The mystery we commemorate today, the Passion and death of our Lord, of our God, is unspeakable.
And yet, I am not to stay silent. The Church instructs me that I am to preach today.
St. Leo the Great speaks of this challenge, saying: “though it is difficult to speak often on the same thing worthily and appropriately, yet the priest is not free to withhold from the people’s ears instruction by sermon on this great mystery of God’s mercy.” (Sermon 62)
If I must speak, then I will speak of the one thing we must know: this was always the plan.
At the dawn of humanity, when sin entered the world, God spoke his first promise into the darkness: the offspring of the woman would crush the head of the serpent. (Gen 3:15) The prophets continually repeated God’s plan. Isaiah prophesied that the Servant of the Lord would be spurned and avoided, a man of suffering who stood silent before his accusers, like a lamb led to the slaughter. Isaiah knew that healing would flow from his sufferings. Hosea heard God promise: Come, let us return to the LORD, For it is he who has torn, but he will heal us; he has struck down, but he will bind our wounds.
What we have just heard proclaimed is not a tragedy that caught heaven off guard. It is a plan disclosed through the ages, now arriving at the appointed hour for it to be fulfilled.
So let us watch carefully as God brings to fruition the greatest plan in all of history.
Pilate brings our Savior out: scourged, crowned with thorns, and clothed in purple. He says, ECCE HOMO; that is, Behold the man!
Behold the man. Yes. Exactly.
This man, Jesus of Nazareth, is true humanity, fully realized. In his Incarnation, God takes on our flesh fully, without reservation. Pilate witnessing to the truth unwittingly is no accident, though. It is precisely how God’s plan works. He works through instruments who often do not know what they are doing.
St. Leo the Great teaches us that our Lord “hid the power of His majesty from the raging devil, and opposed him with our frail and humble nature.” (Sermon 62) The soldiers, Pilate, Judas, the chief priests: none of them accomplish their own purpose. Leo continues, “He permitted madmen to lay their wicked hands upon Him: hands which, in ministering to their own doom, were of service to the Redeemer’s work.” (ibid.)
None of them know they are serving God’s purpose, and the crowd will not relent.
Pilate takes Jesus inside and questions him. Our Lord says, “You would have no power over me if it had not been given to you from above.” Pilate is a Roman. He does not fear one man, but he does fear a power that operates outside the order he serves, and he will use any lever available to escape a politically dangerous situation. Pilate brings our Lord back out, seats him on the judge’s bench at Gabbatha, and tries to use the claim against the crowd. ECCE REX, Pilate says, Behold, your king! Will you really crucify your own king?
The chief priests answer for the crowd: we have no king but Caesar. The guardians of Israel, the men whose entire office exists because Israel has a King who is not Caesar, publicly renounce that hope. It is enough. Pilate hands him over.
And so they lead him to Calvary.
Pilate continues to unknowingly witness to the truth as he inscribes “Jesus the Nazorean, the King of the Jews” over the Cross in three languages and refuses to change a word. What I have written, I have written. The purple robe, the crown of thorns, the title nailed above his head — it is all mockery.
But we know the truth. Before us stands our King.
Then, they crucify him. Our King is nailed to the wood of his own throne. He hangs there for three hours. He thirsts. He sees his mother. And then it is finished: Consummatum est. His work is accomplished, so Christ bows his head and hands over his spirit.
Joseph of Arimathea, a secret disciple of our Lord, soon comes and retrieves the body of Jesus from the Cross.
Then Nicodemus comes.
You remember Nicodemus. He came to Jesus at night cautiously, full of questions, and not ready to be seen. Now he comes in full daylight with a hundred pounds of spices. He intends to provide a king’s burial for a king. Nicodemus beheld a man; now he sees his king.
That is the arc of a Christian life, is it not? We behold a man. We keep looking. We learn who he is. We behold our King.
In a few moments, we will approach a Cross, on which we behold Jesus, man and king. By taking on our frail humanity and mounting his throne of glory, the Cross, He saved us. So, we will venerate this Cross as both the instrument of our rescue and the throne of our God and King.
Pilate said it, and he had no idea what he was saying.
The Church says it now — and she knows exactly what she means.
Ecce homo. Ecce rex.
Behold the man. Behold the King.
This man, who is the King, took this road and endured this suffering for you. This was always the plan. Isaiah told us, “by his stripes we were healed.” Our king does not lead his people to safety from a distance. He goes first. He takes the worst of it. And then he calls you to follow him.
Come. Let us behold the man. Let us behold the King. Let us follow him.