"But they all cried out together, 'Away with this man and release to us Barabbas' - a man who had been thrown into prison for an insurrection started n the city, and for murder." Luke 23:18
It should have been me hanging up there, you know!
It should have been me writhing up there against the brutal woodwith nails like a wooden sign; gasping out for however many minutes are left before the lungs collapse and the heart gives out; or the Romans finish you off - WHICHEVER COMES FIRST!
I should be down at Jonah's tavern celebrating my unexpected freedom, but I just don't feel like celebrating. I am drawn to this place; to this horrible and ghastly place!
We were ambushed, over a week ago, by a troop from Pilate's calvary when we tried to raid a caravan. Somebody tipped them off. They've been after me for a long time, but this time I knew, I mean I just knew this was it for me! I knew that my long string of crafty moves and lucky breaks had finally come full circle and had reached it's bitter end!
"What goes around, comes around," you know and. . . well. . . It was finally coming around!
Even the jailers were certain that I was done for, so certain that the last couple of days they softened up on me! They even gave me decent food to eat and clean water to drink.
I didn't sleep much - restless! I was so restless! Terrified really - thinking about that cross - thinking about the coming torment and the pain that awaited me there!
Then, right at the darkest, most terrifying hour, when the chills were coming upon me one minute and the sweats the next; when I found myself trembling for fright and nausiated, there was all sorts of commotion and ruckus going on in out in the courtyard. I could hear the priests and soldiers screaming for silence, and Pilate's shrill, piercing voice high above the rest.
"Whom do you wish I release to you?" I heard him cry.
And that mob. . . that mob. . . yelling my name again and again and again, louder and louder and louder, building to a crescendo!
How they even knew I existed, let alone know my name, I don't know!
And then, a little while later, the iron door of the dungeon was flung open wide. The soldiers, with violence, removed my chains so my skin was torn. Three of them grabbed me by the hair and arms, and a fourth punched me in the stomach; another kicked me in the back; and then they bodily threw me out onto the street.
I lay there dazed, trying to catch my breath for several minutes. I had no idea what had just happened or why? Why? Why am I now free? Why? As I came to my senses I suddenly had the thought that it must be a all a terrible mistake! I jumped to my wobbly feet and meandered through the alleys like a madman! All I could think was to put distance between me and the Romans just in case they realized their mistake or changed their minds.
As I slowed to get my breath, I heard the yelling of that crowd again. I stopped and listened. It sounded like they were coming my way - moving toward the city gate - hooting and jeering; laughing and cursing - but I heard wailing too! Oh yes, the wailing! Yes, I heard the hideous shrieking of the grieved! I'll never forget that sound. It's not a sound you can easily forget!
Before I knew it the crowd surged around the corner. They crammed into the street from wall to wall and moving directly towards me. There was no avenue of escape.
That's when I saw him! The one they crucified instead of me!
He could scarcely walk, let alone carry that huge cross. The whips had slice open the flesh over his ribs; the thorns had ripped his head so that he looked more like raw meat than a living human being!
But his face, his face was still amazingly unmarked.
And then I saw his eyes! Those eyes looked at me and wouldn't stop! Those eyes! Those eyes! He looked at me - but more than just at me - he looked into me - those eyes pierced my soul and saw me right down to the very core!
He knew me! He knew exactly who I was. I'd lay odds on it! I'm sure of it! Yet even so, there was no anger in those eyes - no anger! His eyes were. . . terrible, but not terrible with rage - but rather intense with compassion and great tenderness!
I should have been celebrating my new found freedom with my friends, but I couldn't leave. I walked along with the mob almost as if I was under some sort of magic spell! I had to see this thing through - through to the very end!
He prayed for them you know - actually prayed for the soldiers as they spiked him to the wood. And then, then he wouldn't take the numbing wine when it was offered. He even spoke kind words to Demas, my old comrade, who was hanging right up there beside him.
"King of the Jews" they're calling him - "Messiah" - or so it reads above his bloody head. Well, at least he purchased freedom and removed the Roman's yoke from the shoulders of one Jew today.
It's so strange. I have this new freedom, but I don't feel so very free. I am feeling an irresistible compulsion, stronger than chains or iron bars, a compulsion to know the reason for his death - I mean to know the real reason for his death. I have to know. I have to know what was behind that look that he gave me. I have to know the secret of the quiet, gentle power in those words he spoke to Demas.
The soldiers have his robe. They are gambling for his garments! Maybe while they are momentarily distracted I can steal a word with those women over there who appear to be his followers. Perhaps one of them can tell me, can help me understand why he died and why I live - what I must do to find, at last, my truest freedom.
I do know one thing. In a way I don't understand he gave me my life back. But, in so giving, it's not just my life any longer. I know this much, that a part of my life now belongs to him. Perhaps freedom is found in living my life as courageously and lovingly as he gave his. Perhaps this is a new start for me!