I Was There

I’d heard the screams from a distance. The yelling crying crowds were so loud as they chanted. But I couldn’t hear the words.

Curiously, I put down the soap I’d been washing clothes with and carefully stepped up the muddy river bank.

Following the sounds, I could see others had the same idea and we were all drawn to the raucous noise.

After weaving in and out of laneways I finally got to the temple walls and peeked around the corner to see a massive crowd. Is everyone who lives in Jerusalem here today?

Even from this distance I could see enough and my heart cried out. For I saw my Messiah, beaten and bruised, bleeding but standing as Pilate pointed to him and my eyes swung as he then directed our attention to that criminal, Barabbas.

I realised what was happening; I’d heard of this but never seen it for it was an old custom, rarely held these days. He was letting ppl choose who to kill and who to set free. And with horror I could see the crowds wanted to free Barabbas.

Were they serious? This had to be a joke. Barabbas, as far as I knew, had killed ppl.

Jesus though, had done nothing wrong.

What is going on? How can these people not see that?

With the heaviest of heart I pushed my way through the crowd. I was only small and it wasn’t that hard until I got nearer the front. I found a group of women who were calling out for Jesus to be freed.

I felt numb. The chants for Jesus to die were so loud, how could we possibly be heard? I had to try.

“Jesus, free Jesus” I yelled.

The women with me, I only knew one or two, smiled at me and we shouted louder in unison. United in our cause.

I could feel the tears streak my cheek the longer we were there, fighting for the life of our Lord. I brushed at my tears with my veil but it all felt so hopeless. The throng kept pushing and shoving us, trying to stop our cries.

Suddenly, Jesus met my eyes from up on that platform, it was a brief look but He saw me. His were the eyes of love, so soft, so gentle, so reassuring and He seemed to speak straight to my heart.

“It’s ok, it’s gonna be ok. I have to go through this, for you.”

I gulped some air as a tiny spark of peace settled the pounding of my heart. I didn’t understand it, but if Jesus said this then there was a good reason.

With the crowd deciding for him, Pilate led Jesus away as I saw Barabbas being freed. He was so arrogant in the way he moved about. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He felt justified killing those people and here was his reward. It made me sick to my stomach.

Where was the justice?

I don’t know where they led Jesus but I was swept along with the crowd, my feet barely keeping up.

I rounded a corner, stumbling as the people raced passed and then I stopped in shock.

There he was. Jesus. Up close, I was horrorfied by his wounds. Great cuts from whips had gouged huge wounds in his beautiful skin and I could see bone.

I felt like I’d throw up. A lady was wiping his face as he was bent low under the weight of a cross.

It looked so incredibly heavy. It was clearly old, the silvery wood had dark lines running through it and I wondered why it wasn’t fresh wood like some I’d seen. I could see splinters hanging off it and I prayed none would hurt Jesus.

He started to move and with my eyes magnetised to him I knew I had to walk this path with him. Let him know he wasn’t alone. He was loved.

As I tried to keep up, crowds kept getting in my way and I remembered just a few days ago when we were on this road. This very same road. And it was littered with palm branches, robes, cloaks, anything people could find, to make a guard of honour, a green carpet of sorts, to worship him.

I thought it funny at the time and remember laughing with my little sister because Jesus was riding, of all things, a donkey. It was the cutest thing ever, a pretty face as far as animals go, with the longest lashes I’d ever seen lining beautiful brown eyes.

It wasn’t scared of the crowds, like today, shouting loud. Only the words were so different.

“Hosanna”,

“Lord of Lords”,

“Prince of Peace”

It felt like such a festival and Jesus was the cause of it. There was such joy as he rode along, many of us, especially kids and young folk like me, chasing the donkey.

Maybe that’s why it wasn’t scared. Because it was fun and lively and the donkey could just feel the praise and love for our Jesus, The Messiah.

Someone shoved me from behind and I fell out of my reverie. So different. It was so different to what I still couldn’t believe was happening right now.

I tried to catch up to him but he was far ahead. I knew a short cut and with my heart hammering I raced down a side street, under a small bridge, around a couple corners and came out not far from the head of the crowd.

