The procession begins again with the two condemned thieves leading the way. Although one of the thieves has a nasty cut across the back of his hand, they were not scourged and still have the strength to carry their burdens while Jesus staggers even as Simon helps him and falls again. I want to help him up but the Roman guards won’t let anyone touch him, though they allow and even encourage the crowd to hurl insults and an occasional rock at him.
When he falls the third time there’s a moment when the soldiers let him struggle to his knees without whipping him further. He looks at me. There’s blood and sweat dripping off his face and there are tears running down mine. I want so badly to save him from this fate that I fall to my knees in front of Him and look into his eyes. Through all the blood and pain, he’s still my perfect mirror. As we share this brief moment together he isn’t concerned over his own fate. He sees my tears and I sense he’s more worried about me than he is for himself. His next look tells me not to worry.
Everything is going to be alright because everything that’s happening is as how it’s meant to be.
I thought I was sent here by Henry but now I know I was called here by Christ. I was told by men that my role in coming here was to convince Christians that their beliefs were false. Instead it turns out Henry and I have just been actors in God’s plan. My role has always been to testify to the deity of Christ.
I look into Christ’s eyes again and without speaking he tells me I’m not just an actor on a stage to Him. My role is much more personal than that. Yes, I’m to testify to the world but He didn’t call me here for them. He called me here for me. Christ doesn’t choose to save all the souls on earth at once, he chooses to personally save us one at a time. I cry as I realize travelling back in time was all part of my personal salvation.
As we approach the spot called Golgotha where he and two criminals are to be crucified I hang back because I’m not sure I can stand to watch. Witnessing the torture he’s endured so far has already been more than I thought I could bear. People from my time want for nothing when it comes to the needs of the flesh. If we get even the slightest pain it can be removed with modern technology or more commonly by numbing ourselves with various drugs. Sometimes I wonder if the technology and drugs have numbed us to the point of feeling nothing at all. Maybe if my world had a little more pain we would feel a little more empathy towards others.
I gather my courage and move forward to watch. The brutality of crucifixion is well beyond anything I could have envisioned. Jesus is hurled backward with his shoulders on the beam and Roman soldiers grab each arm and hold them outward. The pain from the skin on his back rubbing against the rough wood alone should be enough to make him cry out in pain but he doesn’t. Instead he looks at the soldiers with his deep, kind eyes.
He’s forgiving them for what they’re about to do.
A third soldier feels Christ’s wrists and selects the proper spot. He places a large square nail on the spot and raises his hammer to strike but as he does so he looks Jesus in the face, his hammer frozen in midair. At a moment when anyone else might beg the soldier to stop what he’s doing, Jesus says nothing, he simply transfixes the man with his eyes. Then with a slight nod of his head, as if he’s the one giving the soldier the order to proceed rather than the other way around, he breaks the stare.
He could have chosen to end this, but he chose crucifixion. He chose to sacrifice His human life to give us everlasting life.
The soldier’s hesitation ends and the hammer comes down with a ring on the nail. Jesus just exhales audibly through the pain but I let out a cry like it’s me being nailed to the cross instead of him.
It is you being nailed Cephas. Your sins and the sins of all mankind are what nails him here. You’re truly a Christian now. His cross is your cross too.
The soldier nails the other wrist, this time without hesitation and I gasp again as the hammer hits home. Behind me I hear a woman whimper and a man consoling her in whispers. With each hit I expect to hear the snapping of bones as the spikes penetrate but there’s none, just the loud ring of the hammer. Through it all I hear the thieves begging and crying out as their wrists are nailed.
The hammers ring out again as each man has his left foot crossed over his right and pointed downwards so a nail can be driven through the arch of both and into the wood. This time I hold in my cry as the nail is driven but despite the warmth of the sun I begin to shake. Again I expect to hear bones break as the nail is driven through and again I hear none.
The Old Testament prophecy said that not a single bone would be broken.
More soldiers come forward and lift the heavy beams and their human cargo into place. The entire sight is horrifying. Somehow I’d expected he would be high up in the air but in fact his feet are just barely off the ground. I wish he was high up and further away. Being tall enough to look him in the face as this is done to him makes the scene all too personal.
His death is supposed to be personal, just like his love for each of us. Here he is, even hung up on a cross his arms are open wide to embrace us.
The crowd continues to mock Jesus as a soldier appears with a sign saying “Jesus of Nazareth, The King of the Jews” in Hebrew, Latin and Greek and nails it above Jesus’ head. One of the Pharisees argues with him for a minute and then leaves, I guess he doesn’t like what’s written on the sign. The Roman soldiers move back further and I see them throwing dice to see who’ll get Jesus’ robe.
Another prophecy down.
The rest of the Pharisees start the mocking again. They yell “Save yourself” and “Come down from your cross” and laugh and egg on the crowd to join them.
I move further away and stay silent while the crowd jeers. Jesus has been silent through the insults so when he speaks everyone goes quiet. It appears many in the crowd come to crucifixions as a form of entertainment and hearing the crucified beg for mercy is an expected part of the show. Instead of begging for himself though, he begs for them to receive mercy when he shouts “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
The people look back and forth at each other in surprise but quickly recover and return to yelling. These words are among the best known of Jesus’ life but now that I’ve heard them personally I start to think about them for the first time.
