Crowning

A/N - this was written for the St Luke-in-the-City Good Friday service held on 2 April 2021.

Based on Matthew 27: 27-31, Mark 15: 16-20 and John 19: 1-2, and inspired by ‘Chapter 14: The Triumph of the Witch’ from ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ by CS Lewis.  The description of the plant used to create the crown is based on Euphorbia milii, the ‘Crown of Thorns’ plant.

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Crowning

“Hey, fellas!  Look at this!” shouts Caecus.

Obediently, we all look; in his hands is a... well, I can only call it a ‘crown’.  He has picked some stems from that weed that grows all round the prison yard; long stems as thick as my thumb covered in thorns, and ridiculously pretty, pink flowers at the top.  The flowers have mostly been broken off as he wove the stems together but some are still there looking oddly jewel like.  His hands are covered in blood where the thorns have scratched but he seems oblivious.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“For ‘im, innit?”  Caecus nods towards one of the prisoners.  “’Im that calls ‘imself ‘King of the Jews’.”

“Jesus?  The healer?  He’s ‘ere!”

I know I am babbling but this Jesus is the closest thing we have ever had to a celebrity in this backwater place.

“Where’ve you been all night, Lucius?  Pilot’s had ‘im in for questioning, sent ‘im back and forth to the Jewish leaders...”

“Sanhedrin!” someone chimes in.

“Whatever,” Caecus says.  “Now ‘e’s here and I’m gonna have some fun.  Gonna pay him back for that nonsense the other day.  Ridin’ around the city like he owned the place!  I wanted to see the real parade but I was stuck on crowd control for ‘im!  Didn’t even ‘ave an ‘orse, did ‘e?  Trotting along on a stupid donkey!  I mean, what was all that about?”

He laughs loudly and several of the others join in, me included.  What sort of king rides around on a donkey?

“So, where is ‘e?” I ask, scanning the yard.  There are several prisoners, all equally dirty and bloody.  Without his crown, this ‘king’ is just another criminal.

“’Ere ‘e comes!”  Caecus waves the crown in the direction of the flogging post where a man is being untied.  “Bring ‘is majesty over ‘ere, boys!”

Grinning, Malleolus and Pavo bring him over.  After their flogging, he can barely walk, so they are half dragging, half carrying him.  They place him in front of Caecus holding him upright.

“Now, your majesty, if you would be good enough to kneel...”

Malleolus and Pavo shove him to his knees.  He hardly seems aware of what is happening to him, the pain of his back clouding everything else.

Caecus lifts the crown up to cheers and applause from the soldiers, then places it on Jesus’ head, shoving it well down so that the thorns pierce his skin.  The drops of blood, Caecus’ as well as his own, add to the jewel-like effect.

“Now...”

“Wait!  Wait!” and we turn to see Silo running over, a length of purple fabric fluttering from his hand.  “The king needs a robe!” he says tying it around Jesus’ neck.

“Nice touch!” grins Caecus.  “All hail the King of the Jews!”

He bows before Jesus and most of the men follow suit.  A circle has formed around the little group, prisoners and guards, all joining in with the shout, “Hail to the King of the Jews!”. 

Caecus hits him then, almost knocking him over.  “That’s for making me look at you on your stupid donkey when I could have been looking at some proper ‘orses!”

Then Pavo spits on him.  “Yeah, and that’s for the trouble in the temple.”

Now they are all closing in, some shouting, some hitting, some spitting.

I look at his face, with the blood and sweat running down it, and I have never seen one more beautiful.  There’s a kind of light shining from him, from inside.  His eyes are full of sorrow – not the anger I expect or the hatred I would feel myself.  In fact, it is as if they do not see the things around him – as if he is already seeing the world beyond.  Then he looks up and his eyes meet mine with... with love...

“Hey!”  A new voice, a centurion's, breaks through the noise.  “You two follow me, and bring the prisoner.  Pilot wants ‘im again.”

Silence falls as Malleolus and Pavo pick Jesus up and drag him off again.  He looks somehow noble in the crown of thorns and borrowed robe.

“Who does he think he is?” asks Caecus, spitting after him.

I shrug.  “Who do you think he is?”