The soldiers of the governor dragged Jesus into the Praetorium, the grand headquarters of Roman power in Jerusalem. There, the entire battalion hundreds of hardened men gathered around the battered figure. They stripped Him of His garments and draped a scarlet robe across His bleeding shoulders, a mocking imitation of royal splendor. With cruel hands they twisted together a crown of thorns, its long spikes sharp as daggers, and pressed it down onto His head until blood trickled into His eyes and matted His hair. They placed a reed in His right hand like a scepter, then dropped to their knees in false reverence.
“Hail, King of the Jews!” they jeered, their laughter echoing off the stone walls. They spat in His face. They seized the reed and struck Him repeatedly on the head, driving the thorns deeper with every blow. When their sport was exhausted, they tore off the scarlet robe, dressed Him again in His own clothes, and led Him away to be crucified.
As they marched out of the city, the soldiers seized a man from Cyrene named Simon and forced him to carry the heavy crossbeam on his shoulders. They came to a place called Golgotha, “the Place of a Skull,” a barren hill just outside Jerusalem’s walls, its rocky ground stained by previous executions. There they offered Jesus wine mixed with gall, a bitter narcotic drink meant to dull the pain. He tasted it but refused to drink.
They nailed Him to the cross.
The hammer fell with sickening thuds. Iron spikes tore through flesh and bone, pinning His wrists and feet to the rough wood. With a groan of effort, the soldiers lifted the cross upright and dropped it into its hole with a jarring thud that sent fresh waves of agony through His body. They divided His garments by casting lots, gambling for the simple tunic of the condemned man. Over His head they fastened a sign: “This is Jesus, the King of the Jews.” Two robbers were crucified beside Him, one on the right and one on the left, their bodies writhing in similar torment.
The crowds streamed past the execution site. Passersby shook their heads in derision, hurling insults at the dying man. “You who would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself! If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross!” The chief priests, scribes, and elders joined the mockery with biting sarcasm. “He saved others, but he cannot save himself. He is the King of Israel let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God; let God deliver him, if he desires him, for he said, ‘I am the Son of God.’” Even the robbers crucified with Him reviled Him with the same contempt.
From the sixth hour until the ninth midday to mid-afternoon a supernatural darkness fell over all the land. The sun itself seemed to hide its face. Then, about the ninth hour, Jesus cried out with a loud voice: “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Some bystanders thought He was calling for Elijah. One man ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, and lifted it on a reed to His parched lips. Others said, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.”
Jesus cried out again with a loud voice. Then He yielded up His spirit.
At that moment the earth shook violently. Rocks split apart. Tombs were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised. The curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The centurion and those keeping watch over Jesus, feeling the ground tremble beneath their feet and witnessing the unnatural darkness and the rending of the earth, were filled with terror. “Truly this was the Son of God!” the centurion declared.
The sky remained heavy. The blood-soaked ground drank deeply. And the King of the Jews hung silent on the cross He had refused to leave, having drunk to the dregs the cup the Father had given Him.
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