One Long Day

His face was already bruised.  We idly looked at these men as they came in so very early.  It was probably because their holiday was about to start. They were dragging this man, shoving him, really, into our governor’s courtyard.  They would not enter the building, of course. It might defile them.

The accusation was that he had set himself up as some sort of king--pitiful king!  Even were it not for his bruises, there would be no greatness in his appearance. He was certainly no lord.

He was handed over to us to be beaten, but he did not ask for mercy.  We added to the bruising delivered by his own people. The lash was laid on his back hard.  His back was lacerated, but he did not cry out. We taunted him. The centurion yelled in his face, “Beg for my mercy!  Why don’t you beg for mercy?” and kicked him severely. The man looked at him with compassion.

A couple of us had twisted together some thorns that grew close by.  This false king would have a crown. He was dragged to his feet and held in place as we draped him with one of our cloaks.  We then pressed the crown into this Jew’s head.

“Hail!  King of the Jews!”  They took turns greeting him, striking him with reeds instead of saluting him.  Some spat on his face. Even then, he did not ask for mercy. Even then, he was resolute and, most disturbingly, compassionate.

It was time.  He was called for to be presented to the people, who were close to being a mob.  They would ask for one of their own to be released, and this our governor would do as a generous gesture of goodwill.  

“Behold, the man!”  He motioned to the Jew whom we had just brutalized.  The Jew was still wearing the soldier’s cloak and the crown.

The crowd was roaring a chant, “Crucify! Crucify!”

Our governor yelled over them, “You take him and crucify him!  I find nothing in the accusations against him.”

Some of the men who had brought him in so early that morning motioned for the crowds to quiet as they spoke, “We have a law, and according to that law he must die, because--he claimed to be the son of God.”

Our governor motioned for the Jew to be brought back inside.  Once away from the crowd, who were beginning to chant again, he asked the man, “Where do you come from?”  Blood was drying on the man’s face. He was bruised and his eye was swollen. The man’s expression was serene.

Our governor asked vehemently, “Do you refuse to answer? Hm?”  He took one turn, and then said into the man’s face, “Don’t you understand that I have the power of life and death over you?”

“You have no power over me but what is given you from above.  Nonetheless, they who handed me over to you have the greater sin.” This is what he stated.  In spite of his bruises and bloodied body, in spite of the beatings and the mockery, he was calm. Our governor was pacing and looking out to where the crowds were calling for the crucifixion of this impostor and trouble-maker, as they were calling him.  We awaited orders.

Our governor had a servant bring water, while he went to face the crowd.  Like a tragedian, he motioned the basin of water to himself. “I wash my hands of this innocent man’s blood,” he said as he rinsed his hands and carefully dried them.  The mob roared, “His blood be on us and on our children!” And the man was sentenced to death.

We jostled him down and took off the cloak.  We left the crown in place and put his own robe on him, but, when we were going to put the cross on his back, he reached for it.  His eyes said he knew what he was doing. Once again, they seemed to see straight through me.

We took to the road.  We had a couple of criminals to execute that day along with this man, so we made quite the procession.  The mob was shouting more than its usual imprecations.

The man fell.  It was a wonder he had not fallen earlier.  We picked him up and he took back his cross and plodded on, leaving blood and sweat on the road where he had fallen.  A woman dashed out of the crowd; we did not stop her. She wiped his face, weeping for him. He smiled tenderly at the woman and we urged him forward.  

He was stumbling some more.  I caught the eye of a Cyrenian and called him out.  “You! Take up his cross!” He came forward, and took it grudgingly, but his face changed after the man looked at him and said something I did not understand.  After the Cyrenian served his mile, we released him.

On we went.  If he fell, we picked him up and kept going.  At the gates the women mourners greeted the criminals, but when they got to the man, He told them, “Do not mourn for me, weep for yourselves and your children.  For the day is coming when you will say, ‘Blessed are the barren women, the womb that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!’ Then they will say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us!’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us!’  For if people do these things when the tree is green, what will happen when it is dry?”

We finally reached the hill outside the city.  The crosses were laid down and the criminals had to be held to them.  Not The Man. He laid himself down. When the nails were driven into his hands he did not cry out like the others.  He sighed once they were in, along with his feet. He looked sorrowful, but it was not for himself. We tacked up the accusation: “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.”

We raised him up between the other two, and one of the men who had brought him in this morning began jeering with his companions, “He saved others, why cannot he save himself?”  and “Let this Messiah, ‘king of Israel,’ come down from the cross that we may see and believe.” This and more they said, while a smaller group of Jewish women and one man stood by weeping.

The man on the cross spoke to the heavens, “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.”

He also spoke to the small group; one of the women was his own mother.

It was as though the shadow of a snake writhed in agony across the ground, and the sun went black.  There was less talk. We watched.

It had been three hours.  The man cried out in a language I did not understand, but it meant something to the other Jews.  “He’s calling for Elijah!” They got him some wine, but it was too late.  As the sun came back, he cried out, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!”  The earth trembled. The people scattered; only the criminals were left to cry out weekly or to gape in horror, while we stood fast.  I knew then that the man was dead.

Surely, this man was the Son of God.