Not much to do, hanging there. The pain of it makes minutes into hours. The insults of the crowd don't help much. As if the pain, as if the price of my life weren't enough. So I take what shots I can. I have never been a man of words, certainly no poet or philosopher. But right now curses flow from my lips like water down a stream. Any fool who gets close enough gets dowsed by a different fluid. Just trying to cool off some hot heads.
I listen to the others with me, too. The guy on the far side gives as good as he gets. But the one in the center stays pretty quiet. I know some folks aren't too chatty because of the pain. But I don't hear him sobbing either. Breathing hard when he can. Gasping for breath on occasion. So when he does open his mouth, I listen:
"Forgive them, they know not what they do."
Forgive them? Them? "You're the one on the cross, buddy." No reply.
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For all of the people who pass by the spectacle which is a crucifixion, you don't see a whole lot of acquaintances to the soon-to-be deceased. I look anyway. No family in town, not that they would be here even if they were local. A few friends, though friends like mine probably wouldn't want to hang around with so many soldiers. But I keep looking, hoping someone will want to say goodbye. What else is there to do?
As I'm looking, I see a group work its way to the front. It's an odd group, certainly for the occasion. It's mostly women, and old women at that. You don't see women at a crucifixion. It doesn't happen. They may pass by on the way to wherever they're going, but they don't linger, certainly not in groups, and definitely not at the front.
They reach the front of the mob, right by the center cross. And they just stand there, weeping. It's not too long after they start that I hear the man in the middle say, "Dear woman, here is your son." Then, a little pause. "Here is your mother." He spoke clearly, though tired. And he spoke with compassion, as though their pain was greater than his own.
After he spoke I saw the man with them, pretty young, turn to the woman crying the most. She must have been center guy's mom. I wonder if my Mom will shed any tears for me. I wonder if she'll ever find out. Anyway, the old woman turned to the young man and seemed to nearly collapse onto him.
The group stayed a bit longer but then the young man started to lead them away. I think the man in the center motioned for him to do so because the young man gave a little nod. So away they went, at least to the back. But I don't think much could have dragged them away from this scene. And I started to ask myself, "What is so special about this man?"
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And then I heard a name: Jesus. And I remembered a day many months ago. I was in a large crowd, so large people were getting trampled on. My kind of crowd. It is hard to notice someone reaching for your pouch when five other people are already pressing into you. I didn't even know why the crowd had gathered, not until I heard Him. "Be on your guard," were the first words out of His mouth. I would have run right then if there had been any room to do so. Suffice it to say, He had my attention.
He spoke about avoiding hypocrisy and that all our actions would be revealed. Wish I had paid more attention then or I might not be hanging here right now. And then He said not to fear those who can kill you but He who can throw you into Hell. And He spoke about our lives having value in the eyes of God. And then, He said, "I tell you, whoever acknowledges me before men, the Son of Man will also acknowledge him before the angels of God." And for a moment, even through the crowd, I could swear He was looking right at me. But then the moment passed.
The Man spoke some more and I listened a little. As the crowd dispersed, they called Him Jesus. I've tried to forget Him, everything He said. That look. I didn't make much that day anyway. And now, here I am, all of five feet from Him. And even now, at the very end, my life still has value to Him. What kind of man forgives those who mock and kill Him? I've never met the like, but surely no one who deserves to die, surely not like this. They called Him the King of the Jews. Maybe they were right.
As I am thinking about all this, the guy on the right chimes in again. He heckles Jesus, saying, "Aren't you the Christ? Save yourself and us!" And then I surprise myself: "Don't you fear God, since we are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong." It all just flowed out. And as I paused to think about what I had just said, I believed every word. And I knew what I had to ask for next. "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." And it was quiet for just a moment but that moment seemed to stretch on forever. And finally, He answered, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise." And then it gets dark.
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I'm not too old, but old enough to have seen some strange weather: fierce wind and rain; thunder and lightning; the roof torn off one house while the house next door is fine; clouds so thick they look like the gates of heaven. But I have never seen anything like this. It was a clear day, no clouds, a little wind. And I blinked. I closed my eyes to blue skies and opened them to pitch black. It wasn't like night. There was no moon, no city lights. It was so surprising that out of reflex I tried to rub my eyes. I couldn't reach them, of course.
At first, some of the people thought it was an eclipse. But a minute passed, then two, then ten, and still no light. Some of the soldiers, after the shock wore off, tried to light torches. And it looked like the light was being sucked into the darkness. It was eerie and quiet, broken only by the sounds of our breathing. And the sounds Jesus was making. I don't know that I could describe it. He had been tired before, but now it was like He was burdened, deeply so. He had been sad before but now it was as if He were in the greatest anguish a man could know. It was almost as if He had lost the best thing He ever had and was given the worst thing He could ever imagine. And it was like this for hours. To hear such sounds…no one spoke. Everyone there just bore silent witness. Finally, Jesus spoke, loud and clear, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit." And just like that, Jesus died.
It was quiet again. A centurion broke the silence: "Surely, he was a righteous man." I don't say anything, don't even nod my head. What more could I add to what I have just witnessed? The crowd started to disperse, beating their breasts as they went. They came for a spectacle and they certainly got it, just not what they expected. They didn't care to ridicule anyone anymore today, to see anyone else die. Not everyone left, though. I could see that Jesus' friends were still off at a distance. Even now, they couldn't let go. I don't blame them a bit. Even though the price I paid was my life to be this close to Jesus, I would pay it again. To have seen Him, to hear Him, to know Him…not even this pain compares. And in my last hours, I keep thinking about the words He told me: "Today you will be with me in paradise." Today. Just a little bit longer. And when I see the soldier come up with the hammer, I know that it is just a little bit longer. And as the life is leaving my body, I feel that it is just a little bit longer.
And then I blink. I close my eyes to a world of darkness, and open them to a world of all-encompassing light. And I feel this weight I never knew I had lifted from my shoulders; I feel His forgiveness, His acceptance into His family. And finally, I see Him. He is no longer a broken and beaten man but a glorified king. No more a man of sorrows but endless joy. And for a moment I know He is looking right at me. And the moment stretches into eternity. And the moment never passes.
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