Mark

27.1 

The sun was upset that day. It was difficult for the rest of the solar system to understand why. In general, the sun was a closed-mouth entity. He wasn’t one to talk about his feelings or share the comings and goings of his mind. Being the center of everything, it wasn’t difficult for everyone to recognize that he was bothered by something, but they weren’t about to ask what. If they could have seen into the sun without going blind, they might have realized that he was unhappy with the events on the third planet. A handful of humans were traipsing about in the dust and the sand, mumbling about a criminal. The sun could feel the spots on his belly deepen and get darker. Someone was going to be put to death, and all the sun could do was watch.

“When the morning was come, all the chief priests and elders of the people took counsel against Jesus to put him to death:”

27.2

This was the last thing I wanted to do today. It was the last thing I wanted to do on any day. In fact, if it were my last day on earth I would be thoroughly against doing this thing. But it isn’t my choice. Being in charge sometimes means telling people what to do. Making decisions for others. But it also means enforcing the laws. And these are not laws I wrote. I am as bound to them as this man who stands before me trembling. I am a slave to the law. And now his people tell me that he must die. Would I kill him? It would depend. I don’t need to kill him for any personal reasons. He’s not wrong with me in any way. But his people feel that he must die. So I must hear them. I will see them. And I will see him. 

This day is so abominably hot.

“And when they had bound him, they led him away, and delivered him to Pontius Pilate, the governor.”

27.3 – 27.5

When I was a boy, I remember that my next door neighbor’s uncle died suddenly. There was much talk in my village about his death. He was skilled at making shoes and was valued by everyone because of this. I remember that he was quiet but often very kind to me. Kind to my sister as well. He and his wife had no children. There was always a movement within the community to include him in the things that we did. If there was a meal for Purim or Passover, he was always invited. You see it was because of his wife. She was ill. My mother once told my father that she was told that she heard voices. I didn’t understand. I hear voices. People talk in the village all the time. You can hear people talking even when you try to fall asleep at night. It wasn’t until I was much older that I understood what she meant. There were spirits that operated inside of her that were not something that her husband could fix as easily as he could fix a sandal. There was no leather strap that would hold her together. They say this is why they didn’t have children. I said it was God. God protected them. Hashem kept them safe because the few times that I encountered his wife I definitely did not feel safe. She was snarling at me like a dog. In fact I think a snarling dog would have been afraid of her. Maybe a lion could stand up to her, but I’m not sold on that. I remember thinking as a boy that she was a demon. A witch. And I felt bad for the cobbler. I felt horrible for his life. He would come to shabbos on some Friday nights, but over the years he came less and less. His wife was worse. She was difficult to deal with. Some say she slept with restraints at night. Otherwise she might crawl through the town and terrify everyone. And then there was that dreadful day I discovered that someone had murdered her. My father said there had been a struggle in their home. A criminal had entered and she was confused. She attacked him, and he was much stronger and he killed her. The Romans eventually caught him and he was put to death for his crime. But the cobbler was never the same. You would have thought that he would approach Temple with a shrinking burden, but his wife’s murder actually seemed to make him sink. His business doubled as people flocked to his store to help support him. Everything else about him crumbled. Years went by and as I grew older I never forgot his fondness and kindness when my sister and I were little. That’s why it was so awful to hear the second tragedy that struck his home. He had hanged himself. The women of the village would often gossip and cackle about the tragedies of our community but for him they did not. This business was private and it stayed that way. 

I have always understood how the burdens of life can sometimes do much to keep us alive. This does not seem true for me today.  It is so many years after the cobbler’s death, and I am now at the lowest point in my life. I stand here with these silver pieces in my hand. I look down at them and think of how each piece could represent a moment when he stopped working at his shop and he looked over at me and gave me a smile. It was a warm embrace without even a single movement towards me. This man had a heart to rival the sun. It burned bright for everyone but brightest of all for his wife. I think that when she was gone, he lost his reason to live. I understand that. I had a reason to live and these silver pieces are not it. I was paid to do what had to be done, and still I stand here and think of the cobbler and the tree behind his house.  How many times did he toss the rope before it crossed a strong limb? He was strong from his job. He must have tossed the rope high. I have a rope. And there are trees everywhere. I am the cobbler today.  But there will be no little boy to remember me smiling at him on a hot summer day. No one will remember me. I have not yet lost the love of my life but soon we all will.

