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I Thirst
The shame and despair of the pillory would rankle the heart of most. Most assuredly the egregious ridicules and abuses of it all. Was this not a calamity from which one might extricate oneself by imagining scenes of bliss and serenity? Not so for the masses present that day.
The Parisian streets were quiet. Empty even on that particular morn. But the silence would soon be broken. It started at first, I imagine, with a whisper. Passed along from one person to the next, it quickly swelled and erupted into a cacophony of voices that could be heard throughout the boroughs. The spectators gathered upon the Place de Greve around the gallows. Four sergeants who had been posted inspired the crowd with the hope of an execution. The populace had increased so rapidly that the sergeants became besieged.
Literally “pole of shame,” the pillory was a mass of stonework upon which was placed a horizontal wheel of solid oak whereby the accused was bound in chains and shackles. Commencing with a turn, the culprit was lashed by the tormentor’s whip… clearly seen by all. In the past the screams of mangled men echoed throughout. But on this day, not even a whimper.
Blows were redoubled in fury, intoxicating the torturer with the sound of the horrible thongs. And then the scourging stopped. Excerpts from Hugo’s classic work describe vividly what happened next:
“A thousand other insults rained down upon him, and hoots and imprecations, and laughter, and now and then, stones. Quasimodo was deaf but his sight was clear, and the public fury was no less energetically depicted on their visages than in their words. Moreover, the blows from the stones explained the bursts of laughter.
Time passed on. He had been there at least an hour and a half, lacerated, maltreated, mocked incessantly, and almost stoned. Breaking the silence which he had obstinately preserved hitherto, he cried in a hoarse and furious voice, which resembled a bark rather than a human cry, and which was drowned in the noise of the hoots—'Drink!’
Not a voice was raised around the unhappy victim, except to jeer at his thirst. It is certain that at that moment he was more grotesque and repulsive than pitiable, with his face purple and dripping, his eye wild, his mouth foaming with rage and pain, and his tongue lolling half out. It must also be stated that if a charitable soul of a bourgeois or bourgeoise, in the rabble, had attempted to carry a glass of water to that wretched creature in torment, there reigned around the infamous steps of the pillory such a prejudice of shame and ignominy, that it would have sufficed to repulse the good Samaritan. At the expiration of a few moments, Quasimodo cast a desperate glance upon the crowd, and repeated in a voice still more heartrending: ‘Drink!’
And all began to laugh.
‘Drink this!’ cried Robin Poussepain, throwing in his face a sponge which had been soaked in the gutter. ‘There, you deaf villain, I'm your debtor.’ A woman hurled a stone at his head, ‘That will teach you to wake us up at night with your peal of a dammed soul.’ ‘Drink!’ repeated Quasimodo panting, and for the third time.
At that moment he beheld the crowd give way. A young girl, fantastically dressed, emerged from the throng. She was accompanied by a little white goat with gilded horns, and carried a tambourine in her hand. She approached, without uttering a syllable, the victim who writhed in a vain effort to escape her, and detaching a gourd from her girdle, she raised it gently to the parched lips of the miserable man.
Then, from that eye which had been, up to that moment, so dry and burning, a big tear was seen to fall, and roll slowly down that deformed visage so long contracted with despair. It was the first, in all probability, that the unfortunate man had ever shed.”
Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame
It was if the city was holding its collective breath in respectful silence waiting for some unforeseen event to arise. All of them avoiding each other’s eye as if they were unsure of where to look. Afraid to glimpse the sight of a single tear for a drop of water.
Like any good fable, there’s certainly a hint of truth somewhere in it. Perhaps even a literary parallel to a historical narrative. I, for one, can’t help but imagine some striking similarities to scenes of the cross.
