Mockery was a massive part of our Lord's suffering. Judas mocked him in the garden. The chief priests and scribes laughed him to scorn. Herod set him at nothing. The servants and soldiers jeered at him, brutally insulting him. Pilate and his guards ridiculed his royalty. And on the tree, every kind of horrid jest and hideous taunt was hurled at him.

Ridicule always hurts. But when you're already in agony? It's heartless, so cruel, that it cuts to the quick. Picture it: the Savior crucified, racked with anguish far beyond all mortal guess, and there stands that motley multitude, all wagging their heads, thrusting out their lips in bitterest contempt at one poor suffering victim!

Surely there must have been something more in the Crucified One than they could see. Why else would such a great and mingled crowd unanimously honor him with such contempt? Think about it—wasn't evil confessing something in that very moment? At the peak of its apparent triumph, all it could do was mock at that victorious goodness which was then reigning on the cross!

O Jesus, "despised and rejected of men," how could you die for men who treated you so ill? Herein is love amazing, love divine, yes, love beyond degree!

We too have despised you in the days of our unregeneracy. Even since our new birth, we've set the world on high in our hearts. And yet you bleed to heal our wounds, and die to give us life.

O that we could set you on a glorious high throne in all men's hearts! We would ring out your praises over land and sea until men should as universally adore as once they did unanimously reject.

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