“Then Judas, which had betrayed him, when he saw that he was condemned, repented himself, and brought again the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders.”

“Saying, I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood. And they said, What is that to us? see thou to that.”

“And he cast down the pieces of silver in the temple, and departed, and went and hanged himself.”

27.6 – 26.7

“This is blood money. This money might as well have been soaked in blood. I will wash my hands in the river after I have rid myself of this blood. We cannot return this money to the coffers. It should be buried like the dead. Because this money is dead. It is the death of he who would be the son of God.”

And a small group of priests took the silver pieces to the graveyard where the people of this community would bury strangers.

And the chief priests took the silver pieces, and said, It is not lawful to put them into the treasury, because it is the price of blood.

And they took counsel, and brought with them the potter’s field, to bury strangers in.

27.8 – 27.10

The day was hot as the two brothers worked together in Potter’s field. “For whom are we digging this hole my brother?” “We dig it for the traitor.” “And what made him a traitor?” “He sold his brother.” “And for how much did he sell him?” “30 pieces of silver.” “30 pieces of silver?” “Yes.” 

There was a pause in the one brother’s digging.  He looked up and said,

“How much could I get for you?” And then the two laughed and kept digging.

And when the pieces of silver melted they became blood and soaked the earth where Judas was buried. And the graveyard for strangers became forever known as the field of blood.

“Wherefore that field was called, The field of blood, unto this day.”

“Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by Jeremy the prophet, saying, And they took the thirty pieces of silver, the price of him that was valued, whom they of the children of Israel did value.”

“And gave them for the potter’s field, as the Lord appointed me.”

27.11 – 27.13

The tree that held the traitor was incensed to be his gallows. Long ago it had been a tree that caused the death of everyone. But that tree was innocent. He wasn’t sure if he was. Was it his relative who provided the wood that would become the cross that meant the death of this man who was standing before the governor, his lips sealed tightly like the bark that covered his body? How much were trees responsible? How much of a role did they play in this savagery? He would have rather have been chopped down and turned to kindling than to have that strange fruit hanging from his limbs. The traitor. The Judas. And now he was helpless to help the man who had helped so many. He could have been made into a weapon. He could have been turned into a hammer or a spear. But now he was a witness as the young teacher refused to respond to the questions about his being king of the Jews.

“And Jesus stood before the governor: and the governor asked him, saying, Art thou the King of the Jews? And Jesus said unto him, Thou sayest.”

“And when he was accused by the chief priests and elders, he answered nothing.”

“Then said Pilate unto him, Hearest thou not how many things they witness against thee?”

27.14

I am a slave to the law, but this man is a slave to no one. That must be the very definition of a king. If he were to answer my questions, it would open so many troubles for him and for his people. They’re not subjects. They are his students. He does not claim to be a king. That’s the accusation of his enemies. He is a teacher. But could there be a better king than one who would face his death rather than admit his monarchy? I am not a king or an emperor. I have my power in Jerusalem, but my power has limits. However, I would not trade it. It’s enough for me. I would not let it be taken from me either. I would fight to the death. This man’s kingdom is his body. His mind. He is unlocking the prisons of his people with words. That is a power, too. And here I am pretending to pass judgment. Playing the part of the governor to this man. I am not his governor. I am not his law. His words are his law. He says his words come from God. I don’t believe in their God. I’ve never been impressed by their God. But whoever is the God of this man is an impressive being. That much I can say. He would give this man to the earth and the very people that he teaches would sacrifice him. I cannot say what others will think of this but I know that I am moved. I do not know what history will make of him, but I’m sure I know what it will make of me. When I wash my hands of this, there won’t be enough water in any river to clean his blood from me.

And he answered him to never a word; insomuch that the governor marveled greatly.

27.15

I could not answer him. I could not bring myself to answer to someone who would pretend to be my law. I answer to only one Law. I have only one King. I am bound not by these restraints that have been placed upon me here on earth but by my love and devotion to my Father. And through Him I have been taught to love all. Even those who jail me. Even those who would murder me. Even Judas. The true chains that bind me stretch a long way, but they are the same chains that will one day lift me up to heaven. I am not afraid of death, but I am afraid of those who will die around me. These misguided souls are wicked and lost. And I fear that when they take me and determine my fate I will not be here to protect them. As you eat your meals unprotected from sin, you can send me to the wolves. Even wolves deserve nourishment. Even the wolves will taste salvation.

