“Hail, King of the Jews!

”
a The Fifth Sunday of Lent a
Matthew 27:27-31

It wasn’t uncommon in the ancient world for kings to proclaim themselves to be deities in bodily form. For
example, in Egypt, the Pharaohs were believed to be incarnations of the Egyptian deity Horus. When a Pharaoh
died, they were said to become united in spirit with the god of the underworld Osiris. In Rome, Julius Caesar, the
emperor of Rome was worshiped as a deity. In fact, he established emperor worship in the Roman Empire. A
temple was erected in his honor, which was named, “Templum Divi Juli,” temple of the deified Julius, and it was
believed that his deified spirit lived on in the person of Caesar Augustus, who, you might remember ordered the
census which brought Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem. It was common in antiquity for earthly kings to consider
themselves to be bodily manifestations of the divine, gods in flesh, because they wielded tremendous power and
authority, and held the lives of their subjects in their hands; blessing them for obedience, and crushing them in
disobedience.
We have spent several weeks now during Lent focusing our hearts and minds upon the words of Christ’s
enemies, which have had a certain amount of irony to them. I suppose that is appropriate given that Lent is a rather
ironic season to begin with, because the glory of the Christian Church, our eternal glory is accomplished in the
humble suffering of the Paschal Lamb, Jesus Christ. Today’s words from Christ’s enemies are well-known. They
resound from pulpits and lecterns every single year, and yet are still striking, “Hail, King of the Jews!” What cruel
mockery! And yet, what absolute truth! Not only is Jesus the King of kings and the Lord of lords, he is the only
King who is truly divine!...not the Pharaohs of Egypt or the emperors of Rome, or any others that would claim to be
gods in the flesh...only in King Jesus does the fullness of the Deity dwell in bodily form, a truth so contrary to
human reason as we see him bound and bleeding, a truth so contrary to human experience as he is taken captive,
beaten, mocked and led to his death. But that’s the irony of Lent. Today, join with me in paying homage to our
King Jesus, who accepts the spit of mockers, the jeers of unbelievers, the crown of thorns, the not-so-royal regalia,
and an old-rugged throne so that we, his subjects, may live and reign with our King Jesus forever in heaven.
He certainly doesn’t look or act like a king, though, does he? I suppose one could say that the Jesus of
Matthew 27 is the very opposite of what we would consider “royalty.” We’re told in verse 27: “Then the governor’s
soldiers took Jesus into the Praetorium and gathered the whole company of soldiers around him.” Normally, a king gives
orders to soldiers. The common soldier had no power at all. They were at the bottom of the power chain. The
common soldier is always at the beckoning call of the monarch and performs whatever deed they are asked to do.
Well, not these common soldiers and not this king. These common soldiers are leading your King around. They
are doing with him what they choose. Soldiers who were stationed in Jerusalem didn’t particularly like living in
Judea. They didn’t have too many opportunities for fun. So your King became their source of amusement, their
entertainment for a little bit. What king would allow such treatment? What Pharaoh? What emperor? Yet your
king says and does nothing, because he is not just the King of kings. He is also the suffering servant, foretold by the
prophet Isaiah: “He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth. He was led like a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before her shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.” Look at your king, at your God, divine
royalty...at the mercy of common soldiers; filthy, foul-mouthed, blood-thirsty, drunk executioners. Ironic indeed!
 Verse 28, “They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him.” This crucifixion was a bit different for those
blood-thirsty soldiers. How often had they encountered one who claimed to be a king? Normally they were
crucifying insurrectionists or murderers. But someone who is “divine,” a manifestation of God in the flesh? This
wasn’t just going to be another execution. They were about to crucify a self-proclaiming King. So, why not dress
him up a little bit? If he’s a king, then he should wear the regalia of a king, right? After all, the royal regalia is what
separated a king from his subjects.