If those in the crowd ‘know not what they do’, why do they need to be forgiven? Does their ignorance not make them innocent? Or is it possible that even in ignorance they’re still guilty of this great sin?
Instead of providing relief, Jesus’ plea to God feels like a personal curse upon me. Unlike those around me, I can’t claim ignorance. I know exactly what’s happening here and by standing and watching it happen I feel just as guilty of crucifying him as those who held his arms and drove the nails.
Why God did you send me through time to this place to witness this moment? I’m a man of 2202. I’m not like these people.
I think this to myself but I know it isn’t true. I’m exactly like these people. No, I’m worse than these people. I live in a world full of sins of which these people can’t possibly conceive. If only I were just another sinner I could claim the same ignorance for which Jesus just forgave the people around me, but I’m not just another sinner from 2202. I’m a believer from 2202 and I’ve done nothing to change my world. I’m sad when I see a selective pregnancy kiosk but I’ve done nothing but walk by. I’ve seen people having public sex but I’ve just looked away. So unlike these people around me, I’m not ignorant of what’s happening before my eyes to God’s only son.
Forgive me Father, for I do know what I do.
Can someone who knowingly drives the nails through Christ with his sins still receive His grace? Everything I’ve read in the Bible tells me the answer is “yes”, but I want a more direct answer and the only man who can answer the question is right in front of me.
I make my way to the front until I’m less than a meter from him and speak in Latin so fewer around me will understand what I’m saying.
>
“Jesus. I know you’ve already forgiven these people but you know I’m not ignorant. I know what we’ve all done here. I know my sins drove those nails through you as if I forged them and drove them myself. Will you forgive me?”
Tears are running down my face like a river.
Jesus looks at me but says nothing and his silence sends a chill through me. I’ve read the Bible and many other sacred writings in multiple languages. I’ve analyzed the words, I’ve researched the context, I’ve thought endlessly about what happens here and what it means over the two-thousand years of history that will begin unfolding starting on this day. Without knowing it I’ve dedicated my entire life to understanding the man who is dying before me and yet I never understood anything at all until this moment as our eyes are locked onto each other. He still doesn’t speak but he bows his head slightly and then stares over my shoulder and into the crowd.
“Thank you Lord.”
I make my way back to the far edge of the gathering.
I’m no longer ashamed of staying silent. This is happening because it’s what needs to happen and I understand that now. What if I could run to Jesus and persuade the crowd and the soldiers to bring him down and let him live? Then what? What would become of humanity if Christ’s sacrifice could be erased from time? He’s hanging on a cross because he’s choosing to hang there. He’s choosing death so I might find eternal life.
The word “choice” makes my memory flash to Martha and I reach into my cloak pocket and take out two old rose blooms that I snuck along. Even dried and faded I can read the words “life” and “death”. The thought of it makes me weep again.
Somehow Martha understands his choice. How I wish she was here with me.
As time wears on the horror of crucifixion increases. If the nails were only through the wrists and not the feet so that the body were hanging by just the arms then crucifixion would be relatively quick. The arms and pectoral muscles would quickly tire out and breathing would become impossible. With the nails through their feet the three men on their crosses are starting to lift themselves by pushing down on the nail. Although the pain in their feet must be unimaginable, lifting up allows them to exhale and sink back down until the primal need to breath forces them upward again. This is why breaking the legs of the crucified ends their lives quickly and can even be thought of as an act of mercy.
I’ve been watching this unfold for hours and the sun is directly overhead when I realize it’s becoming dark. I look up expecting thick clouds or even a solar eclipse but neither is happening, the sun is simply going dark. Like an eclipse, we’re not plunged into complete darkness. There’s an eerie, undefined twilight that allows us to see each other and the three crosses.
We sit and stand in the darkness for hours. The crowd is silent now so you can hear each breath of the three men as they move up and down on their crosses and gasp for air. If I could, I’d break all of their legs, just to stop that sound.
One breath closer to death, one breath closer to redeeming mankind.
I get my wish when the sound is interrupted by the clear voice of Jesus saying “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
The crowd gasps a little at the intrusion but say little more until we hear Jesus say “I thirst”.
The crowd thinks he’s physically thirsty, but I think he wants this temporary separation from God to end. I think he thirsts to be back in God’s love.
A boy tries to give him sour wine soaked into a sponge by putting it onto the end of a hyssop branch but someone in the crowd says, “Leave him alone. Let’s see whether Elijah will come and save him.”
We wait another minute listening to the breathing when we hear Jesus say “It’s finished,” and with a long low breath his body relaxes and it’s apparent he’s gone from us.
As his last breath expires we start to hear and then feel a low rumble in the ground that develops into a great shaking. I’ve never seen fear in the eyes of a Roman soldier, but I see it now. As if to express what the entire contingent is thinking the officer in charge says, “Truly this was the son of God”.