“Now at that feast the governor was wont to release unto the people a prisoner, whom they would.”

27.16 – 27.18

I have been a bad man. I have committed murder. I have taken the life of people who had not harmed me but simply stood in the way of what I wanted. I have been a rebel. I have fought the state. I have done these things in the name of good, but still I broke the laws. And now here I am imprisoned and waiting to be murdered. My father was a teacher. We are the people of Abraham. We have always lived a simple life. But the laws were not fair to us. I felt it was my duty to stand up. To use my strength in my ability to fight injustice even if it meant my death. I am not a scholar like my father. I did not sit long at his feet listening to his lessons. I thought of David though. That was a lesson I listened to intently. My father tried to fill my head with information. He was a good man, but he had the wrong son. Well, I will not waste my time trying to fill the heads of my three sons. No. I will fill their hearts. I will drag them with me into battle. We stood up to tyranny. We will stand up to the monsters who would deny us thousands of years of tradition. For the love of the one G-d and not the many. And now I am jailed. I fought and killed and my message was there. All three boys are dead. They fought bravely, and I am not sad about their deaths. I only wish that I had died with them on the field, but I was taken without a choice. And now the governor participates in a Passover meal. And these people here are angry. I cannot imagine they are angry at me because they hate the laws as well. I know for some I’m a hero. For others I’m an enigma. And for the old I am a menace. But I can live with that because I was fighting for all of them. For all of us. And I will go to my death with my head high for as long as it sits on my shoulders.

“And they had then a notable prisoner, called Barabbas.”

“Therefore when they were gathered together, Pilate said unto them, Whom will ye that I release unto you? Barabbas, or Jesus, who is called Christ?”

“For he knew that for envy they had delivered him.”

27.19

There is a line that travels from me directly to the emperor. And everywhere in between there are people who would tell me what to do. I have many masters. Here amongst these people I have power, but as I travel down that line my power diminishes quickly. But in addition to the line that ties me to Rome, there is a circle that surrounds me. And if I tell the truth, it’s the circle that truly leads my life. That circle is my wife. She has been my wife since she was a teenager. We have several children who live here and they live well. They are the children of the governor. And they have privileges far greater than any Hebrew child in this City. But the wife of the governor has one privilege that no one else has. She has the ear of the governor. And she has been using that ear and twisting it and pulling it and tormenting it now for days. 

She’s told me that she’s had nightmares about Him. She believes these nightmares are proof that Jesus is innocent. Now my wife is no idiot and she understands the political situation. When the priests come to me and tell me they want Jesus to die, I don’t have a choice but to let that happen. And I can put on the show of interrogating the man in front of the crowd, but his fate was sealed. She knows this. She’s not asking me to free Him. She wants me to free myself of Him. She doesn’t want me to be the one to sentence this Man to death. As always, she’s right. She is a loving wife but she might be the actual governor of this city. I look at her and I can see the faces of our children in hers. I do hope that they grow up to be just like their mother and that the only thing they inherit from me is my name.

“When he was set down on the judgment seat, his wife sent unto him, saying, Have thou nothing to do with that just man: for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him.”

27.20 – 27.21

I have heard of this rebel Jesus. Of course. From Galilee. He came into the temple and made quite a mess. I was impressed when I heard that story. Sounds like the kind of thing I would want to do. Of course He didn’t kill anyone. However I still admire His courage. And so we are both here now. When I realized that the two of us had been brought before the crowd, I thought for sure my fate was sealed. They would not want to bring me back. I would simply cause trouble again. And this Jesus was a peaceful and loving teacher. Why would they kill Him? But I was wrong. There are those in the crowd that fear Jesus. They hate Him. I am surprised because the man is thin and does not look like He knows how to defend Himself. And yet as I look Him over, He stands stiff and still like a spear. It looks like He could do damage. He looks like He could do more damage than my sword ever has. It’s a powerful thought. Could I fight the battles that I need to fight without lifting a hand? Could I discover that the death of my three boys was futile? What would I have to change about my heart in order to follow a path similar to Jesus? We wound up in the same place. Both condemned to die. If I leave this Earth a murderer, who would follow me? He leaves this earth a martyr. It’s possible the whole world would follow Him. As these thoughts spin through my brain the crowd has spoken. Pilate is safe. The murderers are unnamed. And Jesus will die. I am saved. I am saved.

