I’ve spent quite a little if time today listening to and reflecting on the story of Jesus’ death. The only way I can describe it is brutal.
Jesus shares a meal with his closest friends. He shares bread and wine and some last advice, then he gets in his knees with a towell and washes their feet. In less than twelve hours they have fallen asleep when they should have kept watch, run away when danger looms, one has betrayed him for money, one has denied him out of fear. The friends he led and served all abandoned him. Brutal.
He gets tried by the high priests. People make up stories about him. They want him dead so hand him over to the Roman official asking for the death penalty. He is stripped, whipped and beaten. The lashes leave marks and draw blood. The beating leaves him bruised and weakened. His hands are tied he can’t defend himself. Brutal.
The soldiers humiliate him. They mock him with a purple ‘robe’ and a crown of thorns they push down on his head, drawing more blood. It runs into his eyes but with hands still bound there is nothing he can do but sit there and take the mockery. Brutal.
Back in front of the Roman official, the crowd who had cheered his arrival in Jerusalem turned on him. They choose to give freedom to a murdered instead of him. Rather, they call for him to be executed in the most painful and humiliating way on offer: crucifixion. The crowd who had loved him now call for his death. The Roman official, fearing a riot, washes his hands of Jesus’ fate and turns away. Jesus is alone and helpless again. Brutal.
Jesus, already bruised, bloodied and weakened, is made to carry his cross through the streets to the hill of execution. Not just the cross bar, but the whole thing. The crowd jeers at him, they spit at him and the soldiers are all to ready with their floggers. He falls, collapsing under the weight of the cross and the flogging, but the crowd don’t help. Except one. Simon of Cyrene shares the burden, the insults, the whipping. He carries the cross with Jesus. And the insults continue and the beatings continue and Jesus still has to carry the cross up the hill. Brutal.
Once there, he is laid out on the cross. The soldiers get nails and a hammer. They line up his hands and his feet and drive the cruel iron nails through the delicate flesh. They pull his arms tight but bend his legs slightly so that when he is upright he has to choose whether his arms or his legs hold his weight as he slowly suffocates. Then he is hoisted skywards and displayed for all to see. The so-called Messiah, broken and humiliated, nailed to the cross. Brutal.
And let’s not forget Mary, his mother. She was there at the cross. Who knows how much more of this ordeal she saw. As a parent, she wants to protect her child. But she is helpless, watching on the sidelines as the future she has always known and possibly always feared comes true before her eyes, worse than she could ever have imagined. She sees his broken body. She sees the pain in his eyes, hears it in his voice. And she can do nothing but let it happen, nothing to stop her heart breaking. Brutal.
Already in a weakened state, Jesus doesn’t last long on the cross. When the soldiers break the legs of the others crucified, they declare Jesus already dead and don’t break his. But just to be sure, the pierce his side with a spear, doing further damage to his body. But mercifully, he is already dead. His suffering is finally over.
So when you hear the phrase, “Jesus died for you”, I urge you not to dismiss that as a nice thought, as a kind gesture. That is how much you are loved. Jesus chose to bear that for you. He endured pain in every imaginable way, he suffered, and he would do it again. For you.
You are important. You are loved. You have been saved. Because Jesus went through with this brutal death. For you.










