Heralding a new day in Jerusalem, the sun arose above the surrounding hills, and the city emerged from shadow. Normally this was a time of celebration – it was Pesach 104 when the nation celebrated deliverance from a cruel tyrant. It was a time of joy and thanksgiving.
Or, so it should have been.
For on this morn the citizens awoke to an atmosphere of foreboding. The news of the execution was the only subject discussed throughout the night, but while the vast majority considered it to be unjust, they knew there was nothing that could be done to save Adlai. They were all uncertain – uncertain what the Romans might do if there were any angry remonstrations.
So they were all afraid.
In the fortress jail since early morning, Adlai had been repeatedly whipped and scourged. Blood from many open cuts oozed down his body and from his face, so much so that it was hard to determine his features. Once again, it was the younger centurions who applied the punishment with enthusiasm.
At some stage, Adlai had simply switched off and absorbed the savagery without even a whimper. His mind had accepted its fate so now he just physically went through the motions of existence. Time became meaningless.
Such was his surrender to the will of others he had no recollection of being led out of the Praetorian to the main road to Caesarea where the patibulum 105 was placed on his shoulders. Then a hand reached out and touched him causing him to look up - into the face of Demetris. He managed a small smile of gratitude and understanding. Demetris was crying freely. Then prodded by the guards the little procession began the short journey to Golgotha, 106 about two thousand long cubits 107 away.
Adlai was weak and stumbled often. The physical exertion caused his blood to flow faster, which in itself was a blessing, as it would lessen the length of his agony. But by now, he was bereft of any feeling. Shortly after leaving the portico of the Sheep’s gate, someone offered him a drink that he consumed while maintaining his stumbling gait.
But then suddenly, a major disturbance erupted. As they approached the ‘Fish’ gate, and before leaving the city proper, the crowd surged forward with hands outstretched. Voices were screaming for Adlai’s release. The soldiers tried to keep them back but realized too late that there were armed men within the crowd.
Now a vicious fight broke out and the scene before the gate became a melee of fighting men with much blood being spilled. Eventually order was restored leaving many zealot warriors as casualties. Once the guards had regrouped around the condemned, the little procession continued towards the hill of Golgotha now on the left hand side.
Reaching the execution site the experienced legionnaires went about their business with grim efficiency. When they had secured the hands to the cross beam, the Senior Centurion nodded satisfactorily,
“Good. Now bring me the nails.”
When the first nail was driven into his wrist, without fracturing bone and damaging the main artery, Tavi screamed. The pain was excruciating and did not lessen when the other nails were driven through his flesh. Now secured by the nails, he was raised onto the upright post and his feet were nailed about midway between toes and ankle. The centurions then moved back to admire their handiwork.
To Tavi, the process of dying had begun. Suspended by the cruel nails, his body hung limp with his lifeblood seeping away. Before changing place with Adlai, he had endured many open cuts that now bled freely.
Slowly, through all the searing pain, Tavi began to feel a numbness creep through him. It was getting dark even though the sun had yet to end its journey for the day.
I’ve not known this pain before . . . I feel cold . . . why is it getting dark? . . . I’m . . . I’m so sorry Adlai. Sorry Abba . . . so sorry I’ve caused you such trouble. I’ve done some very bad things . . . and I don’t know why. But . . . even with all this pain . . . pain, I know that making this sacrifice is a good thing . . . it’s probably the only good d . . . deed I’ve ever done. I ca . . . ca . . . . can’t . . . breathe now . . . can’t . . . can’t . . . emma! . . . emm . . .
From out of a small group gathered near the execution site an old man came forward slowly and approached the condemned. Such was the sorrow engrained on his face, the soldiers knew that he was a family member, and by his age and the tears, a close family member.
Yusuf looked up at his eldest son impaled as he was with blood now congealing on his wounds. He looked up into Tavi’s face and . . .
There you are Tavi. There you are with the signs of suffering writ all over your body. But this wretched corpse will not be my memory of you, my firstborn. No, I will remember the wriggling young babe I held in my arms at birth. I’ll remember your cries demanding attention and the cheeky youngster always challenging my authority. You will always be the joy of my life. How proud was I as you advanced into manhood. How proud I am my son that you have laid down your own life to save your brothers’ life.
I weep both tears of sadness and tears of pride. Your sacrifice this day will be acclaimed and remembered for all time by our people. Now it is the saddest of all tasks for a father to lay his son down to rest.
Yusuf moved closer and touched his son’s feet, pinioned and bloodied as they were.
“Come now son . . . (sob) . . . It’s time to take you home.”
Cephas and Simon joined him and Yusuf asked the senior guard,
“Can I take my son home with me? Now that his tormented soul is no more we must lay his body in a peaceful place.”
“Yes, take your son old man. He died bravely. I’ve never seen a deceased looking so peaceful in death. Surely, the sun will set on all our lives soon enough. Take him now, so we can all go home.”
Epilogue
For some time after Tavi’s death, Adlai and Maria stayed away from prying eyes at the safe house in Jerusalem. Any joy at Adlai’s escape from crucifixion was dampened by the awesome sacrifice Tavi had made. Only Cephas, Simon, and Yusuf knew of the circumstances leading up to Tavi’s sacrifice.
When Maria’s time drew near, they moved to Idra’s house for the baby to be born. It was a boy and they named him – Tavi. Adlai and Mary eventually joined Farhan in Nabataea where Adlai established a centre for learning based on not only his own beliefs but including the teachings of Ibrahim and the Buddhist faith.
There was great sorrow in the land at Adlai’s apparent death. As is often the case, Adlai’s fame became more in death than it ever was in life. A movement began, headed by Demetris and including Adlai’s followers that continued with his teachings. And it grew steadily with the passing of time.
So when Adlai began to make appearances it was deemed a miracle and that he had risen from the dead.
And thus began the greatest story ever told.
Eventually, a new faith would arise from within Arabia and spread a similar message to the world.
Authors’ Note
This is not a religious book and it certainly is not written to challenge existing religious practices. I intend only to provide an alternative viewpoint to the missing years of Jesus Christ - from age 12 to when he bursts on the scene many years later. This is an important period about which all the mainstream churches are maddeningly and suspiciously, silent.
In writing this fiction, I have allowed that Jesus – from a historical viewpoint – did exist.
Virtually all scholars accept the existence of Jesus, but differ on the accuracy of the details of his life within the biblical narratives. I have ignored all so called ‘Christian’ doctrines as they relate to the time after 70CE when Jewish followers of Christ broke from the traditional Talmudic teachings and so formed the modern religion of ‘Christianity’.
I have ignored all other understandings of Christ, to assume only two known facts – that he was born and ultimately died. These were tumultuous times in Palestine. The Jews were suffering (so they thought) under Roman rule, but more so were hostile to the ruling Sadducee sect. The common people were groaning under tax
es imposed by Rome and their religious leaders.
The fictional ‘Jesus’ has been portrayed – as I firmly believe – to be an ordinary person who developed a simple message – to love one another. He went through childhood and into his formative years doing and experiencing all the things that young people do.
I don’t believe for one moment that he just ‘appeared’ on the Palestinian scene as if by magic. I don’t believe that after years of mysterious silence he suddenly started preaching his message. I certainly don’t believe he was ‘divinely’ inspired.
I do believe he was part of a grand coalition involved in the struggle for power in Palestine. The struggle of the Jewish peoples continuing from the start of the first millennia resulted in the disastrous rebellion of 66CE leading to the destruction of the temple by Titus in 70CE.
I’ll leave it to my readers to ascertain whether my story holds more to reason than the traditional viewpoint of Christianity in its many – and confusing - forms.