Month: April 2022

The Coronation of the King

This post for Holy Week is taken from my ‘subversive commentary,’ The Challenger: Faith, Love, and Resistance in the Gospel of Mark. 

The soldiers led Jesus into the palace courtyard, which is the Praetorium, and they called together the entire cohort.  They clothed him in a purple robe, and twisted together a crown of thorns, which they placed upon his head.  They saluted him, ‘Hail!  King of the Jews!’  They repeatedly struck his head with a reed, spat upon him, and bowed before him as if in homage.  When they were finished, they took off the purple cloak and put his own clothes back on him.  Then they led him out to be crucified.  They compelled a passerby, who had come from the country, to carry Jesus’ cross.  This was Simon of Cyrene, the father of Alexander and Rufus.  They brought him to the place called Golgotha, which means ‘skull place.’  They offered him wine mixed with myrrh to drink, but he refused to drink it.  Then they crucified him.  They divided his clothes among them, casting lots to determine what each should take.  It was the third hour when they crucified him.  An inscription of the cause was written over his head.  It read, ‘The King of the Jews’ – Mark 15:16-26

‘Are you the King of the Jews?’ Pilate had asked.  ‘You have said so,’ was Jesus’ reply, indicating that yes, he was indeed a king.  Pilate, though frightened by the implications of such a claim made at Passover, surely laughed.  What sort of king could Jesus possibly be?  What would such a king’s kingdom look like?  In this passage, Mark paints the picture for us, and it turns out, just as Jesus has said, both his kingship and his kingdom look like a cross. 

We have all seen movies, or read books, in which a king receives his crown.  Often, the coronation ceremony begins with a procession into the palace.  Officials are gathered, decked out in full imperial splendor.  The king is clothed in purple, the standard color of royalty.  A crown is placed upon his head, and the assembly cries with one voice, ‘Hail to the King!’  Everyone kneels and remains in a posture of submission until signaled to rise, and then, the newly installed King is led out to address his people. 

Mark’s description of what happens to Jesus makes clear that, to him, something similar occurs as Jesus is led away to be crucified.  The elements are all there.  Jesus is led into the palace.  The entire cohort assembles.  He is clothed in purple.  A crown is placed upon his head.  The cry goes forth, ‘Hail!  King of the Jews!’  The assembly bows in homage.  But it is not done in honor.  It is all caricature.  The soldiers who lead Jesus into the courtyard have just flogged him to within an inch of his life.  The purple robe is drenched in the blood they have drawn.  The crown is made of thorns, some of which penetrate Jesus’ skin, scraping his skull.  The cry and the bow are derisive.  Jesus is not led out to address his people in triumph.  He is led out to be crucified. 

Behold – the Coronation of the King!

As Jesus is led away, he even receives the assistance of a royal page.  Normally, this would be a member of the court who trails behind the king, carrying the mantle of his cloak lest it become dirty.  Jesus gets a peasant coming in from the countryside, compelled to carry his cross.  Jesus has lost so much blood from the flogging that he cannot make it on his own.  He is a pathetic sight for a king. 

They arrive together, the King and his page, at the hill called Skull Place.  Jesus is offered a drug, a singular gesture of mercy, to dull the pain that is to come.  He refuses.  He will face what is to come head on, with an alert mind and heart.

And so it happens.  Mark describes it with the meager words, ‘they crucified him.’  Books have been written on the subject of crucifixion.  It is a ghastly way to die, complete with bolts of searing pain and the slow process of asphyxiation.  This is the final act of Jesus’ so-called ‘triumphal entry.’  In a Roman triumph, the conquering hero presides over the execution of the prisoners of war.  In Christ’s triumph, the hero himself is executed, and in the most brutal way imaginable. 

The cause of this execution is inscribed above Jesus’ head: ‘The King of the Jews.’  It is a warning to anyone who would dare challenge the authority of Rome.  This is how the empire deals with those who defy it.  In the eyes of the empire, and in those of everyone who looks on or passes by, it appears that once again, might is declared right.  So sure of this are the representatives of empire that they play games as Jesus’ dies, casting lots for his clothes.  It is just another day in the life of the empire.  An upstart is defeated.  The empire prevails.  Violence triumphs over peace.  The challenge of the Challenger is over.

But the perception is wrong.  This is the Challenger’s greatest moment.  This is the moment when he exposes the empire, and all the powers that sent him to the cross.  Jesus, who refused the drug that would have dulled his senses, is the brave hero willing to pay the price to show the world another way.  The forces arrayed against Jesus – empire, religion, and the demonic – are shown to be mere shadows, fearful cowards who kill anything they do not understand, anything that threatens their carefully constructed house of cards.   Paul put the matter thusly: ‘he disarmed the powers of the world, made a public spectacle of them, and shamed them by triumphing over them at the cross.’[1]  The cross is Jesus’ greatest and ongoing challenge to the powers of the world.  From age to age, it continuously calls them out, exposing their violent, bullying ways, and calling anyone who will listen to follow another way, the way of love, peace, and sacrifice.  The way that, as we shall see, always wins in the end. 

The Coronation of Jesus may look like a bad joke.  But it is a victory.  It may appear to be pure foolishness, but it is in fact the power of God.[2]  Therefore, as we who dare follow Jesus cast ourselves back to that fateful day and imagine the perceptions of those who thought it was the end of the Challenger’s way, we do not join them, nor do we give up on the cross and throw our lot in with empire.  Instead, we celebrate the Coronation of our King.

Crown him the Lord of Peace!

Whose power a scepter sways,

From pole to pole that wars may cease,

And all be prayer and praise.

