purple cloak

WE ARE BULLIES

December 2015 (10)Mark 15:16-20

16 And the soldiers led him away inside the palace (in other words, the Praetorium), and they called together the whole cohort. 17 And they dressed him in a purple cloak, and weaving together a crown of thorns, they put it on him. 18 And they began to salute him, “Hail, King of the Jews!” 19 And they were hitting his head with a reed and spitting on him and kneeling down, pretending to honour him. 20 And when they had mocked him, they stripped him of that purple cloak and put his own clothes on him. And they led him on so they could crucify him.

purple cloak

 

Our Lord was humiliated by soldiers who pretended to honor Him, draping Him in a purple cloak and bowing in mock worship. What they did was not thoughtful or deliberate cruelty—it was the kind that grows when people lose themselves in a crowd. One soldier alone might have simply stood guard, doing his duty without malice. But together, they became something uglier. They fed off one another’s laughter, one another’s bravado, one another’s scorn. Like children on a playground who discover the power of ganging up, they pushed each other further, turning mockery into violence. That is the sad truth about human nature: we are easily shaped by the worst impulses of the group, and we often find courage for cruelty long before we find courage for compassion.

Yet Jesus came precisely for people like that—for people like us. He did not recoil from our brokenness or our bullying hearts. Instead, He stepped into the center of it. He allowed Himself to be wrapped in that purple robe, not because He deserved the shame, but because we did. He let the mockery fall on Him so that mercy could fall on us. He endured the sneers, the blows, the false honor, and the real humiliation so that He could rescue us from the very instincts that nailed Him to the cross. The purple cloak meant to degrade Him became a symbol of the love that would not turn away. He took our cruelty into His own body so that we could be freed from it forever.

This is the love that saves us—not sentimental, not shallow, but sacrificial. A love strong enough to absorb our worst and still offer us His best. A love that sees what we are and chooses us anyway.

LORD, thank You for Your sacrificial love.

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the man you call king

WHO IS JESUS TO YOU, REALLY?

December 2015 (9)Mark 15:12-15

12 And Pilate again answered, saying to them, “Then what should I do with the man you call the King of the Jews?” 13 And they yelled out again, “Crucify him.” 14 Then Pilate said to them, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they yelled even more, “Crucify him.” 15 So Pilate, wanting to satisfy the crowd, released Barabbas for them, and after having Jesus flogged, he handed him over to be crucified.

the man you call king

 

They called Jesus “Rabbi,” a title of honor, yet in their hearts they dismissed Him as nothing more than a provincial Galilean. They called Him “teacher,” but His words never shaped their lives. They called Him “Lord,” but their obedience stopped the moment His commands pressed against their desires. Some even dared to call Him “Messiah,” but when His mission did not match their expectations, they quietly withdrew their hope. This was the generation that crucified its own Saviour while still using religious language to describe Him.

And the pattern has not disappeared. Our generation is fluent in Christian vocabulary yet slow to embrace the weight of Christ’s identity. Many admire Jesus at Christmas, when He is small, safe, and silent in a manger, but they resist Him as King when His authority confronts their lives. They speak of His love but ignore His call to repentance. They appreciate His compassion but reject His claim to rule. To them, His death is nothing more than a tragic end to a good man. But if we believe that Jesus died merely because an angry crowd overpowered Him, then we have aligned ourselves with that very crowd. We have reduced the Lord of glory to a victim of circumstance rather than the willing Lamb of God who laid down His life.

The cross exposes the truth about every generation: it is possible to say the right words about Jesus while refusing to bow to who He truly is. But the cross also reveals His mercy. The One we rejected is the One who saves. The One we misunderstood is the One who intercedes. The One we crucified is the One who rose to give life.

LORD, we acknowledge You for who You truly are. We confess Your Son as God’s Son and our Saviour.

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Barabbas instead

WHO ARE YOU TRUSTING TO SAVE YOU?

December 2015 (8)Mark 15:6-11

6 Now at the feast he usually released for them one prisoner for whom they asked. 7 And there was a man called Barabbas among the rebels in prison, who had committed murder in the insurrection. 8 The crowd came up and began to ask Pilate to do what he usually did for them. 9 And answering them, he said, “Do you want me to release for you this King of the Jews?” 10 Because he had figured out that it was out of envy that the chief priests had handed him over. 11 But the chief priests motivated the crowd to have him release for them Barabbas instead.

Barabbas instead

Barabbas was an ordinary man with an ordinary, fallen heart—likely violent, certainly guilty, and no friend of the religious leaders who stood in judgment that day. They did not admire him, nor did they consider him a hero. Yet their hatred for Jesus ran so deep that they would rather see a dangerous man released than allow the innocent Son of God to live. Their rejection of Jesus was deliberate, stubborn, and rooted in unbelief. But imagine, just for a moment, a different outcome. Imagine the crowd choosing to spare Jesus and sending Barabbas to the cross instead. What would that have accomplished? Barabbas’ death would have paid only the debt he owed as a son of Adam—the death every human inherits simply by being human. And after that first death, he would still face the second: the judgment for his own sins. Every one of us carries that same double debt. We die because we are in Adam, and we stand guilty because of our own choices. No human death—no matter how tragic or deserved—can pay for both.

