Psalm 22:7

Mockery was a great ingredient in our Lord’s suffering. Judas mocked him in the garden; the chief priests and scribes scorned him; Herod treated him with contempt; the servants and the soldiers jeered at him, and brutally insulted him; Pilate and his guards ridiculed his royalty; and on the tree all sorts of horrible jests and hideous taunts were hurled at him.

Ridicule is always hard to bear, but when we are in intense pain it is so heartless, so cruel, that it cuts us to the quick. Imagine the Saviour crucified, racked with anguish far beyond all human comprehension, and then picture that motley multitude, all wagging their heads or thrusting out the lip in bitterest contempt of one poor, suffering victim!

Surely there must have been something more in the crucified One than they could see, or else such a great and mixed crowd would not unanimously have honoured him with such contempt. Was it not evil confessing, in the very moment of its greatest apparent triumph, that after all it could do no more than mock at that victorious goodness which was then reigning on the cross?

O Jesus, “despised and rejected of men,” how could you die for those who treated you so badly? In this is love amazing, love divine, yes, love beyond measure. We, too, have despised you in the days of our unregenerate state, and even since our new birth we have set the world on high in our hearts, and yet you bleed to heal our wounds, and die to give us life. Oh, if only we could set you on a glorious high throne in everyone's hearts! We would ring out your praises over land and sea until people should as universally adore as once they did unanimously reject.

“Your creatures wrong you, O you sovereign Good!
You are not loved, because not understood:
This grieves me most, that vain pursuits beguile
Ungrateful people, regardless of your smile.”