O, come and mourn with me a while;
O, come near to the Savior's side;
O, come together, let us mourn:
Jesus our Love is crucified.

Frederick William Faber

Ecce Homo, Rutilio Manetti (1571-1639, Siena)
From a parish church in Buonconvento in Tuscany

He wasn’t sure he liked this new position as chief guard of the prisoners.  “We have to go,” he said to their current prisoner Jesus of Nazareth, and they led him to a large hall where the soldiers gathered.  “Hey, this guy says he’s the king of the Jews!” yelled one of the guards.  Semi-interested faces looked up; snickers started, then growing movement and chatter.  “Let’s dress him up,” called another voice.  “Get that purple blanket we use for Pilate’s horse.”  They pulled off Jesus’ clothes, yanking the seamless sheath up over his head, and wrapped the rough purple cloth around him.  “Hah!  He needs a crown and I’ve got just the thing!”  A thorn bush was right outside, and a soldier carefully, so as not to puncture himself, fashioned a crown; it was smashed onto Jesus’ head with a staff.  He didn’t look scared, this prisoner, only sorrowful—sorrowful and bloody.  “Here’s our king!  Hail, king of the Jews!  What a great king!  Hah!  King of kings!”  Men were shoving Jesus, spitting on him, yanking the robe tight around him, hitting him with the staff.  “Stop it!” yelled the chief guard.  But the jostling continued.  Soldiers pressed in close for their amusement, and the guard lost his balance.  He fell forward into an opening among the men and hit the floor on his knees and forearms.  He was right at Jesus’ feet.  Strong feet, dirty feet, holy feet, spread apart in a firm stance.  Jesus’ feet.  For an instant time stood still and the noise dimmed.  The guard kissed Jesus’ feet.  Oh, what had come over him?  Blood, it was blood; he had to get up before he got stepped on hard.  But just as he was pushing himself up, a strong hand reached under his arm and lifted him.  Instantly the guard knew what he would see even before he looked up.  The shoving and abuse continued but in the midst of it Jesus’ gaze was steady.  His eyes locked onto the guard’s.  Kind eyes.  “Forgive them,” Jesus said.  “They don’t know what they’re doing.”  It was a second before the guard could turn away.  “Enough!” he shouted.  “Everybody’s got work to do!”  The commotion intensified briefly and he put an arm around Jesus to steady him.  Jesus’ arm reached up onto the guard’s shoulder and his robe slipped down.  They clung to each other.  A final blow pushed off the crown; it fell at Jesus’ feet.  Movement tapered off and men returned to their jobs.  The guard backed off, and Jesus stood there naked and bleeding.  A foretaste, the guard thought with a shiver.  He helped Jesus put his clothes back on.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  How pathetic that sounded.  A flicker of torchlight caught drops of blood on the crown and they glittered briefly like jewels.  King of the Jews.  Right.  This man was finished.

Soon he was finished, on a Roman cross, suffering God’s wrath for the sins of those who put him there, for the sins of all who go their own way, for my sins, for yours.  But that wasn’t the end.  Three days later Jesus burst out of the grave, alive forever, victorious over sin and Satan and hell and death.  With strength and kindness he offers forgiveness and life without end to all who accept his death for their sins.  He offers hope and peace to all who bow their hearts before him.  This holy Easter season, will you kneel with me at Jesus’ feet?