This is where Jesus steps in with a purpose no one else could fulfill. He did not owe the first death, because He never sinned. He did not owe the second death, because He was perfectly righteous. He alone could step into the place of sinners and absorb the full penalty—both the inherited death of Adam and the deserved judgment for our own sins. His death was not a tragic accident or a political miscalculation; it was a deliberate rescue. If Barabbas had died that day, nothing in the world would have changed. But because Jesus died, everything can change. Eternal life is now possible. Judgment can be lifted. The second death can be cancelled. No one else can offer that. No one else ever will.

So do not entrust your eternity to your goodness, your efforts, your sincerity, or any other human hope. Only Jesus carries the power to bring life out of death and to stand in your place on the day that truly matters.

LORD, we trust in only Your Son to bring us eternal life.

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surprised by silence

WHAT IF I PRAY AND THERE IS NO ANSWER?

December 2015 (7)Mark 15:1-5

1 And as soon as it was morning, the chief priests consulted with the elders and scribes and the whole Sanhedrin. And they bound Jesus and led him away and handed him over to Pilate. 2 And Pilate asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Answering, he said to him, “You say so.” 3 And the chief priests accused him constantly. 4 And Pilate again asked him, “Have you no answer to make? See how many charges they bring against you.” 5 But Jesus made no further answer, resulting in Pilate being surprised.

surprised by silence

Pilate expected Jesus to do what every threatened human instinctively does: scramble for safety, explain the misunderstanding, plead for mercy, and negotiate a way out. Pilate was waiting for panic, for self‑defence, for some sign that Jesus understood how much power stood over Him. Instead, Jesus met the moment with a calm that unnerved the governor. He stayed silent, not because He was defeated, but because He was in command. The One through whom the world was made had no need to win the world’s approval. He simply noted Pilate’s own words about Him being “king of the Jews,” exposing the irony that Pilate had spoken more truth than he understood. Beyond that, Jesus offered no defence. His silence was not weakness; it was purpose.

We often find ourselves in situations where we want Christ to act immediately, to speak clearly, to intervene in ways we can measure. When heaven seems quiet, we feel abandoned or confused. Some even begin to doubt whether Jesus is listening at all. But Scripture never teaches that faith depends on constant answers. The only proof we ever needed was given once for all in the resurrection. That empty tomb is the foundation of biblical faith. Jesus does not owe us explanations, and our trust does not depend on receiving them. He will answer in His time, because He cares for us deeply. Yet His greatest concern is not our temporary comfort but our eternal life. That is why He stood silent before Pilate—so that nothing would divert Him from the cross, where our deepest need would be met forever.

When our prayers seem to echo back without reply, we cling to the same promise that carried Him through that trial: the Father’s plan is sure, and resurrection life is already ours.

LORD, we know You are present. You were present for us at the cross. We trust You.

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courtyard

DO YOU HEAR THE ROOSTER?

December 2015 (7)Mark 14:65-72

65 And some began to spit on him and to blindfold him and to beat him, saying to him, “Prophesy!” And the guards received him with blows. 66 And while Peter was below in the courtyard, one of the servant girls of the high priest came by, 67 and when she saw Peter warming himself, she stared at him and said, “You also were with that Nazarene, Jesus.” 68 But he denied it, saying, “I have no idea what you mean.” And he went out into the gateway and the rooster crowed. 69 When the servant girl noticed him again, she began again to say to the bystanders, “This man is one of them.” 70 But he denied it again. And after a little while the bystanders again asked Peter, “You are certainly one of them, because you are a Galilean.” 71 But he began to call a curse on himself and to swear, “I do not know this man you are talking about.” 72 And just then the rooster crowed a second time. And Peter remembered when Jesus had said to him, “Before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.” And he broke down and cried.

courtyard

Peter’s trial began long before the rooster crowed. While Jesus was being shuffled from one illegal hearing to another, Peter was in his own courtroom—one without judges or scrolls, but just as real. His faith was being tested, not by swords or threats, but by fear, exhaustion, and the sudden collapse of everything he thought he understood. And he failed. Not once, but three times. Each denial came easier than the last. Each step away from truth made the next step feel almost natural. Even the memory of Jesus’ warning—so vivid hours earlier—seemed to vanish under the pressure of self‑preservation.