So, they gave him a royal robe, not made of fine linens and the most expensive material available. Your
king’s robe was the outer robe of the common Roman soldier, probably dirty and stained with his own blood. His
attire didn’t separate him from lowly, pitiful, poor subjects. It identified him as one who had precious few hours left
in his life...your King, your God, divine royalty robed in crimson-stained regalia, given to him by his own
executioners...his appointed personal attendants for the day. Isn’t it strange that the only King to actually BE the
very manifestation of God in the flesh is so willingly humble, so weak, so frail, so pitiful, such an atrocity to look at
and the most pitiable of all men. Ironic isn’t it? And yet, his appearance makes him no less a king, and no less
divine! He is still your King. He is still your Messiah. He is still your God from all eternity.
The Jesus dress-up game continues: “And then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head.” If any
piece of royal attire set the king apart from his subjects, it was the crown. The crown says many things about the
person it adorns: this person is royalty, powerful, subject to no one. Jesus’ crown says something quite different.
His crown isn’t adorned with jewels and gold, but with cruel sharp thorns. His is not the crown of royalty, but the
crown of a condemned slave. His coronation doesn’t bring forth honor and prestige and veneration. His crown
only brings forth blood, and cruel mocking. And yet, he is still your King, still your God, no less divine than when
he multiplied bread and fish for 10,000 people, no less divine than when he raised Lazarus from the dead. His
divine power and might simply veiled, hidden in a cloak of humility for his ultimate purpose to be fulfilled, the
salvation of mankind - because he wears that crown of thorns not for his own benefit, but for you and for me, for all
sinners, including the ones who gathered around him that Friday morning.
One more piece of royal attire was required: “They put a staff in his right hand...” A staff, a scepter,
historically, the sign of authority...wielded by prophets, priests and kings – how appropriate, for Jesus is all of those
things, a prophet, a priest and a king. Most scepters had ornate carvings on them, many overlaid with gold to signal
that they were blessed by the gods, tipped with various depictions of false gods, like an eagle head or something
similar to show that the monarch was blessed by some divine being and able to render divine authority. Jesus’
scepter was not ornate, not overlaid with gold, had no ornate carving or tip on it...it was just a stick...a dead branch
fallen from a tree, a stick for your King to hold...he probably could hardly grasp it, beaten and torn apart as he was
from the flogging. And yet his authority as God is limitless without the boundaries of time or space. And his
humble sacrifice is to be accepted as the fulfillment of his Father’s will for the forgiveness of the world’s sins.
All dressed up and ready to go, Jesus is. With a robe of scarlet mixed with his own crimson blood, a crown
of thorns on his head and a dead branch staff in his hand, there’s your King, your God, ready to go, ready to wield
his power and authority on the battlefield of Golgotha. “Hail, King of the Jews!”
The soldiers mock him with those words, but with those same words we laud and magnify his glorious
name...speeding him on to his old-rugged throne, because step by step, he willingly goes off to war to fight a battle
that you and I cannot win, the battle against sin and Satan. The world looks at Jesus and sees someone pitiful,
someone disgraceful, certainly not a man who could ever be considered royalty, let alone divine, not a man who is
worthy of any praise or honor or veneration. But we know why he looks the way he does: he is our glorious
substitute. He is the majestic bearer of sin’s guilt and shame, the one who took full responsibility for our
transgressions so that we, the guilty and condemned Barabbas’ would be set free. Yes, we know why he looks so
pitiful and disgraceful, why he accepts his not-so-royal attire, his thorny crown and his dead branch staff, why he
allows himself to be baptized in spit and put to ultimate shame: because as our King, he chose to fight for us the
battle we could never win – fighting not with swords and the massive bloodshed of the ungodly, but with humble
faithfulness to his Father’s will and his own innocent bloodshed; for only through innocent bloodshed can sins be
atoned for. Only through his atoning sacrifice on that humble, rugged, blood-stained throne do we have freedom
from sin’s eternal punishment, and the promise of an eternal life of freedom with him in the life to come.
“Hail, King of the Jews!” Hail, King Jesus! How worthy he is of our worship, our praise, our hymns of
thanksgiving, because he chose not to wear earthly royal attire, he chose not to wear a jewel-encrusted crown, he
chose not to have a scepter and a fancy throne. Instead, as our sacrificial substitute, he accepted his common robe,
his thorn encircled crown, his scepter and his old rugged cross, his throne, his blood-stained altar of sacrifice, to
provide life and salvation to the whole world. Hail, King of the Jews, our King and our God! Amen.