Friday, Mar. 29, 2002 - 4:00 p.m.
GOOD FRIDAY — Crown of Thorns
For Christians around the world, the Friday before Easter marks the anniversary of the death of Jesus Christ. Whatever your personal religious beliefs, the image of a man nailed to a cross in the name of love has got to sadden, enrage and inspire.
With that image we are aware of the crown of thorns placed upon Jesus' head. An inscription nailed to the top of the cross proclaimed Jesus the King of the Jews. The crown seemed a fitting adornment for such a man by his captors, who taunted him, mocked him and spat upon him.
The crown was made of native thorns, which were not like our typical rose bush variety. These thorns grew wild and were two inches long, hard and sharp as a hypodermic needle. We often think of the crown being placed upon the head of Jesus and the then pressed into His scalp, causing it to bleed for hours covering his body in the Blood of Christ.
I needn't draw your attention to this any more than necessary. I want instead to take you back several hours before the crucifixion.
The crown that we see was made by hand, and no doubt the person or persons who weaved this crown were also cut by it. Imagine, the fingers of the reapers pulling the thorn bush from its thick roots, and dragging it several feet, their knees cut by its needles, falling as Christ did when he carried his cross to its final place to a highly eroded limestone hill shaped like a skull -- Skull Hill.
The reapers were bloodied from their chore.
Next the weavers clipped with dull knives the thick branches that bore the thorns, their knuckles raw from scrapping against the tough bark of the vine their fingers stabbed repeatedly by the long needles, as they tried to push the branches through each other. Looking on was an armed Roman Centurion -- his orders stressing the weavers to hurry. Fingers and wrists sliced raw from the work, blood dripping over the tips of the needles.
The artistry of the weaver cut eternal beauty into that crown. Did they know for whom or what they were so forced to work with these hated thorns? Where they paid for their work? Or did they refuse money? Were they beaten if they refused? Or, did they do it gladly?
On Good Friday we do not mourn, but celebrate we will the death of Jesus Christ, for he died for love and out of love he died for us. The next time you pass by a church, take notice of the flowers growing in the gardens that may surround it. And if per chance you notice a rose remember to prick your finger upon its thorn, for in doing so you join with me and millions of other Christians around the world in this celebration of love we call Good Friday.
LB