That is how these moments work. They come when we are tired, vulnerable, and disoriented. They come when the world feels grey and the lines between right and wrong blur. In those moments, our past experiences, our bold declarations, even our spiritual highs can feel strangely distant. We may pass such tests, or we may fail them. But the deeper truth is this: the Christ who died for us knows exactly what these moments feel like. He knows the weakness, the fear, the confusion. And He does not abandon us when we stumble. His commitment to us is not fragile. It is not dependent on our flawless performance. It is anchored in His love, not our strength.

Peter’s failure did not end his story. It became the place where grace met him most powerfully. And the same is true for us. The One we sometimes struggle to live for is the One who never struggled to die for us.

LORD, thank You for dying for us, even though we sometimes struggle to faithfully live for You.

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I am

IF HE DOES NOT RETURN, HE IS NOT THE “I AM”

December 2015 (6)Mark 14:61-64

 

61 But he remained silent and answered nothing. Again the high priest asked him, “Are you the Christ, the Son of the Blessed One?” 62 And Jesus said, “I am, and you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of power,[1] and coming with the clouds of heaven.”[2] 63 And the high priest tore his garments and said, “Why are we still looking for witnesses? 64 You have heard his blasphemy. What is your decision?” And they all condemned him as deserving death.

I am

When the high priest finally asked Jesus directly who He was, the silence broke—and what came out was not a defensive argument or a clever evasion, but the very name of God. “I am.” In that moment, Jesus reached back to the burning bush, to the voice that spoke to Moses, to the identity that belongs only to the eternal Father. He was not merely claiming a title; He was revealing His nature. The same God who had spoken from the fire was now standing before them in human flesh.

And yet the world still asks the same question. It keeps demanding that Jesus explain Himself, define Himself, justify Himself. But only the children of the sky‑Father accept His answer. Only those whose hearts have been awakened by grace can hear “I am” and recognize the voice of the One who has always been.

Jesus didn’t stop with identity—He spoke of destiny. He prophesied that the day would come when His authority would no longer be hidden. He would return with the clouds, seated at the right hand of Power, and the question of who He is would be settled by His appearing. The high priest rejected that claim as blasphemy, and in one sense he was right: either Jesus will return in glory, or He was a blasphemer. Either He is the Christ, or He is not. There is no middle ground.

But we know who He is. We trust the One who spoke the name of God because He is the God who speaks. And we trust His promise to return because His identity guarantees His destiny.

LORD, give us confidence in Your return because we trust who You really are.


[1] Psalm 110:1.

[2] Daniel 7:13.

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no answer

THE ANSWER IS THE CROSS

December 2015 (5)Mark 14:57-60

57 Then some men stood up and presented this false witness against him: 58 “We heard him say, ‘I will destroy this temple that is made with hands, and in three days I will build another, not made with hands.'” 59 Yet even about this their testimony did not agree. 60 And the high priest stood up in the middle of them and asked Jesus, “Have you no answer to make? What is it that these men are testifying against you?”

no answer

 

The high priest’s question still echoes because humanity keeps asking it in new forms. Every time we look at poverty, violence, indignity, or injustice and demand, “God, why don’t You intervene?” we are reenacting that ancient courtroom scene. We are placing Jesus on trial again, insisting that He defend Himself, insisting that He justify His silence.

But the silence of Jesus at His trial was His answer. And it remains His answer still. The cross is the response we need far more than the explanations we want. In that one act of sacrificial love, God addressed the root of every evil, every injustice, every wound. The world’s brokenness is not ignored; it is carried. Its guilt is not excused; it is atoned for. Its future is not abandoned; it is redeemed.

So when we encounter wrong and sin and injustice—when we feel the ache of what is not yet healed—we face a choice. We can accuse Jesus of inaction, demanding that He justify Himself. Or we can trust the gospel. We can believe that the One who refused to defend Himself before the Sanhedrin is the same One who now reigns with all authority. We can trust that He has every matter under His control, even when His timing confounds us. We can rest in the truth that He will prevail.

The cross is not God’s absence; it is His deepest intervention. And it is enough.

LORD, give us the insight to stop asking You “why” and find the answer in Your plan.

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misdirected unity

UNITY AT ANY COST?

December 2015 (4)Mark 14:53-56

53 And they escorted Jesus to the high priest. And all the high ranking priests and the elders and the scribes came together. 54 And Peter had followed him at a distance, right into the courtyard of the high priest. And he was sitting with the guards and warming himself at the fire. 55 Now the high ranking priests and the whole Council were trying to acquire testimony against Jesus to put him to death, but they found none. 56 Because many presented false witness against him, but their testimony did not agree.

misdirected unity

In a council like the Sanhedrin, disagreement was normal. Factions, rivalries, and theological differences were part of the landscape. But when unity suddenly appeared—when priests, elders, and scribes all aligned with one another—that was the moment to be wary. Their unity was not born of truth, humility, or obedience to God. It was unity forged around a shared desire to condemn the very One their Scriptures pointed to. And that kind of unity is terrifying.

