The Tunic
Which soldier had the winning lot? Did he know at the time of his winning that the value of the tunic was based on whose it was, rather than what it was?
Was this simple but beautifully made shirt created just for Jesus or was it intended for royalty? Either way it’s mission was fulfilled as a royal garment.
Seamless clothing was only afforded by the wealthy and most likely layered with another garment of purple, much like the heavy robe that was mockingly put on Jesus’ shoulders by the Roman military. How ironic that the Father dressed His son as a king of the earth as Pilate testified repeatedly of His true identity, King of the Jews, to the unbelieving mass.
The tunic was, no doubt, removed before Jesus’ back was shredded at the whipping post. How utterly painful the weight of the light fabric must have been as it was put back onto its rightful owner. First one ivory thread, and then all the rest succumbing to the permanent stain of His soaking red blood.
At the top of Golgotha the shirt had to be nearly indistinguishable, as it melded with the wounds it covered. Ripping afresh the scourging marks, it was pulled off over his head. Very few knew that the value of the Man was far more than the blood soaked hideous looking tunic.
The good Father however, was not finished with it.
It had yet to hold it’s place in eternity as a testament of the Man’s Truth.
Did anyone think it odd that Roman soldiers were shaking their stones at the feet of horrible suffering? Did any Pharisee connect the lots being cast with the words of their most beloved King David? “For my clothing they can lots.”
I think not since Jesus, in all His excruciating pain, was able to observe, yet again, the complete incomprehension of Truth among His people. In a final hope to turn hearts, He uttered the words that were often read in the in their House of Worship, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”
How many quietly whispered the rest of Psalm 22 that is the very story of Jesus’ death? It would’ve been no different than if I said to you, “Our Father who art in heaven,…” Did they finally understand?
I am poured out like water,
And all my bones are out of joint;
My heart is like wax;
It is melted within me.
My strength is dried up like a potsherd,
And my tongue cleaves to my jaws;
And You lay me in the dust of death.
For dogs have surrounded me;
A band of evildoers has encompassed me;
They pierced my hands and my feet.
And all my bones are out of joint;
My heart is like wax;
It is melted within me.
My strength is dried up like a potsherd,
And my tongue cleaves to my jaws;
And You lay me in the dust of death.
For dogs have surrounded me;
A band of evildoers has encompassed me;
They pierced my hands and my feet.
Gripped tightly in the fist of the winner, the tunic found a new home. How often was it washed to remove the blood of the Lamb? Did it heal that fist or the hands that scrubbed it? Did anyone dare to put it on in spite of the brown stains?
More importantly, how long was it before the true identity of its first Owner was realized? I hope it was immediate. I hope that fist was clenched tight in response to the love of Jesus pouring down from the cross. I hope that soldier knew right away that no matter the lot cast, that everyone can be covered with the soaking red blood of the Lamb by putting on the most valuable garment of all.
For you are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus. For all of you who are baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.
* Picture from messianic-revolution.com