“But the chief priests and elders persuaded the multitude that they should save Barabbas, and destroy Jesus.”

“The governor answered and said unto them, Whether of the twain will ye that I release unto you? They said, “Barabbas.”

27.22 – 27.23

It is a job. We live in a time when my job is necessary. I do my job. I cut the wood and turn them into crosses. There is all manner of crucifixion. Many different styles. Whatever it is that I’m asked to build I do. All around the city I see my handiwork. I see the dead like ornaments hanging from the things that I make. It is not for me to judge whether or not this practice is good or barbaric. Killing others is not something that I would ever decide should be done. I am not the law. I am not the judge. I am a carpenter. I once made cribs and tables and windows for homes. But somehow I was tasked to make the crucifixes. My children have to eat. We need a home. These structures that I construct make that happen for us. They give us life. And no matter how long it takes a man to die on one of my crucifixes, he always does. And I am never without something to do.

“Pilate saith unto them, What shall I do then with Jesus which is called Christ? They all say unto him, Let him be crucified.”

“And the governor said, Why, what evil hath he done? But they cried out the more, saying, ‘Let him be crucified.’ ”

27.24 – 27.26

I could see my father. He had moved forward in the crowd but he was close enough that his face was clear to me. I could not describe what his face looked like, but it disturbed me. I had never seen him look that way. He looked as if he had seen something ghastly. There was a layer of horror that had spread across him. At one point he covered his ears. The crowd was chanting. But as I looked around I didn’t see anger. To hear the crowd you would have thought that they were angry, but to see them they looked full of sorrow. Full of pain. That’s what I felt. I felt pain, and I didn’t know why. Something horrible was happening. We were being forced to do something, and the crowd was calling for it. They were calling for his blood. I heard that clearly. But at that moment I didn’t understand why. Did they want him to die? Were they calling for his death? When I looked into the faces of the people I knew, I did not see that. It did not see bloodlust. I saw grief. I saw genuine grief. And because of what I saw, I felt it myself. I could not see above the crowd but I knew that the preacher was up there. The young man that they called Jesus. I heard him speak once. I thought he was mild and intelligent. He was convincing and he had quieted the whole crowd as he spoke. There had been such tension over his presence here in the city that felt as if we were all going to break. And now that his death had been decided, there was the sense that we had been saved. And instead of breaking, we melted. We melted under the stare of the sun. And I didn’t dare look up towards the sky because I was certain that the sun was angry at us. It was that type of heat. A punishing heat. The kind of heat that makes you believe that you had finally done something truly horrible. That you deserved to be burned.

“When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it.”

“Then answered all the people, and said, His blood be on us, and on our children.”

27.26 – 27.27

I punish who they tell me to punish. The convicted are here for a reason. They are standing before death. They have done something to deserve it. I cannot consider the feelings of the man I might scourge. I use my flagrum carefully and wisely and fairly. I have a rhythm to it. I beat the man evenly. I make sure to hit the parts of his body that will most likely rip flesh from his bone. This is to soften him up before the crucifixion. And this is to punish him for whatever crime he has done. I stand here before this man. This is the one they call Jesus. I know nothing of Jesus. I know nothing of Jews. I am a soldier. I am paid by the emperor himself with coins that bear his face and name. And so this man who stands before me and who has been accused of crimes will be punished just as any man would be who had been placed before me, tied to the post, with his back exposed to me and to the sun. Take what you deserve, criminal. Feel the justice of the emperor Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus.

“Then released he Barabbas unto them: and when he had scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified.”

“Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the common hall, and gathered unto him the whole band of soldiers.”

