On May 6, 2023, the world will witness something it hasn’t seen in nearly seventy years: the coronation of a British monarch. Charles III is scheduled to be officially crowned King of England on that day, in a royal ceremony at Westminster Abbey. The crown, until then, is kept under close watch in the Tower of London, where the crown jewels and coronation regalia have been carefully guarded since the 1600s.
The coronation of Jesus took place with far less fanfare. His crown was not a glittering band of gold that had been passed down throughout the centuries. It was the impromptu design of some Roman soldiers who twisted together thorny branches as a sick joke (John 19:2). The ceremony wasn’t planned months in advance, nor did you need tickets to attend. Rather, Pilate paraded Jesus out in front of the crowd and simply declared, “Behold the man!” (John 19:5). This is actually Pilate’s attempt to get Jesus off of death row. If the crowds could see him in this bloody state, maybe their wrath will be appeased and they will all go home happy without further bloodshed. So when he says, “Behold the man,” he’s saying, “Look at this guy! Isn’t he pathetic? What possible threat does someone like this pose? He’s been beaten and bruised, let that be enough. Let him go.”
But it didn’t work. The coronation was only the beginning: “When the chief priests and the officers saw him, they cried out, ‘Crucify him, crucify him!’” (John 19:6). Pilate pleaded with the people to behold Jesus—to really look at him—and yet they were unmoved.
What about you and me? As you picture this scene of Jesus dragged before the mob—blood pouring down his face from the thorns stabbing into his brow, head hanging in exhaustion, likely stood up on his feet by a guard or two, the purple robe he wears stained darker still with blood and sweat—what do you see? Let’s not make the same mistake of looking past what’s right in front of our eyes.
Behold a Sufferer
When we behold this coronation of Christ, we behold a sufferer. Jesus, the King of glory, the Savior of the world, has become the butt of the joke. He suffers mocking and derision in a way that is unparalleled throughout all human history. He is debased to a degree greater than anyone has ever been before or ever will be since. The eternal Word of God is now a byword to the Roman soldiers and the Jewish mob. It’s a spectacle.
But we need to see here more than someone who suffers as they’re mocked, or even as they’re tortured—but someone who is suffering under the curse of sin. Thorns represent the whole effect of Adam’s sin upon creation (Gen. 3:17). Because of sin, this world will sting. It won’t work right. Life will be marked by frustration and hardship. Thorns first appear back in Genesis 3, and we haven’t been able to escape them since. But here’s the fascinating thing we learn when we behold this man: Jesus doesn’t escape them either. Here is one who truly came to share in our sorrows—who sympathizes with our weaknesses. “For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted” (Heb. 2:18). Though he never committed a sin, Jesus feels the effects of sin. And he feels them fully.
What’s worse, a hand wound or a head wound? With this crown, Jesus is wounded where it would hurt most. Not just nails in the hands, but thorns on the head. So we can sing, “See from his head, his hands, his feet, sorrow and love flow mingled down: did e’er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?”
Jesus came to suffer. If he didn’t suffer for us, he couldn’t bring many sons to glory (Heb. 2:10). So, he fully embraced the thorns of this world because doing so is how he embraces you and me fully. See the crown of thorns that the Son of God wears and behold this staggering fact: His crowning achievement in life is that he sympathized with our sorrow, bore our shame, and knew our suffering.
Behold a Substitute
At this coronation ceremony, there’s not only a sufferer but also a substitute. Do you see him? Behold the one who comes to take the wrath of God in your place. Do you remember how Abraham was called to an immense act of sacrifice? He was to offer up his beloved son Isaac to the Lord. But he had faith: “[Isaac] said, ‘Behold, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?’ Abraham said, ‘God will provide for himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.’” (Gen. 22:7–8). Abraham’s faith was not in vain: Abraham looks, and behold, a ram caught in the thorns, an innocent life to be offered up “instead of his son” (Gen. 22:13). And you are to look on Jesus and to behold the very same thing: the Lamb slain before the foundation of the world (Rev. 13:8), the innocent one offered up instead of you. Here is Jesus trapped in the thorny thicket of God’s wrath, crowned with divine judgment, so that you could be reconciled to God. Jesus is crowned with thorns so that we may be crowned “with steadfast love and mercy” (Ps. 103:4).
Behold a Surprise
When you take this all in—as though it could ever be said that we take it all in—don’t you also behold a surprise? The twisted wreath of thorns holds a twist to the whole story of how we thought this world operates. Because Jesus suffered and was raised, Paul can say, “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us” (Rom. 8:18). The king crowned with thorns is one who, through suffering, actually conquers! And if this is the way of Jesus, should it not be the way for his people as well? Indeed, it is: “But rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed” (1 Pet. 4:13).
The crown of thorns should entirely upend what we value in this life. It’s surprising, I know, because it goes against our natural inclinations and everything the world tells us we should want. We want a pain-free existence. We want minimal suffering. But God invites us to a different value system. Charles Spurgeon puts it well:
That thorn-crown cures us of desire for the vainglories of the world, it dims all human pomp and glory till it turns to smoke. Let us set some great one on his throne, and see how little he looks when Jesus sits beside him. Oh, it takes the glitter from your gold, and the lustre from your gems, and the beauty from all your dainty [delights], to see that no imperial purple can equal the glory of his blood, no gems can rival his thorns. Show and parade cease to attract the soul when once the superlative excellencies of the dying Saviour have been discerned by the enlightened eye. Who seeks for ease when he has seen the Lord Christ? If Christ wears a crown of thorns, shall we covet a crown of laurel? Why these luxuries when he is barbarously entreated? Thus the thorn-crown cures us at once of the vainglory of the world, and of our own selfish love of ease.[1]
Is this what you expected the King of kings to look like? Maybe not. But don’t let your unmet, upturned expectations move you to pity him—they should move you to praise him. By becoming so much less than we expected, he is so much more than we could ever have hoped. Behold the man. Behold a sufferer, a substitute, a surprising twist to God’s way of redemption. And don’t make the mistake that the crowds did that day. The crown of thorns was reason for them to laugh. May it be the reason for you to love. “I love thee for wearing the thorns on thy brow; if ever I loved thee, my Jesus ’tis now.”
[1]. https://www.spurgeon.org/resource-library/sermons/the-crown-of-thorns/#flipbook/