This is the warning tucked inside the trial of Jesus: unity by itself is not a virtue. Unity can be weaponized. Unity can be the collective momentum of people agreeing to do the wrong thing. Unity can become a cloak that hides corruption, fear, or ambition. The religious leaders achieved unity that day, but it was unity in darkness. Their agreement made it possible for them to put to death the One who created them.

So the church must be wise. We long for unity—and rightly so. Jesus prayed for it. Paul urged it. But unity gained by abandoning truth is always dangerous. Unity that requires us to mute the voice of Christ, soften His teachings, or ignore His Spirit is not unity at all. It is surrender. It is the same kind of unity that once condemned the Son of God.

Our pursuit of unity must always be tethered to the glory of God, the wisdom of Scripture, and the discernment of the Spirit. Ecumenism is good when it leads us toward shared obedience. It becomes harmful when it asks us to trade truth for togetherness.

LORD, direct our pursuits of unity so that we come together to do good and not evil. Balance our ecumenism with a concern for bringing You glory through insight and wisdom.

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the day I ran from Jesus

STAND FOR JESUS, YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT

December 2015 (3)Mark 14:47-52

47 But one of those who stood by pulled out his sword and struck the servant of the high priest and took off his ear. 48 And Jesus said to them, “Have you come out as against an insurrectionist, with swords and clubs to arrest me? 49 Day after day I was with you in the temple teaching, and you did not seize me. But let the Scriptures be fulfilled.” 50 And they all left him and ran off. 51 And a young man followed him, with nothing but a shirt around his body. And they seized him, 52 but he left the shirt and ran away naked.

the day I ran from Jesus

Mark’s account of Jesus’ arrest really does feel surreal—almost dreamlike in its disjointed details. A sword flashes in the dark. A servant’s ear is severed. Yet Mark doesn’t pause to tell us about the healing, perhaps because he wasn’t close enough to see it. Jesus points out the absurdity of the moment: they come armed with clubs and swords to seize the One who had been teaching openly in the temple all week. Nothing about this arrest is logical. It is driven by fear, not truth. And Jesus knows it must unfold this way so that the Scriptures will be fulfilled.

Then comes that strange, almost embarrassing detail—the young man who nearly gets arrested himself, fleeing so quickly that he leaves his garment behind. Many have wondered whether this was Mark inserting his own memory into the story. If so, it is a memory marked not by courage but by shame. His one moment in the scene is a moment of running away. And that, too, is part of the honesty of the gospel. Even those who would later proclaim Christ boldly had moments when fear won.

It is sobering to imagine your only encounter with Jesus in His darkest hour being the memory of fleeing from Him. But that is precisely why this detail matters. It warns us gently but firmly: don’t run away from Jesus. Don’t let fear, confusion, or pressure push you from His side. The mob may be loud. The night may be chaotic. But the safest place in the world is still near Him.

LORD, give us the courage to stand with You when others are standing against You.

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love and respect

IS YOUR REGARD FOR JESUS MERE PRETENCE?

December 2015 (2)Mark 14:43-46

43 Just then, while Jesus is still speaking, Judas, one of the twelve, arrives. With him is a crowd armed with swords and clubs, sent from the chief priests and scribes and elders. 44 (This betrayer had given them a sign, saying, “The one I like is the man. Arrest him and lead him away under guard.”) 45 When Judas arrived, he went up to Jesus immediately and said, “Rabbi!” and kissed him. 46 Then they took hold of him and arrested him.

love and respect

Judas approached Jesus with the gestures of affection and respect—a kiss, a warm greeting, the outward signs of loyalty. But those signs had been hollowed out from the inside. They were no longer expressions of love; they were tools of betrayal. And that is the pattern of this world. It has always known how to perform reverence toward Jesus while quietly rejecting everything He stands for. It praises Him as a “good man,” a moral teacher, a spiritual guide—anything except Lord. But admiration without obedience is not love. Respect without surrender is not devotion.

Jesus Himself confronted His generation with this contradiction: Why do you call Me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and not do what I say? A kiss means nothing if the next step is to hand Him over. A compliment means nothing if it leads to a cross. Real love follows Jesus. Real love obeys Him. Real love stands with Him even when the crowd moves in the opposite direction.

And that is why we must be discerning. Not cynical, but clear‑eyed. Not suspicious of everyone, but wise enough to recognize that not every expression of affection toward Jesus is genuine. Some people praise Him only to reshape Him. Some honor Him only to neutralize Him. Some “love” Him only so they can lead Him away from the place of authority in their lives.

The call for us is to be the opposite—to be people whose devotion is real, whose loyalty is costly, whose love is expressed not in gestures but in obedience, endurance, and truth.

LORD, we ask for the courage to stand against those who merely pretend to love and honor You. Make us genuine.

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