27.28 – 27.31

I have half the earth to warm and to light 24 hours a day, but today I’m finding it difficult to take my eyes away from this one city. He is there. I do not know his name, but I know he has significance. I know that the Creator who made me and all the other stars in the sky has something to do with this man. And that same Creator has something to do with his death. But what I’m seeing is not death. Not yet. I’m seeing the common cruelty of human beings on that third planet. I am the master of this solar system, and the only planet where there is life there is nothing but brutality. I know when they are naked they are completely vulnerable to me, and I see him standing there naked. They drape him in some garish cloth and stick a thorny crown in his skull. He rains blood. And his shoulders and his chest are now covered in it. It’s unreasonable to think that the other things in the universe don’t have emotions. I have emotions. Feelings. And today I am glad that I get to be the sun. I am glad I get to be the hottest thing in this solar system. Because I am upset at this. I am mad that this man is being treated this way. I cannot burn the earth worse than I already do but I am making sure that this city where these monsters live is as hot today as it has ever been. And should they melt into the earth, that would be fine with me. What do I care for them? From up here they look like worthless ants. Not even that. Ants don’t waste their lives staring at the sun. Ants don’t burn that way. But these humans have no idea how to avoid their own deaths.

“And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe.”

“And when they had planted a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews!”

“And they spit upon him, and took the reed, and smote him on the head.”

“And after that they had mocked him, they took the robe off from him, and put his own raiment on him, and led him away to crucify him.”

27.32 – 27.35

I had come to Jerusalem with my sons for the Passover celebration. We traveled from Cyrene. I knew this would be such a special trip with them. They had never been to Jerusalem, and it had been years since I was here. Where we come from there aren’t as many of us, but our faith is still strong. Yet here in Jerusalem we are at the center. We are with the temple. The sounds of so many different languages spoken around us are exciting. For my two sons I could see this was a worthy trip. Their eyes were drinking it all in. And I was proud to be able to bring them here. This was not an inexpensive trip, but I had worked hard and built a good career and home. My boys worked with me, but we also had many other workers. Taking this time away from our home was not easy but it was something we could afford. Rufus had run ahead because all three of us could hear cheering and shouting. Alexander stayed by my side. He was my youngest but at this point he was actually taller than I am. They were both tall boys. Their mother was tall. Not me though. I was close to the earth, let’s say. The noise got louder. The crowd got thicker. I could not see Rufus ahead of us and I grew worried. My son had common sense but these crowds look dangerous. These people in Jerusalem were not always lawful, and they were not always respectful of other human beings. In a flash however I could see my son’s bright red tunic. He was pointing. I did not see immediately what it was he was pointing at but then I did. It was a gaunt figure. A Man with a beam on His shoulders, and He was covered in blood. It was a dreadful sight to be honest. It almost looked like we were watching a corpse stumbling up to the gate. As I found myself gaping at this figure, I felt something sharp poke my shoulder. Sharp enough that it could have made a hole, but it didn’t. The person wielding this sharp thing knew what he was doing. He was a soldier. He asked me my name and I told him. Simon. I am Simon from Cyrene. “Simon of Cyrene you will help this man carry this crucifix. He is going to Golgotha. He is to be crucified. His name is Jesus Christ. He is a criminal.” I looked over at Jesus. Have I heard His name before? It was possible. It is a common name. There had been some talk about some teacher or rabbi here in Jerusalem causing trouble in the temple. I certainly didn’t want to be a part of this, and I looked back at the soldier but then I was reminded in my mind that I am a subject of the governor and the emperor and that I was not free to refuse an order. And so I followed the directions, and I moved towards the Man. His face was down and feculent and looked as if it had been run through a stone mill. I touched Him carefully on His arm to get his attention, and He looked at me. His dark skin was dry and cool as if somehow the sun had not affected Him. He seemed to know immediately why I was there, and I thought He said my name. I took the beam from His shoulders and I placed it on my own. It was heavy, and I wondered how this Man could have carried it as far as He had. I did not know where we were going and so the soldier had to lead. We were surrounded by soldiers. It was clear that this Man was considered dangerous but somehow standing next to Him I could not believe that He was. I knew He was struggling to walk but still somehow He managed to move as quickly as the soldiers. I admired His strength. His back was covered in wounds. I knew that He had been tortured. I had heard that this was a common practice. I turned to Him, and I said His name. He looked at me when I said it and His face turned serene. He said “I am just a carpenter. A teacher. Listen when others teach my lessons. My words will be your reward.” And then a guard whipped Him so that the tail of it cut him across the face. And I knew it was no good to pay any attention to Him now. It would only mean more torture. And that’s how we lurched towards the place of the skull. We were silent, and we moved without a struggle.

“And as they came out, they found a man of Cyrene, Simon by name: him they compelled to bear his cross.”

