Commentary - Mark 15:16-20

Bird's-eye view

In this section of Mark's gospel, we are brought into the Praetorium, the headquarters of Roman power, to witness one of the most profound ironies in all of Scripture. Having been condemned by the religious authorities and handed over by a feckless politician, Jesus is now subjected to the crude theater of the common soldier. They intend to mock Him, to heap upon Him every possible indignity before they kill Him. But in their blasphemous charade, they unwittingly perform a coronation. This is not a tragedy spiraling out of control; it is the sovereign enthronement of the King of kings, orchestrated by the Father Himself. Every action the soldiers take, intended for ridicule, is a backhanded acknowledgment of Christ's true identity. They are crowning the King, bowing to the Lord, and saluting the Savior, all while thinking it is a grand joke. The joke, as it turns out, is on them, and on the prince of this world who animates them. Here, in His humiliation, is the foundation of Christ's exaltation and our salvation.

Outline

Context In Mark

This scene immediately follows Pilate's capitulation to the mob, where he released Barabbas, a murderer and insurrectionist, and delivered the innocent Son of God to be crucified. The formal, legal proceedings are over. Now we enter the barracks, where the raw, visceral contempt of fallen man for his Maker is put on full display. This is not the calculated malice of the chief priests or the political cowardice of Pilate. This is the brute force of the Gentile world, the military might of Rome, showing what it does to a king it does not recognize. This passage serves as a bridge between the verdict and the execution, a moment of intense, focused humiliation that fulfills Christ's own prophecies that He would be mocked and spat upon by the Gentiles. It is the lowest point of His degradation before He is lifted up on the cross, which is, paradoxically, the beginning of His glorification.

Verse by Verse Commentary

v. 16 So the soldiers took Him away into the palace (that is, the Praetorium), and they called together the whole Roman cohort.

The transfer is complete. Jesus has passed from the hands of the Jews to the hands of the Gentiles, just as He foretold. He is taken into the Praetorium, the very seat of Roman authority in Jerusalem. This is the nerve center of the occupying force. And notice, they do not do this in a corner. They call together the whole Roman cohort, which could be up to 600 men. This is a corporate act. This is humanity, represented by the might of Rome, gathering to pass its official judgment on the Son of God. It is a formal, organized, and thorough rejection. They are all in on the joke. The whole battalion is complicit in this mockery, which is a picture of the world's universal complicity in the sin that nailed Him to the tree.

v. 17 And they dressed Him up in purple, and after twisting a crown of thorns, they put it on Him;

Here the coronation begins. The soldiers, with no thought beyond their own cruel amusement, begin to gather the regalia. They find a purple cloak, likely a cast-off soldier's cape, to mimic the royal purple of an emperor. It is a cheap imitation, a shabby substitute, which is precisely what the world always offers in place of true royalty. Then comes the crown. Not of gold, but of thorns. They twist together branches from a thorn bush, a symbol of the curse from Genesis 3, and press it onto His head. In this single act, they unwittingly declare who He is: the one who has come to bear the curse for His people. They think they are crowning a fool, but they are crowning the King who reigns by conquering the curse of sin and death. Every drop of blood drawn by those thorns is a testament to His love and His authority.

v. 18 and they began to greet Him, “Hail, King of the Jews!”

After the robing and crowning comes the acclamation. "Hail, King of the Jews!" is a parody of the loyal "Hail, Caesar!" that these same soldiers would have shouted to the emperor. The irony is thick enough to cut with a gladius. They speak the profoundest truth in the universe, but they do so with sneering contempt. This is the central confession of the Christian faith, uttered here as the punchline to a joke. But God is not mocked. He takes the vilest blasphemies of men and turns them into a proclamation of His glory. These pagan soldiers are the first Gentile choir to confess the kingship of Christ, even if they do so in utter ignorance and malice.

v. 19 And they kept beating His head with a reed, and spitting on Him; and kneeling, they were bowing down before Him.

The homage continues, escalating in its violence and degradation. A reed is placed in His hand as a mock scepter, the symbol of a king's authority. But they do not let Him hold it for long. They take it from Him and use it to beat Him on the head, driving the thorns of His crown deeper into His scalp. The symbol of authority becomes an instrument of torture. Then they spit on Him, the most universal sign of utter contempt. And finally, in the ultimate act of blasphemous parody, they kneel before Him. They bow down in feigned worship. Every knee will bow to this man one day, some in joyful adoration, and others in sheer terror. These soldiers are simply getting in their practice early, on the wrong side of the ledger.

v. 20 And after they had mocked Him, they took the purple robe off Him and put His own garments on Him. And they led Him out to crucify Him.

The game is over. Their sport is finished. They strip Him of the mock regalia, the purple robe, and put His own simple clothes back on Him. The play-acting is done, and the real business of killing can begin. They lead Him out to crucify Him. But where do they lead Him? They lead Him to Golgotha. They lead Him to the cross. They lead Him to His true throne, the place from which He will draw all men to Himself. They think they are leading a criminal to his execution, but God the Father is leading His beloved Son to His glorious enthronement, where He will defeat sin, death, and the devil, and purchase a people for Himself.

Application

This scene in the Praetorium is a stark picture of the world's reaction to the kingship of Jesus Christ. The world does not mind a baby in a manger, or a gentle teacher of ethics. But a King who demands total allegiance? A Lord who claims authority over every square inch of creation? To that, the world responds with mockery, contempt, and violence. It will dress Him up in the robes of its own choosing, give Him a crown of pain, and offer a feigned worship that is really just a prelude to killing Him and getting Him out of the way.

The question for us is this: what is our response to this King? Do we offer Him true worship, or do we engage in our own sophisticated forms of mockery? It is easy to look down on these Roman soldiers, but we mock Christ whenever we pay Him lip service on Sunday and then live as functional atheists the rest of the week. We mock Him when we claim His name but refuse His authority over our money, our sexuality, our politics, our everything. We mock Him when we want a crown without a cross, and a savior without lordship.

This passage forces us to look at the battered, bleeding, spit-covered face of our King and decide. Will we join the mockers, or will we fall on our faces in genuine adoration? Will we see the crown of thorns for what it is, the price of our own golden crown of righteousness? The soldiers bowed the knee in jest. We are called to bow the knee in earnest, confessing with our whole lives that this Jesus, the one whom the world despised and rejected, is indeed the King of the Jews, the King of the nations, the King of our hearts, and the King of the cosmos.