I could see the soldiers taunting my Lord and it broke my heart. He was getting closer to me and I could see red drops, bright and also rusty dark streaking his beautiful face. I realised I still held the wet shawl I’d been washing, and without even thinking I stepped forward and gently wiped his face, crying as I said “I love you” before being roughly pulled away.

I don’t know if he heard me or not. It didn’t matter. I think he knew anyway. He is my God.

The group of women from earlier found me and one of them put her arm around me as the tears just flowed. We continued walking, up the rocky hill to where there were already two men on crosses.

The soldiers were all milling about watching the ones who had the awful task of pinning Jesus to the wood.

I couldn’t watch. His cry as the nail went into his hand is a sound I’ll never forget. We women hugged each other, heads bowed. None of us could watch.

Through blurred tears I saw a group of old men huddled together looking quite pleased with themselves.

Oh, these were the men who ordered this. These were the priests of the high council. Looking smug as they could! It made me so angry.

I started screaming out and the women tried to hold me back. I got a few steps towards them though before I was contained.

Snotty nosed and gulping for air, my tear stained face cried at them;

“How could you! How could you? Do you not know who he is? Are you so threatened by him you had to kill-“

And I felt a hand cover my mouth. I looked up with angry eyes and saw John. His arms around me, dragging me back. I let him. I crumpled to the ground and picked up a handful of dirt and stones to throw. But again he stopped me.

“Sssshhhh, sssshhhh, stop now” he said gently. “Don’t make it harder. Jesus said this had to happen.”

I could feel his own tears mingling with mine and the fight went out of me. I held onto him tight and let my anguish flow.

“I, I don’t understand, why???”

“Ssshhh” is all he could say to comfort me. Maybe he was asking himself the same question.

We rejoined the group of women and John moved to be with Mary. I’d only seen her from a distance, never actually talked to her before and right now my heart broke all over again at seeing her grief played out for all to see.

I couldn’t possibly imagine how it must feel to be her right now. Her story is famous in these parts. A virgin who became the mother of our one true Messiah. Bringing up a boy who was a boy in every sense yet also God. It’s hard to fathom. And now to see him hanging on a cross.

It was hard enough for me as his follower. How must it feel for his mother?

Jesus had been crying out some words. They gave him a drink in a sponge stuck on the end of a long stick. I think I also heard him call out to Elijah?

And then he spoke to Mary.

“Woman, behold your son, son, behold your mother”

I dissolved into more tears. That was heartbreakingly beautiful. Mary would not be alone in her grief. Even as Jesus was dying, he was looking out for her. John nodded in agreement, never taking his eyes from Jesus, as he held Mary close.

This man, this man continues to prove who he is even hanging on a cross. His heart full of love for us mere humans.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand the gravity of his sacrifice.

I saw greedy thoughtless soldiers playing cards for his clothes. Then they were fighting over the huge red sash he’d been wearing. I shook my head in disgust.

Now Jesus was speaking to one of the robbers, something about being in paradise with him. I couldn’t hear all of it.

Then he cried out to God and said

“It is finished”

His head dropped and… he was gone.

The immediate silence after Jesus uttered those words almost echoed. Then it was shattered by storm clouds that rolled in as thunder rang in the skies.

The realisation that he was really gone and of who he was came out in this one centurion who, head bowed in humility, gravely said,

“Truly, he was the Son of God”

The desolation of our combined grief was almost too much to bear. Our cries turned to wails and weeping as grief took over.

The crowds diminished as only those who really knew him remained at his feet.

Some of the soldiers had been ordered to break the legs of all three of them to hasten their deaths but when they came to Jesus, they saw he had already died so didn’t bother.

Just to check though, one of the soldiers plunged his spear into Jesus’ broken body. Blood and water sprayed down, mingling with our tears and the rain.

After a time, an older man came to help bring Jesus off the cross. Apparently he had volunteered his own new tomb in a garden as a place to lay Jesus’ body. Sooo nice of him. Clearly someone who loved and followed Jesus as Messiah too.

But right now, all I could see was a mother’s deep sorrow as she cradled her son’s lifeless body and wept and wept and wept.

We stayed with Mary. None of us wanting to leave her and none willing to go back to our lives of preparing dinner for family or running errands. It all seemed so pointless after this.

I’ll never forget that day. A day that started out with a shining sun as I went about my assigned chores and ended in the most heartbreaking day of my life.