From their vantage point, the carpenter’s son and a ragtag band of misfits were the cause of the stir across the land. The Nazarene was the object of bitter hatred for the Pharisees and scribes. Betrayed by the kiss of a friend, the bound and captive Christ was haled from Gethsemane before the Jewish rulers. The accusations against Him were many. Violating the Sabbath. Exorcising people through the power of Beelzebul. Blasphemy. The trial itself was a farce. Haste and precipitancy characterized the proceeding. False witnesses perjured themselves. It was truly a nefarious scheme. A mockery of justice. A shadowy pretext of justice. Heaped upon Him with every indignity that their brutish instincts could suggest, they spat upon Him and smote Him again and again.
19 You know my reproach, and my shame and my dishonor; my foes are all known to you. 20 Reproaches have broken my heart, so that I am in despair. I looked for pity, but there was none, and for comforters, but I found none.
Psalm 60.19-20
Thus condemned by the Sanhedrin, He was delivered to Pilate in the hopes that He would be executed for treason and sedition. Fearing insurrection among those who were His disciples, the crafty hierarchs were determined to bring about His death under Roman condemnation. The imperial procurator deemed Him to be no insurrectionist: “I find no guilt in this man” (Luke 23.4b). Furthermore, in concession to Jewish prejudice, he had the prisoner beaten and scourged. And yet they were undeterred. The thirst for blood had developed into a mania. Wildy and fiercely, the rabid crowd had worked themselves up to a feeding frenzy.
"Crucify, crucify Him!"
Luke 23:21b
Thus Pilate, urged on by the apostrophizings of the crowd, relented and kowtowed to their demands. Surrendering to the clamorous ultimatums of the Jews, the Galilean was given over to the savage soldiers and led towards the horrors of living crucifixion. The terrible strain of the preceding hours, the agony in Gethsemane, the barbarous treatment He had suffered in the palace of the high priest, the humiliation and cruel usage to which He had been subjected before Herod, the frightful scourging under Pilate’s order, the brutal treatment by the inhuman soldiery, together with the extreme humiliation and the mental agony of it all, had so weakened Him that He moved but slowly under the burden of the cross.
The crucifiers proceeded with roughness and taunts themselves. Previous scenes of anguish had calloused them through familiarity. Afterall, killing was their trade. Throughout the day, they, along with the morbid multitude, jested amongst themselves and derided the Christ (Luke 23.35-36). And then, we come to what will be one of the last recorded words of the dying Savior (John 19.38):
“I thirst.”
At first glance, a seemingly insignificant remark. And yet… a fulfillment of prophecy. An expression of His humanity. A heart-wrenching statement indeed. Can you feel the pathos in this scene and in His words? Hours spent on the cross in the sun coupled with His physical pain. The source of life, of grace, hope, and living water. Dying. Slowly. Painfully.
“I thirst.”
There are recorded for us seven brief sayings of the Christ on the cross. All powerful. But this particular one moves me as it leads us to His final words: “It is finished.” The end is near. All things had been accomplished. Hung on a tree. Demonstrating the covenantal curse that rested upon Him for our sake. As the apostle Paul reminded the Corinthians and us all, “for our sake He made Him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5.21). In some unfathomable way, continuing scars sedate peace. One that surpasses all understanding. God Himself declared that our sins must be expiated by sacrifice. And through the inspired Word, we are confronted with the immense price Christ paid for the forgiveness of our sins that ultimately point us to His promise for something much greater than what we could possibly imagine. They point us to the promise of eternal life with God. To living water.
"Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life."
John 4.13-14
Although not displayed in the exaggerated symbolistic style of Hugo, the simple narrative recorded by all four of the Gospel writers is factual and plain. The horrors endured that day surely left an indelible impression on those who witnessed such. And of those today who believe with certainty. The Son of God endured the suffering of the cross. Paying the price of our sins with His death.
Do you recognize your own need for a Savior? Aren’t we all truly thirsting for the living water? Consider your most desperate spiritual need for righteousness. For cleansing. For salvation. The Suffering Servant is quenching souls who are thirsty for living water.
“If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.’”
John 7.37b-38
And thirst nevermore.
