elsewhere, including the face.  But reluctance seems absent here.  Then occurs another, a third of those scenes of coarse vulgarity, horrid mockings, based on His kingly claims.  The whole band of soldiers is called.  Some old garments of royal purple are put upon Jesus.  One man plaits a crown of the thorns that grow so large in Palestine, and with no easy gesture places it upon His head.  A reed is placed in His hand.  Then they bow the knee in turn, with “Hail!  King of the Jews,” and spit in His face, and rain blows down upon the thorn-crown.  All the while their coarse jests and shouts of derisive laughter fill the air.  Surely one could never tell the story were he not held in the grip of a strong purpose.

But now Pilate springs a surprise.  The scourging might be preliminary to crucifixion or a substitute.  Again Jesus is brought forward, as arrayed by the mocking soldiers.  There must have been an unapproachable majesty in that great face, as so bedecked, with the indescribable suffering lines ever deepening, He stands before them with that wondrous calm still in those sleepless eyes.  Pilate seems caught by the great spirit of Jesus dominant under such treatment.  He points to Him and says, “Behold the Man!” Surely this utter humiliation will satisfy their strange hate.

Realizing that their fight is not yet won as they had thought, they make the air hideous with their shouts, “Crucify—­crucify—­crucify.”  Anger and disgust crowd for place in Pilate, as, with a contemptuous sneer, he says, “You crucify Him. I find no fault in Him.”  It would be illegal, but it would not be the first illegal thing.  But these men are bound to get all they want from their weakening governor.  One of the leaders sharply spoke up, “We have a law, and by our law He ought to die because He pretends to be the Son of God.”  The Roman custom was to respect the laws of their subject-peoples.  All pretense of a political charge is now gone.

Pilate is startled.  The sense of fear that has been strong with him intensifies.  That face of Jesus had impressed him.  His wife’s message disturbed him.  Now that inward feeling that this man was being wronged grips him anew.  At once he has Him led into his judgment hall for another private interview.  Looking into that face again with strangely mingling emotions, he puts the question, “Whence art Thou?” But those lips refuse an answer.  The time for speech is past.  Angered by the silence on the part of the man he had been moved to help, Pilate hotly says, “Speakest Thou not to Me?  Knowest Thou not I have the power to release or to crucify?” Then this strangely masterful Man speaks in very quiet tones, as though pitying His judge, “Thou wouldst have no power against Me, except it were given thee from above:  therefore he that delivered Me unto thee hath greater sin.”