a distraction, at least intermittently.  He remembered the faces. Sweaty, broken teeth, gluttonous faces.  The cheering so loud, he could not hear the wood scraping. And when he fell the crowds roared.

The weighty wood, and the heat of the day should have been enough, but others didn’t think so.  Children threw rocks like a game of fetch. Dust kicked in his mouth, parching any ounce of moisture that was available.  And he cried tears of let the little children come to me.

Wailing in the background overshadowed the cawing of the birds.  Many looked away. Women in the distance weeping and moaning, and falling on knees.

As they ascended Skull Hill, he held tightly to His Father.  Tightly to His plan.  Tighter to His heart. His clothes were stripped away and he was thrown, his head hitting the beam, thorns digging in deeper. The echo of the iron hammer meeting the nail was nothing compared to the breaking of flesh, and the scream that ensued.  And then the other.  And the other.

As the clock struck noon a courageous head was bowed in grace. It is finished rang through the walls of Jerusalem.  The crowd parted. Divided. Some went home.  Others bowed in prayer waiting.  Awaiting.

And today we reflect and meditate.  On a different kind of throne, with a different sort of crown, of an otherworldly king.  Who could have ended the deal before it even began.  Who had the option to run.  To quit.  To barter.  To negotiate.  But who instead chose to take our place.  To exchange death for life.  To pay the price. 

Our Jesus.

Then Jesus answered, I am not an earthly king.  If I were, my followers would have fought when I was arrested by the Jewish leaders.  But my kingdom is not of this world.

Pilate replied, "You are a king then?"

"You say that I am a king, and you are right," Jesus said.  "I was born for that purpose.  And I came to bring truth to the world."

~John 18:36-37~