“And when they were come unto a place called Golgotha, that is to say, a place of a skull,”

“They gave him vinegar to drink mingled with gall: and when he had tasted thereof, he would not drink.”

27.35

I am luck. These men gamble, and so I’m here. Anytime there is gambling, I am always there. I am cruel. I would break them and their hopes. I always do. They’re simply is no way to win with me. For even if you win, somebody else will lose. and sooner or later so will you. I have no heart. I do not care about the tears or the broken dreams. I do not care about all of your losses. Your losses are the air I breathe in and out. It’s as simple as that. And today these men have joined me in my heartlessness. They are gambling for this dying man’s clothes. The innocent man. This man who does not gamble and has never known me. There is no luck involved with him. There is truth. Truth is my enemy. Truth is the only thing that can stop me. And this man while naked on this cross is bathed in truth. And while these soldiers gamble for his clothing, I cannot take his truth. All they would have to do is look at him and they would see it. But instead they have their hands in my pockets. And I will take their lives if I can. If I can.

And they crucified him, and parted his garments, casting lots: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet, They parted my garments among them, and upon my vesture did they cast lots.

27.37

καὶ ἐπέθηκαν ἐπάνω τῆς κεφαλῆς αὐτοῦ τὴν αἰτίαν αὐτοῦ γεγραμμένην ΟΥΤΟΣ ΕΣΤΙΝ ΙΗΣΟΥΣ Ο ΒΑΣΙΛΕΥΣ ΤΩΝ ΙΟΥΔΑΙΩΝ.

“And sitting down they watched him there;”

“And set up over his head his accusation written, This Is Jesus The King Of The Jews.”

27.38 – 27.40

I knew this would be our fate. Barbaras never lied to us. Our death was certain on the battlefield or up here on the crucifix.

I don’t want to die. I was willing to give my life for a cause until my life actually came in danger. I wish I had not followed him into that battle. I wish a sword had found me and not this awful thing. This is not a way for a man to die.

I know we hang here as an example to others who might consider standing up to Rome, but I also think we are an inspiration. I don’t mind being before them so that they are not invulnerable. And I do hope that our death will inspire some to fight.

And now they have brought this man here instead of Barbaras. Why? Has our leader escaped death? Why would he not fight for us? Why would he not want to be here with us? He led us into the battle; he should be here dying as we die. Instead there is this broken man. What is that above his head?

“The king of the Jews?” I’ve heard of him. I see he’s not very popular here. They are wagging their heads at him. I couldn’t care less. If we could not topple the government with our swords, how could he do it with his words? I admire his bravery but he’s also an idiot. And I am not a fan of idiots.

I think of the things that he must have endured without ever having had the satisfaction of killing his enemy. I don’t think of myself as a killer but it is a wonderful feeling to see the face of your enemies disappear. To see his life leave him. I don’t believe he deserves to live if he would enslave us the way he does. If he would fight for those that would destroy us. Yes?

I wonder what words he would speak now if he could. As we hang here together I wonder if he will say anything to us. He looks like he’s been torn apart. He looks like something ate him and spit him out. I doubt he will speak. I doubt he has words now.

I would like to ask him though: What is the satisfaction of fighting your enemies without the sword? Without a weapon of any kind? I suppose he would say his weapon is his word. I have heard of his words. He speaks of love.

He speaks of love. I have love for my family. I have love for my people. I have a love for freedom. These are the things I love, and that’s why I’m willing to fight and die. It’s like he committed suicide.

They have killed him. The people that he tries to save have killed him. What would he say now? How would he interact with them now? Will he love them now?

Would he love me? Would he accept me, a man who has murdered? A man who has fought against the law. I fought against the laws he contradicted as well. He went into the temple and attacked those who would be holy. Hypocrites. I suppose there is a part of me that doesn’t mind that in the least. To fight that wave without a weapon seems foolish, but as I hang here thinking about these things, I wonder if his fight is stronger than mine. 

Will I be remembered? I’m sure my family and friends will but will others remember the things that I did? Do I remember other soldiers who fought? Last year? Yes. 100 years ago? No, of course not. We remember the leaders. But this man is not a soldier. Even with his skin torn from his body and his bones broken, you can see that he’s a leader.

