By His Wounds: The Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ

Jesus is Scourged

Jesus is Scourged

Pushed through the rioting crowd with great force and no care, Jesus almost wanted to fall over and die right then and there. The pain he had so far endured was nothing but a small fraction of the pain that was yet to come. Jesus could see ahead into the future, but when he did, his eyes watered, his brain hurt, and he could hardly pray to ask for strength. The scourging he would endure...the crowning of the thorns... Jesus couldn't think about it, for if he did, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to complete his mission. But he had to do this. He had to. His Father was counting on him and the sins of the entire world were, too. Jesus didn't wish for anyone of these Roman soldiers, rioters, and sinners to go to Hell. It had not been his and his Father's dream when they had first created the world and man in seven days. He and his Father wished for...peace and happiness and goodness and praise. They had wanted the entire world and everyone in it to be happy.

But Satan had tempted, Eve had fallen, and Adam along with her. With that simple turning away from God, the golden gates of Heaven were slammed shut with great force. No soul could get in the glorious gates to the paradise where he resided. If people died, the holy souls needed to stay in Limbo, at least until Jesus had been sent to the world thousands of years later and would save everyone. And open the gates. That way each and every soul had a chance at Heaven.

Jesus wanted to tell them that! He wanted to so badly! And he even had at times—in his parables, in his teachings, in his care and love. But the world was so blind. He hardly recognized it from the Garden of Eden he had so carefully and wonderfully made. In that Garden, there was every plant imaginable—the lily, cactus, forget-me-not, sundew. Every animal at peace with each other—the lions and the zebras, the gazelles and the tigers, the blue bird and the dragonfly. The sun always shined, and Adam and Eve practically breathed in the love of God.

Then they had sinned. The world became corrupted, evil, and was now turning against him. But Jesus wasn't angry with his son and daughter. He had given them free will. They could sin or not sin. He wasn't going to force them to follow him. They had made their choice, and God was forced to sentence them to a life of hardship outside of the glorious Garden, since only holiness could be in there, and Adam and Eve were no longer holy. But even if Eve hadn't eaten the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, someone else would have. Eve's son would have, and if not him, one hundred days later another person would have. No one was perfect, and no one could be sin-free.

Jesus knew that, which is why he was being pushed rudely through a crowd, battered and bruised in a way no King of kings should ever be.

Led to the north side of Pilate's palace, Jesus bore the pain of being beaten by the Roman's sticks with silence. Occasionally the hurt of it all caused his mouth to open and his cries of distress to be heard, but mostly he remained mute, as foretold by the Scriptures.

Awaiting for him stood six other executioners. They were large men, burly and confident in themselves and everything they did. Jesus knew each one of their names. They were written in the palm of his hand. Yet the only thing in the palm of each one of their hands was a whip of some sort. Laughing and making jokes, the shisha seemed half-drunk. They all wore armor over their chest, and sandals. Jesus used to wear sandals like that. When he did his carpentry work. Or his ministry work.

"Get a move on!" A soldier pushed Jesus, then whipped him with a wooden rod. Jesus neither welcomed the pain nor wished for it to leave him. He didn't call out, "Stop!" or even turn away, hoping to escape the blow. He simply endure it. For the world. For the Egyptians, the Dutch, the Japanese, the Mexicans, the Americans, the Irish, and every other race that had and would walk this earth. He did it for them.