Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged.
The soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on his head.
They clothed him in a purple robe and went up to him again and again, saying, “Hail, king of the Jews!” And they struck him in the face.
--John 19:1-3
I discovered Lake Isaac about a year ago. It's a pretty unimpressive lake, a "glacial pothole" that is now a wildlife sanctuary for ducks and other waterfowl. Last fall, Lake Isaac was where we chose to meet as a family and take some pretty darned amazing group shots. The reds and oranges of the oaks and maples were stunning!
I like it because right there, in the middle of the city, I can wander and make it all go away.
Of course, when "it" all goes away, that makes it likely God will show up.
The first time I went walking around Lake Isaac, I marveled at the plant life, the many, many different kinds of trees and bushes.
There were crazy vines that made their way from the forest floor all the way to the tiptop of some very tall trees.
Moss seemed right at home, all over, not just on the north side of the tree trunks.
Wild grass, unfazed by lawn mowers, took off and grew-- taller than me! (I am not that tall, but for grass-- well, to top five-feet-six-inches is pretty impressive.)
And then I came upon a hawthorn bush. They are called bushes, I think, because they don't have a distinct, thick trunk. But these grow as tall as many trees.
Their branches aren't thick like tree branches. No, they are almost more like a vine, spindly and twisted-- and covered with thorns.
I had never seen a hawthorn before. And it really drove home, for me, this element of Christ's crucifixion.
The thorns aren't that long, maybe 3/4" to just over an inch, but they hang out in clusters, poking all different directions. They seem to occur on the younger branches, the ones that are still pliant and flexible. Perfect for twisting into a crown.
And these puppies are sharp! Really sharp. Sharper than nails.
I broke one off to take with me and ended up bleeding. And it hurt!
And in that moment, I imagined how it would feel to have a crown, made of these thorny vines twisted together, not placed gently on my head, but shoved down by angry, power-filled soldiers, pushed down until my head was bleeding.
And then, because it was hot that day on the Place of the Skull, sweat would have trickled down and mixed with the blood, adding a special stinging to the pain of the thorns.
How could they? How could they?
This man, this Jesus was such a threat to everything the leaders held dear, they went to new lengths to inflict pain in many, many ways. The crown of thorns, mocking Jesus as King of the Jews, was just one way among many.
And he never said a mumbalin' word.
Good Lord, what can we say? Forgive us. We knew not what we had done. Amen.
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