We carry a lot of crosses no one asked for—disappointment, shame, the ache of injustice. The scene of Jesus on the cross meets those longings head-on: here is God exposed, mocked, and dying. When we look at this moment, we’re confronted by our hunger for justice and our need for mercy at the same time. What does it mean that the Son of God allowed himself to be nailed where thieves were nailed?

In simple terms: Jesus is led to Golgotha and crucified between two criminals. Soldiers nail him to a wooden cross, put up a sign declaring him “King of the Jews,” and cast lots for his clothes. Bystanders and leaders jeer; one criminal joins the mockery, another turns and trusts Jesus. Across the Gospels the core is the same—public execution, mockery, the inscription, and divided garments—but each writer highlights different details. Matthew and Mark emphasize the humiliation, Simon of Cyrene being pressed to carry the cross (both include him), and the taunts of passersby. Luke alone records Jesus’ prayer, “Father, forgive them,” and the promise to the repentant criminal; John gives the most detail about the inscription and the soldiers casting lots—and in John Jesus is depicted as carrying the cross without mention of Simon. These differences aren’t contradictions so much as different angles on the same crucifixion.

This passage pulls back the curtain on who Jesus is: not a distant deity but a suffering Savior who absorbs human violence and offers forgiveness from the cross. The Kingdom he inaugurates overturns power: kingship shown in vulnerability, victory won through loss. That is both scandalous and deeply comforting. It challenges us—if grace costs Jesus his life, can we hold grudges or remain indifferent to others’ pain?—and it offers hope: even in humiliation, mercy is at work.

Today, practice one concrete, humble act that steps into that mercy: forgive someone in prayer (name them), then do one small tangible thing for someone who is carrying a burden—make a call, bring a meal, admit you don’t have answers but will sit with them. Let the cross shape your response: costly compassion instead of easy judgment.