I don’t think I could accept a man who teaches and speaks as the man who would lead a revolution. But maybe I’m wrong. There are those around us now who are wailing. There are those around us now who are broken. Crying. Devoted. Disciples. They will spread His word.

אָמֵן

“Then were there two thieves crucified with him, one on the right hand, and another on the left.”

“And they that passed by reviled him, wagging their heads,”

“And saying, Thou that destroyest the temple, and buildest it in three days, save thyself. If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross.”

27.41 – 27.44

A Reminder:

Fill your mouths with this blood and taste it in fish that you pull from this river. You bathe in it. You will sink in it.

I will smash you, your children and your wives with a million frogs. I will bring them down upon you and make you regret.

And now you will feel the horrible discomfort of having your skin eaten. And not just your skin but the skin of your animals. You will turn swollen red, and you will scratch yourself until you’re  bloody. And you will beg for mercy, but there will be none.

And now you will see a blanket fall from the sky. It’s black and makes a horrible noise. And your mouth and your nose and your ears will be filled with the angry trembling of flies. And you will know who brought this upon you. And you will live in misery because of Me.

And now look into the fields. Look at your oxen. Look at your lambs. Look at your sheep. Do you see them deteriorate? Do you see them stumble and fall over on their faces and on their sides and whither? There’s horror inside of them now eating away at their organs. Eating away at their blood. That horror is Me. You have made a terrible mistake.

And now there is ash, and you see it filling up every corner and crevice and blocking out the sun as it descends. And you are full of sores. Your skin erupts. There’s nothing smooth on your arms or legs or faces. You are disfigured and distorted with these warts and boils. I am that dust. I have caused this devastation to you.

Now look up if you dare. We are in the middle of the desert and yet do you see what’s falling from the sky? That is frozen rain. That is hail. Each one of those will hit you like a rock. I will stone you because you sin. And the pain you feel and destruction you see is My hand. Don’t forget that.

And with all that hail sitting on the ground you will see another rain coming from the sky. This rain will have wings. This rain will be hungry. Locusts will cover everything and eat everything that is growing. And when they are done there will be nothing left that is growing. No more fields. No more trees. Nothing but dust. I will have stolen all of that from you. And you will know My Name.

יהוה

And now you may close your eyes because it won’t matter. I will bring darkness on you. And you won’t know the difference between being awake or asleep. Only the blind will be unaffected. But everyone else will join them. Because the blackness will stretch everywhere and there will be no relief. You will not see me but you will feel me.

And now, give Me your firstborn. 

Do you see My power?

“Likewise also the chief priests mocking him, with the scribes and elders, said,”

“He saved others; himself he cannot save. If he be the King of Israel, let him now come down from the cross, and we will believe him.”

“He trusted in G-d; let him deliver him now, if he will have him: for he said, ‘I am the Son of G-d.’ ”

“The thieves also, which were crucified with him, cast the same in his teeth.”

27.45 – 49

Where are my plagues? Where are my locusts? Where is the darkness that should surround my enemies? Will you deliver me from Egypt? Will you take their firstborn so that I might be free?

My God. My God. Why have you forsaken me?

“Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land unto the ninth hour.”

“And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? that is to say, My G-d, my G-d, why hast thou forsaken me?”

“Some of them that stood there, when they heard that, said, This man calleth for Elias.”

“And straightway one of them ran, and took a sponge, and filled it with vinegar, and put it on a reed, and gave him to drink.”

“The rest said, Let be, let us see whether Elias will come to save him.”

27.50 – 27.53

I have lived inside him for all these years, and now I must go. I must slip out of him so that all that’s left is a husk. It is a difficult duty, but there is no choice. He cannot cling to me anymore. He has no way of holding me inside. I am his ghost and I must go.

But before I go I will make it clear to those who cry or scream with sorrow or anger that this man was who he said he was. And I will shake the earth. And you will see the graves split and later the ghosts will climb out of their holes and run through the city. You will see this miracle when you see him again. He will be back. He doesn’t need me to rise again.

“Jesus, when he had cried again with a loud voice, yielded up the ghost.”

“And, behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake, and the rocks rent;”

“And the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints which slept arose,”

“And came out of the graves after his resurrection, and went into the holy city, and appeared unto many.”

