Most people, given the option, would rather die at home. And if not at home, in their own bed and in their own surroundings, then at least in a hospice or a hospital, surrounded by those who have known them and loved them in their living and in their dieing.

Very few of us want to die alone, with strange people around us and in a strange place. We want those last moments to be with the ones we love.

And in his humanity, I am certain that Jesus would have wanted that as well. In his humanity, Jesus would not have chosen public humiliation. In his humanity, Jesus would not have chosen a criminal’s execution, surrounded by criminals, watchers, scoffers, mockers. Yet this is the death of a king.

It has more echoes of the death of Diana than the death of the Queen Mother.

His disciples, his closest and companions, his chosen twelve abandoned him. They ran away, naked. They denied knowing him. One of them even gave him up to the authorities.

Some of you may say, not all; not all of his friends abandoned him. The women were there. At the moment of death, the women were more faithful than the men. Many women who had followed him from Galilee witnessed his last breathing moments. But even they looked on from afar; even they stood at a distance.

These aren’t the final moments of a beloved monarch. This is the cruel and harsh, crushing end of life … of a king.

Spoken of so soon after his birth by the Magi: “Where is he who is born to be king of the Jews?”. Spoken of by one of the first to be called, Nathaneal: “You are the son of God. You are the King of Israel.” Spoken of, on what we call Palm Sunday, as fulfilling prophecy: “Lo, your king comes, humble and riding on a donkey” whilst the people shouted: “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord”. Spoken of by Pilate in his questioning: “Are you the King of the Jews?” and then in the inscription he insisted was placed above Jesus in Hebrew and Greek and Latin: “This is the King of the Jews”. Spoken of by the bystanders: “If you are King of the Jews, save yourself” and of the penitent thief: “Remember me when you come into your kingdom”.

Throughout his life Jesus is acclaimed by friend and stranger, by follower and adversary, as king. Yet the end of his life is anything but kingly:
     trumped up charges,
         political opportunism,
            stripped of dignity,
                nailed to a cross,
and yet, a king.

And not just a king … our king.

King not of place or time; not bounded by geography or epoch; not imposed on subjects by virtue of birth; but king because you have chosen it to be so.

You have come to the cross and seen something more than an innocent victim. You have chosen to bend your knee and offer yourself to this king.

Why?

What do you see in this dieing man that is regal?
What do you find in him that is noble?
What do you glimpse in him that is majestic?

Why have you offered your free-will dieing on a gibbet?
Why have you promised to follow him into the unknown?
Why have you concluded that there is no better way than this?

Hanging on the cross,
parched,
    bleeding,
        suffocating.

Surrounded by criminals,
    watchers,
        scoffers
            mockers.

Taunted
    Vilified
        Pilloried
            Belittled

He summons what energy he has left and says
Forgive