1: Jesus is condemned to death
Matthew 27:29
"...and then they twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head. They put a staff in his right hand. Then they knelt in front of him and mocked him. “Hail, king of the Jews!” they said."
This Station has been created by the Wednesday Fellowship group
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In this poignant moment during the trial and impending crucifixion of Jesus, the soldiers mockingly crown Him with thorns. This act symbolizes a deep irony: while the soldiers aim to belittle Him and strip away any dignity, they unwittingly highlight His true identity as the King. The imagery of thorns also speaks to the curse introduced into the world through sin, reflecting Christ's role in bearing that curse for humanity’s salvation.
The soldiers bow before Him, chanting "Hail, King of the Jews. This moment illustrates not just the physical suffering Christ underwent, but also the spiritual mocking of His rightful authority.
The soldiers bow before Him, chanting "Hail, King of the Jews. This moment illustrates not just the physical suffering Christ underwent, but also the spiritual mocking of His rightful authority.
JS BACH - St Matthew Passion
O sacred head now wounded, With grief and shame weighed down
Now scornfully surrounded, With thorns thine only crown
How pale Thou art with anguish,With sore abuse and scorn
How does that visage languish, Which once was bright as morn
What thou, my Lord, hast suffered, Was all for sinners' gain
Oh mine was the transgression, But thine the deadly pain
Lo, here I fall, my Saviour, 'Tis I deserve thy place
Look on me with thy favour, Vouchsafe to me thy grace
What language shall I borrow, To thank thee, dearest Friend
For this, thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
Oh, make me thine forever, And should I fainting be
Lord, let me never, never, Outlive my love to thee
O sacred head now wounded, With grief and shame weighed down
Now scornfully surrounded, With thorns thine only crown
How pale Thou art with anguish,With sore abuse and scorn
How does that visage languish, Which once was bright as morn
What thou, my Lord, hast suffered, Was all for sinners' gain
Oh mine was the transgression, But thine the deadly pain
Lo, here I fall, my Saviour, 'Tis I deserve thy place
Look on me with thy favour, Vouchsafe to me thy grace
What language shall I borrow, To thank thee, dearest Friend
For this, thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
Oh, make me thine forever, And should I fainting be
Lord, let me never, never, Outlive my love to thee