But all who lacked the rights of Roman citizenship, especially in restless provinces, were subjected to merciless scourging.
Christ was taken by the soldiers standing nearby. Accompanied by the shouting and uproar of the maliciously rejoicing rabble, He was led into the courtyard of the praetorium, where all the necessary instruments of punishment were kept.
A prisoner condemned to this punishment, flagellatio, was tied to a pillar. His naked back was scourged with special whips fitted with sharp points, so that the victim's whole body became one continuous bloody wound.
It is not surprising that those punished soon fell unconscious, and awoke from unconsciousness with a sense of unimaginable suffering. Christian martyrs were often subjected to the same scourging later during the persecutions.
"All who were present," Eusebius of Caesarea relates concerning one such scourging in Smyrna, "were horrified at seeing that their very backs were laid open, and their muscles, ligaments, and even inward parts became visible."
The Mosaic legislation, with its usual spirit of humanity, limited the punishment to a definite number of blows. According to it, "Forty blows may be given, and no more, lest your brother be disfigured before your eyes by many blows" (Deut 25:3).
But this humane law was not observed amid the lawlessness of that time. In the present case this was all the more true, since the scourging was performed by sentence of the court.
It therefore followed Roman legislation, which knew no limits. In the usual order of things, since scourging was considered one means of inquiry, the judge himself was commonly present at it.
He encouraged the executioners in their dreadful occupation, saying, "Give it to him!" We may be sure that Pilate spared himself this terrible duty.
Withdrawing into the inner chambers, he wanted to calm himself after the agitation and think over a plan for further action. Most likely he also wished to speak with his wife Claudia.
Since she had taken so warm a concern in the Prisoner's fate, she certainly did not fail to tell her husband personally about the sufferings she endured in the dream. She also told him all her perplexities concerning the Righteous One.
Meanwhile, in the courtyard of the praetorium, events took their course. The scourging was finished, and the Prisoner had been delivered fully "to their will" (Lk 23:25).
The coarse legionaries, usually recruited in the provinces from the refuse of the population, gave themselves over to the usual mockeries of that time over the Prisoner.
No doubt His nearest enemies did the same. They feared to enter the praetorium lest they be defiled, but they could not deny themselves the malicious pleasure of looking upon the cruel spectacle of scourging.
Christ called Himself King. Therefore one could amuse oneself over His kingship.
Some torn red military cloak was thrown over His shoulders. A reed was placed in His hands in place of an imperial scepter.
On His head, instead of the customary laurel wreath, they placed a thorny crown. It was probably made from the thorny nubk shrub, which still grows abundantly near the walls of Jerusalem.
Opinions, however, differ on this. The crown wounded the divine Sufferer.
Pleased with their inventiveness, the mockers bowed before Him in derision and cried mockingly, "Hail, King of the Jews!" "Rejoice, King of the Jews!" Chaire ho basileus. Ave, Caesar. Mt 27:29; Mk 15:18.
The Jews echoed this cry: shalom leka, melek ha-yehudim. They accompanied these exclamations with blows on the head, spitting in the face, and every possible outrage.
These were the outrages of which a coarse rabble, inventive in cruelty and baseness, is capable.
It is not known how long this mockery lasted. Yet all the cruelties and insults connected with it could not draw a single sigh from the breast of the divine Sufferer.
He could have asked for mercy. With groans and cries of pain, He could have begged His executioners for compassion.
After all, the human heart beats even in the coarsest and most hardened breast. But He remained silent.
He remained silent because He knew His infinite triumph and superiority over them. In the garden of Gethsemane He weakened under the unbearable burden of His soul's anguish.
With cries He called upon His heavenly Father, beseeching Him that "this cup might pass." But now, when He had already begun to drink this bitter cup of sufferings, He showed the calm joy of the victor.
His silence was a clear sign of complete self-surrender to the will of His Father. By bearing insults without murmuring, He fulfilled the work of His life.
He did this in accord with the pre-eternal decree of the heavenly council and by the power of love for His erring people and the whole world.
To human eyes His royal spirit was covered with clouds of bodily grief and torment. But the triumphant end of His earthly life appeared to Him all the more clearly.
He was drawing near to death in order to conquer and destroy death with its works of corruption. He would rise as the Giver of life and Founder of the Church, which must save the world.