I’ve never been so exhausted in my life. I lay down on the spot and fall into a deep sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’m woken up by someone shaking my shoulder. The sun is shining brightly again and there’s nobody around except a few Roman soldiers and a group of women standing at a distance. The person shaking my shoulder is a small man with a long black beard and hair, each of which are streaked with gray. He’s wearing long Jewish robes.
“Will you help me?” the man asks.
“Help you with what?”
“The Romans won’t help me take the body down from the cross. Will you help me?”
This is Joseph of Arimathea.
I look up at the crosses. The thieves died sometime while I was sleeping. Their legs are broken. I bet they were in so much pain they didn’t even feel it happen.
Jesus has a gaping hole in his side, neatly slit between the ribs. You can see that blood poured out of the gash and ran down his side and legs. There’s a distinct smell of recent death which the crows and magpies quickly detected and now sit and squawk as they wait for a chance to peck at the bodies.
I won’t allow them that chance.
“Yes. I’ll help you.”
I wish that removing Jesus from the cross could be done with dignity, but it can’t. The large spikes are driven deep into the wood and won’t come free using just our bare hands. Luckily they’re not made with a large head like a modern nail so we’re able to draw his feet back over the nail and leave the nail in the wood. There’s some tearing of flesh but the bones don’t break.
Once the feet are free his body hangs limp from the wrists. Joseph is able to lift the body upward enough to take some of the weight off and I pull his left wrist free. Centuries from now there’ll be debate over whether Jesus really died on the cross or if he lived and was nursed back to health. As I tug on his cold arm to free it, there’s no doubt he’s dead. When I pull his right wrist free Joseph is unable to hold the weight himself and Jesus falls to the dusty ground, face up.
I thank God for the fact his eyes are closed. Despite the dried blood and dirt, his face looks peaceful, you’d never guess the cruel and brutal way in which he died. Joseph has a cart that looks much like a wheelbarrow so we load Jesus onto it.
“I have a place for him. It’s not far.”
Joseph leads while I push the cart.
The Romans prefer to have executions near public roads as a warning to all who walk past. We stay on the road as long as possible, which makes the travel easy. I notice the women I observed earlier are following us at a distance. They must want to see where Jesus is to be laid. When we reach the tomb a man who has brought a large amount of ointment for embalming the body joins us.
“Thank you,” Joseph says. “We will prepare him.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No. You are a Gentile. We will prepare him according to our customs.”
With no words passing between them, they set to work cleaning him and wrapping him in linen with the spices. The women are watching from a distance as the men do their work, as are some religious leaders and two Roman soldiers. Apparently everyone wants to know where Jesus is to be laid to rest.
As I turn to leave I spot the two men in Egyptian robes that have stalked me since Jericho. They’re not here to see where Jesus is laid to rest, their focus is still on me. They’re going to be disappointed, I have no money left for them to rob.
***
Tomorrow is Saturday and marks one week since I left the cave with a note saying they should check for messages in a week. It’ll be sundown in a few hours so I decide to travel as far as Bethany and then head for the cave at dawn. I have no money for an Inn so I ask if I can sleep on some hay in a small barn outside Bethany and the family lets me. The woman of the house even brings me some stale bread just before dawn, though I notice it wasn’t until the
chickens had eaten their fill of it.
I’m approaching the center of Bethany on my way to the cave when I hear a short yell followed by the sounds of heavy footsteps behind me. The sun is just breaking the horizon so all I can see are two shadowy figures but there’s little doubt it’s the two Egyptians. I run into a narrow alley between two buildings but I can hear them in close pursuit.
As I’m just about to emerge from the alley into an open area I trip and go rolling and sprawling to the ground. When I look back I see there was a person standing on either side of the alley waiting for me to emerge, I ran right into a trap. One of them is nearly two meters tall, which is pretty big in these times. The other is much smaller. Both are wearing Roman togas and hooded tunics which cover their faces.
As the Egyptians emerge from the alley the first one smiles when he sees me on the ground but likely loses at least one tooth from his smile when the big Roman hits him in the mouth with a heavy wooden staff followed by sweeping his legs out from under him. One last hit to the temple and the Egyptian goes unconscious.
The smaller Roman is unarmed but I think I’d rather face the big guy with the staff because the small Roman boxes the second Egyptian in the ears, smashes him in the face with a knee as he doubles over and lands a perfect kick to the groin as the man is crumpling to the ground. He rolls over and vomits his breakfast.
I wish I could fight like that.
I start to slowly crabwalk away, hoping the Romans have forgotten about me and will be content to rob the Egyptians instead.
“Stop,” commands the big one in Latin pointing his staff at me.
The small one sets to work checking the possessions of the Egyptians and comes away with two coin purses, several knives, two unknown objects wrapped in leather bundles and a piece of paper which is opened and read.
If they can read they’re not common thieves. Maybe I can bargain with them.
The Romans exchange a look and nod. The big one tosses me his staff, which I catch in two shaking hands.
Why is he arming me?
“Run,” he says.
I run through a different alley and onto the Jericho road.
I’ve run for at least three kilometers when I stop to drink some water. The staff the Roman threw to me is still in my hand. I stare at it in disbelief when I see it’s the staff that Eli gave to me and was stolen as I slept by a tree.