is Israel’s Solomon; he shall reign from sea to sea, and from the river even to the ends of the earth. He was one of royal race. We have some called kings on earth, children of Nimrod; these are called kings, but they are not kings. They borrow their dignity from him who is King of kings and Lord of lords. But here was one of the true blood, one of the right royal race, who had lost his way, and was mingled with the common mob of men. What did they do? Did they bring crowns with which to honour him, and did the nobility of earth cast their robes beneath his feet to carpet his footsteps? See, what they do? He is delivered up to rough and brutal soldiery. They find for him a mimic throne, and having put him on it, they strip him of his own robes, and find some old soldier’s cloak of scarlet or of purple, and put it around his loins. They plait a crown of thorns, and put it upon his brow — a brow that was of old bedecked with stars, and then they fix in his hand — a hand that will not resent an insult, a sceptre of reed, and then bowing the knee, they pay their mimic homage before him, making him a May Day king. Now, perhaps there is nothing so heart rending as royalty despised. You have read the story of an English king, who was taken out by his cruel enemies to a ditch. They seated him on an anthill, telling him that was his throne, and then they washed his face in the filthiest puddle they could find; and the tears running down his cheeks, he said, “he should yet be washed in clean water”; though he was bitterly mistaken. But think of the King of kings and Lord of lords, having for his adoration the spittle of guilty mouths, for homage the smitings of filthy hands, for tribute the jests of brutal tongues! Was there ever shame like yours, oh King of kings, oh emperor of all worlds, flouted by the soldiery, and struck by their menial hands? Oh earth! how could you endure this iniquity? Oh you heavens! why did you not fall in very indignation to crush the men who thus blasphemed your Maker? Here was a shame indeed, — the king mocked by his own subjects.
15. He was a prophet, too, as we all know, and what did they do so that they might mock him as a prophet? Why they blindfolded him; shut out the light of heaven from his eyes, and then they struck him, and buffeted him with their hands, and they said, “Prophecy to us who it is that struck you.” The prophet must make a prophecy to those who taunted him to tell them who it was that struck him. We love prophets; it is only the nature of mankind, that if we believe in a prophet we should love him. We believe that Jesus was the first and the last of prophets; by him all others are sent; we bow before him with reverential adoration. We count it to be our highest honour to sit at his feet like Mary; we only wish that we might have the comfort to wash his feet with our tears, and wipe them with the hairs of our head; we feel that like John the Baptist, we are not worthy to untie his shoelace, and can we therefore bear the spectacle of Jesus the prophet, blindfolded and buffeted with insults and blows?
16. But they also mocked his priesthood; Jesus Christ had come into the world to be a priest to offer sacrifice, and his priesthood must be mocked too. All salvation lay in the hands of the priests, and now they say to him, “If you are the Christ save yourself and us.” Ah! he saved others, himself he could not save. But oh, what mystery of scorn is here, what unutterable depths of shame that the great High Priest of our profession, he who is himself the Paschal Lamb, the altar, the priest, the sacrifice, that he, the Son of God incarnate, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, should thus be despised, and thus be mocked.
17. He was mocked, still further, in his sufferings. I cannot venture to describe the sufferings of our Saviour under the lash of the scourge. St. Bernard, and many of the early fathers of the Church, give such a picture of Christ’s scourging, that I could not endure to repeat it again. Whether they had sufficient data for what they say, I do not know; but this much I know, — “he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities, the chastisement of our peace was upon him, and with his stripes we are healed.” I know it must have been a terrible scourging, to be called wounding, bruising, chastisement, and stripes; and, remember, that every time the lash fell on his shoulders, the laugh of him who used the lash was mingled with the stripe, and every time the blood poured out afresh, and the flesh was torn off his bones, there was a jest and a jeer, to make his pain yet more poignant and terrible. And when he came at last to his cross, and they nailed him upon it, how they continued the mockery of his sufferings! We are told that the high priests and the scribes stood, and at length sat and watched him there. When they saw his head fall upon his chest, they would, no doubt, make some bitter remark about it, and say, “Ah! he will never lift his head again among the multitude”; and when they saw his hands bleeding they would say, “Ha, ha, these were the hands that touched the lepers, and that raised the dead, they will never do this again”; and when they saw his feet, they would say, “Ah, those feet will never tread this land again, and journey on his pilgrimages of mercy”; and then some coarse, some villainous, some brutal, perhaps some beastly jest would be made concerning every part of his thrice adorable person. They mocked him, and, at last, he called for a drink, and they gave him vinegar — mocking his thirst, while they pretended to allay it.
18. But worst of all, I have one more thing to notice, they mocked his prayers. Did you ever read in all the annals of executions, or of murders, that any men ever mocked their fellow creatures prayers? I have read stories of some dastardly villains who have tried to kill their enemies, and seeing their death approaching the victims have said, “give me a moment or two for prayer” — and it has been very rare when this has was not allowed. But I never read of a case in which when the prayer was uttered it has been laughed at, and made the object of a jest. But here hangs the Saviour, and every word he speaks becomes the subject of a pun, the motto of a jest. And when at the last he utters the most thrilling death shriek that ever startled earth and hell, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani,” even then they must make pun of it, and say, “he calls for Elijah, let us see whether Elijah will come and take him down.” He was mocked even in his prayer! Oh Jesus! never was there a love like yours; never a patience that could be compared with your endurance when you endured the cross, despising the shame.
19. I feel that in thus describing the Saviour’s mockeries, I have not been able to set before you the fulness of the shame through which he passed, and shall have to attempt it yet, again, in another moment, when I come to describe his shameful death, taking the words which preceded the ones I have already enlarged upon. He endured the cross just as he despised the shame.
20. The cross! the cross! When you hear that word it wakens in your hearts no thoughts of shame. There are other forms of capital punishment in the present day far more disgraceful than the cross. Connected with the guillotine there is much of ignominy, with the block, as much, with the gallows, most of all. But, remember, that although to speak of the gallows is to utter a word of ignominy, yet there is nothing of shame in the term “gallows,” compared with the shame of the cross, as it was understood in the days of Christ. We are told that crucifixion was a punishment to which no one could be subject to except a slave, and, even then, the crime must have been of the most frightful character — such as the betrayal of a master, the plotting his death, or murdering him — only such offences would have brought crucifixion, even, upon a slave. It was looked upon as the most terrible and frightful of all punishments. All the deaths in the world are preferable to this; they have all some slight alleviating circumstance, either their rapidity or their glory. But this is the death of a villain, of a murderer, of an assassin, — a death painfully protracted, one which cannot be equalled in all the inventions of human cruelty, for suffering and ignominy. Christ himself endured this. The cross, I say, is in this day no theme of shame. It has been the crest of many a monarch, the banner of many a conqueror. To some it is an object of adoration. The finest engravings, the most wonderful paintings, have been dedicated to this subject. And now, the cross engraven on many a gem has become a right, royal, and noble thing. And we are unable to this day, I believe, fully to understand the shame of the cross; but the Jew knew it, the Roman knew it, and Christ knew what a frightful thing, what a shameful thing it was to be put to death by crucifixion.
21. Remember, too, that in the Saviour’s case, there were special aggravations of this shame. He had to carry his own cross; he was crucified, too, at the common place of execution, Calvary, which is analogous to our ancient Tyburn, or our
