- Matthew 27:54
Swinging his legs from the bed his feet touch the ground, literally - the dirt of the earth. Moving his toes, trying to make sense of his surroundings, finding dirt and stone beneath the calloused soles of his feet. Running his fingers through his hair, finding it knotted and longer than he remembered. His eyes opening to rationalize his environment and the confusion increases as he takes in the humble surroundings. A small wooden table, a plaster pitcher and cup, a wooden cot covered by a worn grey blanket, an oil lamp at the foot of his cot next to a heavy white cloth piled next to a pair of wooden and leather sandals. The chilling wind of the morning storm blows through the chiseled window opening in the stone wall, as he realizes his near naked state, other than a simple white cloth at his loins. Shaking his head and closing his eyes trying to reset his mind from this dreamlike state. Opening them once again to the same surroundings, confusion sets in. Realizing that his wife is no longer next to him in bed, but he is alone in this room. Lightning cracks through the dark sky once again, lighting the room through the cracks in the wooden ceiling.
Rising to his feet, he moves to the window and glances down to the stone road below and seeing oil lamps burning in small stone and wooden dwellings all around him. He sees a large fire burning in the distance, with bodies huddling around it. Hearing a rooster crowing as the thinnest silver lining of sunlight highlights the horizon. Stepping back to the cot, taking the white cloth and draping it over his shoulder and around his body, he secures it with a loose rope at the waist. He ties the sandals to his feet and taking the oil lamp he steps from the single room dwelling onto the smooth stone road. Seeking the attention of another for nothing more than to inquire of time and place, but no one is found. Stepping to a fire stick on a stand near the road, he lights his oil lamp. Lifting it in front, he lights his path as he ventures out on a trek toward the gathering by the fire in the distance.
As he nears the gathering of individuals, there is an excitement in the air. He hears them talking, in a language other than his native English. He draws close to an elderly gentlemen and begins to explain, “I am from America – what is this place?” The gentlemen jerks away and begins scolding him in a foreign language, which sounds vaguely like the Greek he recalls from his trip to Athens several years ago. The older man walks away, mumbling under his breath. Our American confused and helpless wanders with the flow of others, pleading with those around him for an explanation. Their reaction much like the previous, although some speaking other languages.
The sun is now above the horizon and the fire has calmed to a few burning embers. The crowds are filling the streets as if something big was about to happen. Trying to catch his thoughts and piece all of this together, he sees a bearded man, dressed in a brown robe standing near a column. His eyes show his deep emotion, obviously saddened, yet shifty and scared at the same time. Something about his stare sinks deep within the American’s conscious. Then, there came a commotion from down the street. People yelling, cheering and clapping. He stands by the fire a few moments longer and finds a piece of bread left behind. Taking it he chews slowly, feeling famished for some reason. The crowd thinned as they began following the parade through the narrow stone streets.
His curiosity had the best of him. He fell into line near the back of the crowd. Unable to communicate he had no idea what was going on far ahead of them at the front of this sea of people. Looking around at the faces of those in his view, he saw anger, fear and jealousy. He watched as they screamed, raised their fists in the air and spit upon the stone street. Looking down, he couldn’t help but notice the trail of blood painting the center stones as he walks along. Nearing the end of the row of buildings and seeing a clearing in the distance, he sees a woman kneeling, sobbing and clutching a cloth to her bosom. His heart cries out for her obvious pain and anguish. Stopping near her, he kneels, lifting her chin to reveal the tear stained cheeks and soft brown eyes. He speaks in an attempt to understand her pain, “What is it miss…what is this that is going on?” He motions with his hand to the swarming crowds that have moved into the distance. Then a younger man comes along, helping her to her feet, chastising our American once again in a foreign language.
Hearing pounding and screaming in the distance, he is immediately reminded of the crowds and the parade. He rises to his feet once again and moves along the narrow stone streets with the few stragglers. Pushing past the buildings, the bright sun blinding him momentarily. He is faced with a large stone wall running parallel to the road they are on. He sees where the road curves and exits through a large wooden gate. There is yelling, laughing and cheering on the other side of the wall, in addition to the faint sound of painful screaming. As he and those around him pass through the gate, there is a stone quarry and rolling hill just to their right.