His reign shall know no end,

And round his pierced feet,

Fair flowers of paradise extend

Their fragrance ever sweet.[3]

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

To read more of The Challenger, visit ‘Brent’s Books’ by clicking here. 

[1] Colossians 2:15. 

[2] See, 1 Corinthians 1:18.

[3] From the hymn, Crown Him with Many Crowns, by Matthew Bridges and Godfrey Thring. 

Home

‘And so at last they came to the Last Homely House, and found its doors flung wide’ – J.R.R. Tolkien

I was walking Rossco, my wonderfully exuberant Aussie-Shepherd/Border Collie, along the creek, when suddenly, I heard scampering to my right.  My eyes went wide as I saw, of all things, a groundhog racing toward us faster and fiercer than any of his species had a right to move or be.  As he charged up the steep bank, his eyes were like saucers, his mouth open, and his teeth bared.  It appeared that he was attempting to launch a preemptive strike on Rossco (and/or me), whom he most certainly considered a threat.  I mean, what else could explain his running toward us, rather than away from us. 

I braced myself for the onslaught, but when he was about a foot away, thank God, he dove like a submarine and vanished.  I had not noticed, could not have noticed, that just below the lip of the bank, just below our feet, was the entrance to his burrow. 

As I pulled Rossco away (he of course wanted to follow the varmint into his den), the groundhog’s furry face flashed comically across my mind, and I realized that the look upon it had been one of fear, not ferocity.  His mouth had been open, and his teeth bared, not because he was preparing to attack, but because he had been gulping air to fuel his assent up the bank.  His eyes had been wide as saucers because, well, if he had possessed a thought balloon, it would have read, ‘Oh [expletive deleted], that dog is about to kill me!’  I had wondered why, instead of running away from us, he had run toward us.  Now I knew that as the groundhog’s brain processed the danger posed by our presence, a single word had flashed through his mind.

Home. 

And with that, I had to smile.  For in that, I had to recognize, not just the wisdom of the groundhog’s choice of direction, but the smiling presence of God. 

Home.  It is the place where we know we are safe, the place of comfort, warmth, and love.  Think about the word for a moment and you will likely conjure up all sorts of lovely images and memories.  Baking cookies with your mom.  Watching baseball with your Dad.  Sitting by the fire on a frosty night.  Sipping tea while reading a book or watching your favorite show.  Gathering about the table for family game night.  Lying next to the one you love.  Home is the feeling you get when you think of such things, the ache in your heart to experience them all over again.  Even in the absence of the underlying realities that forge such memories, there remains in every heart the hope of their becoming.  We all, in one way or another, share what Frederick Buchner calls ‘the longing for home.’  He writes of home as that ‘something that we feel we belong to and that belongs to us.’[1]  Deep within each of us is a yearning to be home, whether it be the home of our cherished memories or the home of unfulfilled desires. 

And let’s face it: the yearning is real.  The world can be a callous and cruel place, filled with dangers.  As we navigate the riverbanks of our lives, we encounter many threats.  When we do, there is a deep, instinctive drive to run, as the groundhog had run, for the place we call home.  To either return to the place where we have felt safe, warm, and loved, or else to find such a place for the very first time.  To take refuge there. 

Home is like Rivendell, the elvish haven in Tolkien’s world.  I have read The Hobbit every couple of years since I was in the fourth grade, and each time I get to the line, ‘And so at last they came to the Last Homely House, and found its doors flung wide,’ I choke up.  To me it speaks of the longing for home.  In the story, Bilbo and his friends have just escaped the clutches of a clan of trolls, and Rivendell is just the sanctuary they need.  It is home, so much so that later in his life, when Bilbo tires of his adventures, he settles there to ‘live happily ever after to the end of his days.’  We all long for a place like that, a place that is more ‘homely’ even than the comfort of our hobbit holes.  I know I long for such a home.  Not just the home of my childhood (as happy as it was), or even my present home with my wife and children (as wonderful as it is).  I am thankful for the refuge of such homes.  But even so, I long for the home that lies just beyond my grasp, that place that will put to rest, once and for all, the callousness and cruelty of this world. The home that will possess all the best of all the homes we have known or dreamt of, and then some. 

The good news is that there is such a home.  There is, in fact, a Rivendell.  Even better, in that you can be happy there for days without end.  The disciple John describes it at the close of Revelation:

‘I heard a loud shot from heaven’s throne, saying, ‘Behold!  The home of God is among his people!  He will live with them, and they will be his people.  God himself will be with them.  He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain.  All these things are gone forever’ (21:3-4). 

This is the home we long for, the habitation of absolute safety and love.  Our home in God.  Buechner put it this way: ‘the home we long for and belong to is finally where Christ is.’  It is the place for which we yearn most deeply, the place where, in Christ, we shall one day be.

Until then, we walk as ‘strangers and aliens in the world,’ in search of our ‘homeland’ (see, Hebrews 11:13-14).  And as we do, we cherish the foretastes of home we experience even now, for, yes, where Christ is, there is home, and Christ is, praise be, everywhere.  He is in everything that causes us to ache for home.  He is in His Church, in that moment when a song or a word causes that tear in your eye or that catch in your throat.  He is in the bosom of our families, in those moments of wonder that make everything seem worthwhile.  He is in the rainbow that dazzles the sky in the wake of a violent storm.  He is even, as he was for me the other day, in the wide eyes of a panicky groundhog, racing up a creek bank, reminding me of the importance, and loveliness, of home. 

In such things, we catch glimpses of the day when we shall come at last to the Last Homely House, and find its doors flung wide.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] Frederick Buechner, The Longing for Home: Reflections and Recollections.