He Who Has Ears (part 4)

 

I could hardly stand the questions.  “Are you the Christ?”  “Are you the Son of God?”  The whole thing felt like a set up. 

 

But finally Jesus spoke up.  He raised his head just enough to see Caiaphas eye to eye and said, “Yes, it is as you say.”  And you know, I remember thinking in that moment, that’s the truth.  Though I suspect I was the only one there that thought that.

 

Well, then Caiaphas tore his robe; an expression of intensity and passion, which always seemed to me to be a bit over the top, really.  But none-the-less, he cried out, “Blasphemy!  Liar against God!”  The people were incited.  The guy standing next to me yelled, “He’s worthy of death!”  Another person mocked Jesus:  “Prophesy to us, Christ!”  Those near Jesus began to spit on him and hit him.  Jesus looked helpless. 

 

I remember hearing a rooster crow in the distance causing Jesus to turn quickly.  He peered into the darkness toward the courtyard where a fire had been lit.  His eyes looked weak and sad.  Then the guards grabbed him and Caiaphas commanded they take him to Pilate for a death sentence. 

 

Death? I thought, Really?

 

Morning had arrived by this time.  People were beginning to gather in the street outside the courtyard of Pilate’s headquarter.  I was standing in the courtyard pacing back and forth.  Several of the priests along with their servants and the teachers of the law were circulating through the crowd.  “We want him dead,” they told people.  “Crucifixion is the only option, got it.” 

 

Finally Pilate emerged from his headquarter with Jesus next to him.  He stood on the massive porch overlooking the courtyard.  Pilate looked smug.  Then he said he found no basis for a charge against Jesus.  For a moment my heart sang.  I was thankful.  I think I actually thanked God.  And Pilate continued in his deep voice, “He’s a Galilean.  Take him to Herod.” 

 

Well I wasn’t sure what good that was going to do.  And, in fact, it did no good at all.  An hour later Jesus was back at Pilate’s headquarter.  Pilate looked annoyed.  He asked the crowd, “What do you want me to do with your King?” referring to Jesus of course.

 

A few people shouted loudly, as if trying to sound like a majority, “Crucify Him!” 

 

Pilate’s tone became very sarcastic.  “But he is your King?” 

 

“Crucify, Crucify him!” the crowd around me yelled in unison.  Louder and louder.  Nearly everyone had joined in. 

 

How could they kill him?  What really did he do that was so bad?  I thought to myself.  He was a good man.  He was the… you know… I mean, he might be the Messiah King, who would save us from sin.  I didn’t know yet, I guess.  But I really wanted to believe that.

 

Anyway, Pilate grinned and disappeared back into his headquarter with Jesus.  The streets were more than alive now.  I could hear hostile shouts echoing through the city.  I wondered how this was going to go down.  Just then Jesus appeared on the porch.  The crowd erupted in laughter.  He was bound and held tightly by Roman Centurions, like he was going anywhere.  He’d been stripped down to his underwear.  A purple robe was draped over his bare shoulders and a twisted ring of thorns was pressed into his head; a crown I suppose.

 

Pilate appeared from behind Jesus.  “Here is your King!” he said. 

 

The crowd laughed like it was a joke.  I remember thinking this was no joke. 

 

The centurions tore off the robe and pushed Jesus into the crowd.  The people moved and Jesus fell to the ground.  He was hurting so badly; so much pain and sorrow.  The centurions grabbed him and pulled him to his feet.  They marched him out of the courtyard and around to the back side of Pilate’s headquarter.  I decided not to follow.  I knelt down against a wall in the street.  I could hear the sound of cracking and hitting and yelling.  I wished that I couldn’t hear as clearly as I could.  

 

Anyway, I knew I hadn’t fallen asleep, but I must have dazed out for a minute because I was startled by the thick crowd moving toward me in the street.  I stood up and saw the centurions leading Jesus like a dog on a leash, nearly dragging him as he struggled to carry a massive cross on his back. 

 

I watched him pass and slumped down to my knees again.  I stayed there for several minutes, until I noticed these teachers of the law huddled together nearby laughing; celebrating.  My heart began to pound with rage.  I jumped up and ran after the crowd. 

 

By the time I got to the place of the skull, as it was so affectionately called, the centurions were nailing two criminals to their crosses.  Then they laid Jesus on his cross and pounded nails through his hands, one at a time.  Then through his heals together. 

 

You have never heard a hammer strike a nail as clearly as I did that day. 

 

Then they raised the crosses.  And you would think people would have some respect, if not for the dying man, at least for death itself.  Death makes no exceptions you know?  But those gathered continued to mock Jesus, hurling insult after insult at him.  Even one of the guys hanging alongside Jesus, the one on the left, cursed him and demanded he save them from dying. 

 

Then the other guy on the cross, the guy on Jesus’ right, piped in.  He was exhausted already and he said, and I won’t forget this, he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”  And the reason I won’t forget it is because this guy believed what had been stirring in me:  That Jesus was a King; the Messiah, who would save us from sin.

 

And Jesus replied; and the thing is, I don’t know if anyone else heard this amidst their hurling insults, but I heard it so clearly, Jesus said, “I tell you the truth:  today you will be with me in paradise.”  And the guy on Jesus’ right began to weep… right along with me.

 

Then, suddenly the ground began to tremble.  Not a full on earthquake with buildings crashing and stuff, but noticeable for sure. 

 

Then the sky got really dark.  And I’m not talking just clouds moving in front of the sun.  It was like someone turned the lights out at 12 in the afternoon. 

 

Then this loud hysterical wail rose from the temple area back in town and echoed down through the valley, around the city walls and rushed over the place of the cross like a powerful wind. 

 

Something huge had happened in the temple.  Most of the people fled the area like ducks at the sound of a shotgun.  A few centurions remained to guard the site.  Several of Jesus’ followers stayed.  I stayed. 

 

At last, after what felt like an eternity, the trembling stopped.  The darkness remained, but silence was present.  I remember turning away for just a moment, then nearly falling on my face in fright.  Jesus himself cried out in a loud voice with the same power and force I remembered from the olive grove.  And I don’t know where he got that kind of strength, but he cried out, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

 

The air was still.  There was peace.  This moment felt more holy than any temple sacrifice I’d been a part of.  I turned back toward Jesus, and as his chest collapsed with a final breath he said, “It is finished.” 

 

There was a centurion standing to my right.  And at that moment he said something that I will never forget – something I heard so clearly – he said, “Surely this man was the Son of God.”

 

And there at the cross I believed.