As his eyes adjust to the sunlight, he is taken aback by the unbelievable sight before him. Atop the hill were 3 crosses, with men hanging upon them. His mind putting the pieces together race through the morning’s events and all of a sudden it hits him. Slowly he lifts his face, his eyes scanning the crowd, then centering on the cross in the middle. Many years ago, he recalls hearing the story of Easter, and he remembered enough to know that Jesus Christ was in the center. He continued walking up the hill side, but for some reason could not shift his eyes from the disfigured body of Jesus of Nazareth hanging on a cross. He neared the top of the hill and there was that woman and young man kneeling at the cross. This had to be Mary, mother of Jesus, with one of his disciples.
Then from nowhere he heard something, a voice speaking in plain English, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” How could this be? Somehow, he is in 1st century Jerusalem, watching the crucifixion of Jesus Christ and hearing him speak in plain English. Looking up at the bleeding man, he sees his eyes. They are red with broken blood vessels, disgusting to look upon, yet our American can’t look away. There is something about Christ’s eyes. Even in the obvious pain Jesus must be in, they are focused. Everywhere he walks in and out of the people on the hill, Jesus is looking right at him. Then he hears Jesus speak, again in plain English, to the woman kneeling at the cross. “Dear woman, here is your son," and to the young man, "Here is your mother."
As he walks the hill from end to end, Jesus eyes are focused on him, as if he were the only person there. The other two hanging with Jesus are talking to him in Hebrew. When Jesus responds to the one, our American hears every word plainly, “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Shortly thereafter as the sun beat down from the blue sky, Jesus words filled his ears once again, “I am thirsty” At which point a centurion lifted a sponge to Jesus lips. The visitor to this land now began to feel for the one hanging on the hill as the day wore on. He felt nothing but love pouring out through his constant stare and his words, which miraculously were completely comprehensible. Jesus body was now sagging deeply, putting enormous strain on the nail (railroad spikes) through his wrists.
Suddenly, the air turned cold, and the blue skies turned black. It was as if there were a three hour solar eclipse from noon to three in the afternoon. Others began leaving and took the time to spit upon the earth at the foot of the cross as they walked by. He couldn’t leave though, not that he had anywhere to go anyway. So he stepped a little closer, watching as Jesus drew deep breaths with each passing moment. Then Jesus cried out, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me.” Tears began filling the eyes of our American as he listened to the cries of Jesus. He began trying to remember everything he had once learned (as a small child) about this man. What had this man done to deserve this gruesome death?
· He was born of a virgin
· He was preaching and teaching in the temple at 12
· He was Baptized by John the Baptist
· He was Tempted by Satan in the desert for 40 days
· He lived in peace
· He was preaching about love, grace, justice and peace
· He healed the blind, lame and sick
· He cast out demons
· He brought 2 people back from the dead
· He challenged the earthly rules of authority with an eternal perspective
· He lived a life of servitude rather than greed
As Jesus’ breathing became labored, he cried out “Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit”, and Jesus Christ breathed his last. The woman, he assumed to be Mary, was wailing at the foot of the cross. There were 10 or 15 men and women gathered around her and joining her in tears and mournful sobbing. Just then, the earth began to rumble. Our American had lived through the World Series earthquake in San Francisco, and he immediately recognized this one as 10 times greater than that one. The earth shook to its core and parted right down the hill and through the gate into the city in the direction of the temple. Rain fell from the blackened skies and the centurion broke the legs of the other two hanging on their crosses. Looking to Mary, his heart filled with compassion and he chose not to break Jesus legs. But, rather he pushed a spear into the side of Christ to make sure he was dead.
Lightening ripped through the sky once again as the rain pelted those of us left on that hill. Crashing thunder rolled and the sky lit up with the blinding light of the storm. Falling to his knees before the cross, our American lay prostrate in tears and cried out for Christ to remember him also. A gentle hand upon his shoulder guided him back to his knees. Looking up, he was filled with the vision of those loving eyes once again as Christ’s face appeared, unblemished and perfect. “I have never forgotten you My child and I will be with you always.” Lightening blinded his view as it rippled through the sky with the rumbling of thunder echoing through his mind. Closing his eyes briefly and then re-opening them, he was once again staring at his alarm clock, and the DJ sounding off, "a blessed Good Friday to all my listeners this morning."
As you wake up on this Good Friday 2011, do not let the day pass by without experiencing the love of Jesus Christ in your life. You too can be with Him in paradise. Remember when you think of the cross: Sunday’s coming.
© Sondove Enterprises, 2011
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