"Then the soldiers of the Governor, taking Jesus into the court of the palace, gathered together unto Him the whole band, and stripping Him, they put a scarlet cloak about Him. And platting a crown of thorns, they put it upon His head, and a reed in His right hand. And they came to Him, and bowing the knee before Him, they mocked Him, and began to salute Him, saying: Hail, King of the Jews! And they gave Him blows, and they did spit upon Him, and they took the reed and struck His head, and bow ing their knees, they worshipped Him." - Matthew 27:27-29; Mark 15:16-19; John 19:14,15
When Our Lord prophesied His Passion to His disciples on His last journey to Jerusalem, He seemed to linger upon the scene here described, as though it had for Him a sense of special horror. "Behold we go up to Jerusalem," He said, "and the Son of Man shall be betrayed to the chief priests, and to the scribes and ancients, and they shall condemn Him to death, and shall deliver Him to the Gentiles. And they shall mock Him, and spit upon Him, and scourge Him, and kill Him; and the third day He shall rise again." Throughout meditation on the Passion there is little need to look for application; its own dead weight should be enough, pressing down on us as it pressed down on Him; in scenes such as this, in particular, we need do no more than try to realize what they contained. To do so is to grow in sympathy, and sympathy is love.
The chief actors in this scene were Roman soldiers, men of blood, of no principle, fostered in brutality. They gathered in their numbers, thus encouraging each other, rival ling each other, in ingenious cruelty. They had been trained in contempt for the title of King; how much more must they contemn one whose claim had been already held up to mockery! So they stripped Him; the shame of it! they clad Him in the mock robe of a King! they seated Him upon a mock throne! they made a mock crown, of the thorny brambles used for the fire, and ham mered down upon His head! they took a reed from the rushes lying on the floor, and put it in His hand, and behold He was crowned a fool king! We can hear the ribald laughter. We can see the writhing form, helplessly rolling beneath the pressure of the thorns. We can ask ourselves what it means, and be aghast at the thought that love is its only explanation.
After the crowning must come the doing of homage. They came to Him in a mock procession. They strutted up to Him, they bowed down before Him, they genuflected. They saluted Him, and said: "Hail, King of the Jews!" in a mock solemn voice. And then, as each rose in turn from his act of obeisance, when it was the custom for a courtier to make his offering, even as at Bethlehem the Magi laid out their gifts before Him, then was the moment for individual ingenuity. As they rose up, one would strike Him in the face; another would spit upon Him; another would hammer down the crown more tightly; an other would snatch the reed from His feeble hand, and would smite Him with it; another would prefer his foot, or the flat of his hand, perhaps fling at Him the filth on the floor. So do they worship Him: and we?
- from The The Crown of Sorrow: Meditations on the Passion of Our Lord, by Archbishop Alban Goodier, SJ. It has the Nihil Obstat of Canon Franciscus M Wyndham, Censor Deputatus, and the Imprimatur of Canon Edmund Surmont, Vicar General, Diocese of Westminster, England, 16 May 1918