The men who were guarding Jesus began mocking and beating him. They blindfolded him and demanded, “Prophesy! Who hit you!” And they said many other insulting things to him.
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Arrested in the garden, amid swords and clubs and blazing torches, Jesus declared to his captors, “This is your hour – when darkness reigns” (verse 53).
The succeeding events proved him right. Taking all four Gospels together, we watch as Jesus is led from one jarring encounter to another. Illegally, he’s interrogated in the middle of the night before both Annas (the former High Priest, deposed by the Romans) and Caiaphas (his son-in-law, the current occupant of the office). At daybreak he’s pressed into a hurried legal trial convened before the whole ruling council, at which he’s attacked, falsely accused, and condemned. He’s rushed off to Pilate, then on to Herod, then back to Pilate once more. The crowds, stirred up by the religious leaders, cry out mercilessly for his execution. Their voices escalate. Tensions rise. Pilate is squeezed. Sentence is pronounced.
Such high-pressure scenes are front and centre as we experience our Lord progressing to the cross. But in the back hallways, as it were, between these hostility-charged public moments, we read these three short verses inserted into the narrative by Luke.
As Jesus awaits the next scenes of his trial, those guarding him give him no rest. They begin to mock him, captive that he is. Like school-yard bullies they press their advantage, with words and with fists, demeaning, slapping, striking, beating. Blindfolded, he is commanded to prove his status by correctly prophesying which of his tormentors hit him. They strike him again and again. They pour out contempt. They spit in his face (Matthew 26:67). Their mocking unbelief stamps their seal of rejection on all that Jesus has previously said and done.
Later, the Roman soldiers will engage in their own sadistic sport with Jesus, stripping him down, clothing him in mock purple, pressing a crown of thorns onto his brow, laughing, striking, and spitting (Matthew 27:27-31, Mark 15:16-20). But here, in this brief scene in Luke’s Gospel, it is Jesus’ own people – fellow Jews, officers of the temple guard – who are on the attack.
Isaiah prophesied it in advance, putting these words into the mouth of “the Servant,” anticipating Jesus’ experience: “I offered my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who pulled out my beard; I did not hide my face from mocking and spitting” (Isaiah 50:6). The Apostle John’s comment is proved right: “He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him" (John 1:11). And later, the author of Hebrews, encapsulating it all within the suffering of the cross, would write: “for the joy set before him (he) endured the cross, scorning its shame … (enduring) such opposition from sinful men” (Hebrews 12:2-3).
Truly he was “a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering” (Isaiah 53:3). Blow after blow fell upon him. Yet he set his “face like flint”(Isaiah 50:7), pressing through the petty mockery and cruel pain. He could have brought it to an end. But he didn’t.
He endured for us.
Man of sorrows, what a name,
for the Son of God who came –
ruined sinners to reclaim.
Hallelujah, what a Saviour!
Praise his name.
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Lord Jesus, you endured such hostility from sinful humanity against yourself. It was for us. It was for me. Thank you. Praise you.
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Reflect:
It was for you. His suffering traces out the dimensions of his love – for you. Pause to reflect on the length and breadth and height and depth. Give him thanks.
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Photo by Mads Schmidt Rasmussen on Unsplash
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