27.54 – 27.55

He is He. He is He. He is He. He is who He says he is. The son of G-d. I have seen Him. My spirit will not protect me. This armor might as well be skin. He is the son of G-d. He made the earth crack. I bend to Him in fear.

“Now when the centurion, and they that were with him, watching Jesus, saw the earthquake, and those things that were done, they feared greatly, saying, Truly this was the Son of God.”

“And many women were there beholding afar off, which followed Jesus from Galilee, ministering unto him:”

27.56 – 27.57

A womb and a tomb are the same thing in this story. My son left one and he will leave the other. I cannot cry. It feels like a sin. I cannot be His mother. I am His child. I am like all the rest who sit at His feet and listen to Him speak.

His breath was painful. His death will not be. And His rebirth will heal. I was a window. An angel opened me and His spirit came in. I cannot close that window now. I will not let grief stop me from feeling His blessings.

Among which was Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of Zebedees children.

When the even was come, there came a rich man of Arimathaea, named Joseph, who also himself was Jesus’ disciple:

27.58

Remove his body. Give it to his friends and family. Let them bury him as they see fit. In his death I can be his friend. In his life I was not.

“He went to Pilate, and begged the body of Jesus. Then Pilate commanded the body to be delivered.”

27.59 – 27.60

I am the air and the darkness inside of his final home. Joseph of Arimathea carved this tomb one day ago. It has never been the grave of anyone but maybe the worms that once lived in here. And now it will be the final place for Jesus of Nazareth. When they roll the stone back in its place, I will be the only thing in here to protect him. He is wrapped in fresh linen. His wounds have all been cleaned. He is as fresh as a man born in the straw and stars of a stable. I have known that air. I have been the air. I was there with all the livestock and the worshipers who came to see him. And I have stayed with him his whole life. I have been through his lungs. I have been a chill that he felt in the middle of the night. And I have brought him relief when the sun was so intently watching him that it seemed to melt him in the middle of a sermon. I am his air. And I am the darkness of the night when he was born. I am the dark that sits surrounding him when everyone else is asleep and he is busy giving birth to the words that would one day change the world. I’m the darkness when he felt forsaken. When he felt alone. When the blindness consumed him as he choked to death hanging off the cross. I was that blackness that he could not see. And now I’m here. I will call him and comfort him and give him the chance to be a human for one last day. One last day as just a man.

“And when Joseph had taken the body, he wrapped it in a clean linen cloth,”

“And laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock: and he rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulchre, and departed.”

27.61

I knew I would love a man who was not a man. I knew I would love a man who could not love a woman the way men often love women. 

I married a word. I slept with an idea. He found dignity in me, and I found the man in him. Because there was a man. He had to be a man. 

He had to be someone who could die, and so he also had to be somebody who could live. And to be alive means to be loved. And I loved him. I did. 

I loved him as G-d, but I loved him as Jesus as well. Until he came, all I knew was torment. 

Choices I should have made were made for me when I was very young and weak. My choices have been stolen by men who wanted my choices for their comfort and their hunger. 

They wanted my choices so that they could feel alive. And so I was left with nothing. Broken. All my body knew was how to be neglected. And so that’s what I did. 

I went about the work of being neglected and broken and abused. And when the men came to me, there was nothing left for them to steal. 

And so all they did was use me. I was like a pencil. I was a tool. I was something you might take into the field in order to harvest. But I was not hard. Not hard enough. 

I was still made out of flesh even though I could not feel. Because everything inside me had been stolen and replaced with something that couldn’t move. I was dead. And that made it easy to do what I do. 

To do what I have done. And as they piled into my door and let their offenses touch me, I turned myself into a fire. I made myself into a bloodless stone. 

And you could not roll me. You could not move me. All you could do was climb on top of me and finish and then be gone. So when he chose me, I did not feel. He was one more man. 

But when he did not climb on top of me, the stone broke. And somehow I climbed out. And when I did he was there with his hand and clean water and he washed me. And I was baptized by his steady love. 

It’s a love that has never eased or changed. It is not the love of an ocean. It is the love of a lake. It’s a quiet place where you fish. And that’s what he did. 

For all of us. We were his fish. I was no more special than anyone else. It’s just he saw that I needed more. Maybe a stronger line. He was so adept at getting us all into the boat. I’m just glad that I’m no longer drowning.

And there was Mary Magdalene, and the other Mary, sitting over against the sepulchre.