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This artwork was inspired by an image I discovered on Lightstock. Something about it arrested me - I knew I wanted to explore and share what I was seeing.
Jesus is portrayed from behind. His back is turned toward the viewer. A crown of thorns presses into His head. He is clothed in a red robe. Pitch blackness surrounds Him.
There is a tension in the scene - the weight of what is about to unfold. His passion has begun. The cross lies ahead.
What stood out to me most were the crown of thorns and the red robe - both symbols of suffering and humiliation. And yet, this is Jesus: King of kings and Lord of lords. This King is crowned not with gold, but with thorns. He is not robed in royal splendor, but in garments stained by mockery and blood.
I was reminded of the Titulus: the plaque placed above His head on the cross, which read, “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews” (John 19:19). In my drawing, I carved those words above His head in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek, just as Scripture records. The inscription was meant as scorn. A charge. A public humiliation.
To eyewitnesses, everything about the crucifixion seemed to confirm the mockery. He was rejected by His own people, delivered over to a brutal and degrading death. His followers scattered. There was no earthly revolt, no angelic army descending in visible triumph, no overthrow of Rome. Even those who loved Him must have felt confusion, grief, and deep disappointment.
Until the third day.
Until the stone was rolled away.
Until death itself was conquered.
The One who was mocked as “King” was revealed to be exactly that. Raised from the dead. Ascended to heaven. Exalted to the right hand of the Father. As it is written in Epistle to the Philippians 2:9–11, God has highly exalted Him and given Him the Name above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow.
This artwork seeks to hold that tension: glory and suffering intertwined.
Not only in Christ’s story, but in ours.
Jesus willingly laid down His life. He was not a victim of circumstance but the Lamb who gave Himself (John 10:18). And He calls His followers to take up their cross daily and follow Him (Luke 9:23). That call is not poetic sentiment. It is costly.
Many of us were first drawn to Jesus by the glory of the gospel; freedom from sin, release from shame, reconciliation with God, eternal hope. And rightly so. The gospel is good news beyond measure.
But union with Christ means more than sharing in His victory. It also means sharing in His sufferings (Romans 8:17).
Here is the truth I have come to learn personally:
Nothing prepared me for the pain of sanctification; the deep, internal work of the Spirit that exposes, humbles, and crucifies the old self. And yet, the endurance, maturity, and Christlike character formed through this dying-with-Him process make the suffering strangely beautiful. There is a holy irresistibility to resurrection life that can only emerge from surrender.
Sanctification is not self-improvement. It is participation in Christ’s death and life. As the apostle Paul writes in Epistle to the Philippians 3:10–11: "That I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and may share His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead".
This artwork is a reminder to: "Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever. And now he’s there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls!” -Heb. 12:2 (MSG)."
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