Reflect

Today we will look at the scourging of Jesus. This may be difficult, painful, and even sickening. Spend enough time in God’s presence to prepare your heart. Read aloud or sing the words to the following old hymn:

There is a Fountain Filled with Blood

William Cowper

There is a fountain filled with blood

Drawn from Emmanuel’s veins.

And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,

Lose all their guilty stains,

Lose all their guilty stains;

And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,

Lose all their guilty stains . . .



E’er since, by faith, I saw the stream

Thy flowing wounds supply,

Redeeming love has been my theme,

And shall be till I die,

And shall be till I die;

Redeeming love has been my theme,

And shall be till I die.

Zechariah prophesied of this fountain long before Christ came to shed His blood: “In that day a fountain will be opened for the house of David and for the inhabitants of Jerusalem, for sin and for impurity” (Zechariah 13:1 NASB). Spend some time in silent gratitude for the cleansing streams provided for your own sin and impurity.

Paul wrote of his desire to know the fellowship of Christ’s sufferings (see Philippians 3:10). The word fellowship refers to something like a sense of partnership. Offer yourself to walk in communion through these sufferings of the Lord, asking Him to reveal Himself to you in a fresh way today.

Read

The chastening for our well-being fell upon Him, and by His scourging we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5 NASB)

Inside the palace courtyard soldiers prepare for the scourging, paying little attention to their subject. With businesslike precision, one rips the robe from Jesus’ shoulders and another removes the rest of His clothes. Grim-faced, He offers no resistance.

Exposed, vulnerable, defenseless in every way. Does Christ commune in Spirit with His Father as the morning air assaults His naked body? Is this part of the cup He cried out against in the Garden only hours ago?

They shove him roughly across the yard to a column stained with layers of dried blood. Pushing Him to His knees, they lift His arms above His head, securing them to the post. A soldier stands to His right and another t0 His left, awaiting the order to begin. Does Jesus see frail sinners in need of a Savior behind their hardened eyes?

Each holds a vicious-looking whip several feet long. Halfway down it is split into numerous leather strips to which pieces of sheep bone are attached. Two lead balls hang at the end of every strip.

Jesus knows a brief moment of cool relief as He rests his cheek against the column. All too quickly a voice shouts, “Begin!” and everyone moves into place.

The soldier on the right, well trained and competent from years of experience with the flagellum, strikes the first blow. A crack resounds throughout the courtyard, spilling over into the silent wake of those who wait outside.

At first the bones make tiny cuts on Jesus’ back, the iron balls raising red welts that quickly turn to crimson bruises. With each blow, Jesus’ body recoils. Before He can even catch His breath, another strike is administered.

Crack.

Silence.

Crack.

Silence.

And on and on it goes until the first soldier tires. The second steps in quickly, not missing a beat. By now the small cuts are bleeding profusely, and a few of the large bruises are breaking open.

Jesus’ strength fails, the loss of blood making Him lightheaded and dizzy. He winces now only slightly with each lash of the whip.

Crack.

Silence.

Crack.

Silence.

Blood is beginning to gush from several of the gaping wounds. Soldiers turn away, feigning busyness to avoid the horrid sight. Tiny ribbons of flesh are all that remain on Jesus’ back. The officer is just doing a job—one he’s done a thousand times before. But does he have any idea upon whom he inflicts such hideous blows? Crack.

Silence.

Crack.

Silence.

Crack.

The two soldiers continue to take turns, oblivious to the prisoner’s condition until Pilate returns and calls a halt to the bloody operation. Jesus has not moved for several minutes now. If He dies here, they will all face grave reprimands and the loss of their esteemed positions in the royal army.

Hurrying now to untie Him, the soldiers try to lift the nearly unconscious prisoner to His feet, flanking Him on either side. Jesus manages to open His eyes briefly, and He somehow finds the fortitude to stand. Searing pain slices through Him as they drape His clothes back on His battered body.

Then He is led out to the platform. Many in the crowd turn away—the disfigured Carpenter being too abhorrent to look at. Others less humane await in anticipation the grand finale of their morning merrymaking. The soldiers secure Jesus’ feet and gingerly step away. Somehow He manages not to collapse. Pilate, frustrated and fearful because of his wife’s dream, looks at the beaten-down would-be king.

Rancor resonates in his curt challenge to the crowd: “Behold the Man!”

And demons delight. The Father hangs His head and weeps, for though He could heal the mass of bleeding tissue with a word, He won’t. The words of the prophet Isaiah play a haunting melody through the halls of heaven. Today the Son of God is bruised for the iniquities of a dying world, and by His stripes, humanity can finally be healed.

Respond

Take a minute to contemplate the moments of scourging Christ endured. As you form this picture in your mind, read the following passage:

Surely our griefs He Himself bore, and our sorrows He carried; yet we ourselves esteemed Him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But He was pierced through for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the chastening for our well-being fell upon Him, and by His scourging we are healed. All of us like sheep have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; but the LORD has caused the iniquity of us all to fall on Him. (Isaiah 53:4–6 NASB)

In every bruise that each ball of lead inflicted, see the gravity of sin. With each bloody cut the leather and bone made, understand the healing that is secured. Write this passage out in your own words as a prayer of worship. Receive from the Lord, rejoicing (perhaps in a bittersweet way) that Jesus endured what He did.

A Prayer

Must I go on, Lord Jesus? I can barely stand to see myself through the gaping wounds on Your back. My stomach churns and I want to walk away. The journey to the cross is fraught with a thousand deaths, and I’m not sure if I am prepared to embrace each one. To know the fellowship of Your sufferings is not so simple. Sustain me in my quest, dearest Savior, and I will seek to share Your sorrow.

Reprinted by permission. Contemplating the Cross: a Forty Day Pilgrimage of Prayer, Tricia McCary Rhodes, 2004, Thomas Nelson, Inc., Nashville, Tennessee. All rights reserved. Copying or using this material without written permission from the publisher is strictly prohibited and in direct violation of copyright law.

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