Day 92

Deuteronomy 29–30 | John 19:1–16 | Psalm 40

The crowd was restless.

The governor was conflicted.

The soldiers had done their worst.

And there stood Jesus—bloodied, bruised, barely recognizable.

A crown of thorns pressed into His scalp.

A purple robe draped over raw, torn flesh.

Eyes swollen. Lips split.

Flesh hanging from His back.

And Pilate, hoping to pacify the mob without actually condemning Him, presented the beaten man to the crowd:

“Behold the man!” (John 19:5)

It was supposed to be a moment of humiliation—a final display to prove that Jesus wasn’t a threat.

A spectacle. A mockery.

But in that phrase, Pilate said more than he knew.

Because this wasn’t just any man.

This was the God-Man.

This was the King of kings.

Behold the Man.

When Kings Look Weak

It’s ironic that in that moment of utter weakness, Jesus’ restraint displayed the greatest strength the world has ever seen.

He could have called down angels.

He could have stopped it all with a whisper.

He could have demanded worship.

But He didn’t.

Because He wasn’t there to prove His power—He was there to absorb our wrath.

To take my place.

To take yours.

Pilate didn’t realize the weight of his words.

The soldiers didn’t grasp who they were mocking.

The crowd didn’t know the one they cried out to crucify was the Lord of glory.

Behold the Man.

The Servant-King who chose suffering.

The Holy One who bore our sin.

The Innocent One condemned as guilty.

When I Look at Him

It’s hard to imagine that scene.

Hard to look at the brutality.

Hard to see the King of the universe treated as less than human.

But it’s even harder when I realize—that should have been me.

The one crushed under the weight of sin.

The one enduring wrath.

The one cast out.

I think about how often I avoid suffering, how I pull back from pain, how I try to sidestep anything uncomfortable.

But Jesus stepped into it.

He didn’t just endure pain—He chose it.

For me.

And as I picture His back, torn and bleeding, I can’t help but think of my own hand only a few months ago—the raw flesh, the exposed tendons, the pain that made me feel like I couldn’t breathe.

But what I endured doesn’t even come close to what He did.

Not just the physical pain—though that alone is unimaginable—but the spiritual agony of bearing the wrath of God.

My scars are a just a reminder of a single moment—an accident that changed my life.

His scars are a declaration of purpose—a sacrifice that changed eternity.

When I behold that Man—the one who willingly walked into suffering, who chose the nails, who embraced the cross for me—my pain doesn’t just feel lighter.

It feels purposeful.

Not wasted.

Not pointless.

But shaped by the hands of the One who bore mine.

And when I remember that truth, I can’t help but see the irony.

The King They Didn’t See

The irony is overwhelming.

Pilate presented Jesus as a pitiful figure—hoping to incite sympathy.

But what he actually presented was a King—the true King.

One whose power was not displayed in a show of force but in the strength to endure.

One whose authority wasn’t diminished by wounds but magnified by willingness.

One who didn’t just rule—He rescued.

When I look at Him, I’m humbled.

My excuses melt away.

My pride crumbles.

My desire to dodge discomfort feels so petty when I behold the One who embraced it for me.

And when I think of the people who still see Jesus as just a good man, just a teacher, just a misunderstood historical figure—I want to say to them what Pilate said to the crowd:

Behold the Man.

Look at Him. Really look. Because when you see Him for who He really is, everything changes.

The Choice Before Me

In Deuteronomy 30, Moses presents Israel with a choice:

“I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life…” (Deut. 30:19)

It’s a choice we still face today.

Will I see Jesus for who He truly is?

Or will I look away—unmoved, indifferent, dismissive?

I can choose comfort.

I can choose compromise.

I can choose cowardice.

Or I can choose life.

And life comes from beholding the Man who took my place, bore my punishment, and stood firm when I would have fallen.

Behold the Man.

The King.

The Lamb.

The Savior who embraced the suffering I deserved—and gave me the life I never could have earned.

⸻

Lord, forgive me when I look away—when I choose comfort over courage, distraction over devotion. Help me to truly behold You—to see You as the suffering King who stood firm in my place. Let the image of Your willing sacrifice shatter my pride and renew my resolve to follow You, no matter the cost. Amen.