63-Crucifixion-I-A

AND WE THOUGHT WE KNEW YOU:
SOUL JOURNEY WITH THE REAL JESUS

Crucifixion I
THE SUBSTITUTE

9:30 AM
Thursday, about April 14, AD 30
Jerusalem, Judea

�� "Well, are you ready? [1]

�� Jesus knows the moment has arrived.� The moment when he must take the sins of the whole world onto himself as though he had committed them all personally.� The moment when he lets Satan punish him in our place. [2]���

�� Impossible?� Indeed.� But he has already proven he can do the impossible.� Remember the dead teenage boy? [3]� Remember the dead little girl? [4]� Remember dead-and-buried Lazarus? [5]�

�� But this sin and punishment thing.� That's a lot harder to accomplish.� Can he can do it?� When he's so weak that he's nearly dead?� Especially then!� Especially then....

�� Jesus closes his eyes, and pretends to be invisible.� He becomes nauseated at the thought.� Shame builds up.� Unbearable humiliation.� He clinches his swollen eyes closed even tighter.

�� He tries to remember what ancient Job said so long ago.� "I was born naked, and I shall die naked." [6]

�� First his robe.

�� Aggghhhhh! [7]

�� His blood vessels re-open, and the flames of the tormenting furnace raging within him leap out.� Merciless.� Ruthless.� Unforgiving.

�� Jesus' head reels.� He rocks back and forth uneasily.� He knows he must open his eyes eventually.�

�� Next his sandals.�

�� Finally his tunic.� He clinches his teeth trying to bear the utter degradation by reminding himself that he is clothed in God's sight with honor.� He tries to imagine what those clothes look like.

�� Jesus is brought back to this world's reality when he is abruptly shoved to the ground.� His back rubs against the dirt the sticks the stones, and it feels as though spikes are being pushed into him from everywhere.

�� Agghhhhh!

�� As quickly as he can, Jesus pulls himself up onto his elbows to ease the attack.

�� Now his loincloth.� Please, not that.

�� He is nude.

�� Once more Jesus closes his eyes in utter humiliation.� He tries to cover his shame, but another soldier jerks him up by his arm, forcing him to stand in full view of everyone.� Smeared, half dried blood is all that is left to hide the nakedness of the Savior.

�� The women present turn their backs, and tears of embarrassment flow down their cheeks on his behalf.� Several of the men - those who love Jesus - do the same.� Tears, too, come to their eyes.� They look up into the sky.� God!� How can you let this happen to him?

�� Others point at him and ridicule him with their laughter.

�� Jesus is now prodded to walk backward a few feet.�

�� "Here you!� Jesus! �Get down on that cross where you belong!"

�� An easy shove and the Savior falls onto his cross in shame.� ��

� Aggghhhh!

�� His mutilated back cries out in torment.� He knows better than to try to move off the beam, though his instincts beg for it. He knows the enemy will win.� For now.� He must stay.

�� "Wait!� Here's something for you.� It helps deaden pain."

�� He tastes it, but turns his head.

�� No.� Take it away, Jesus whispers.

�� "He's crazy!� He'll go insane from the cramps if he doesn't take this pain killer. [8]

�� No, nothing can be missed.� This is the only chance the world will ever have.� Everything must be felt in full awareness and full force.� Everything.

�� Another soldier kneels before Jesus.� He shifts Jesus' shoulders by forcing him up and back down on the beam like a rag doll on a fence rail, and in the process tears at the little bit of skin left on them.

�� Ahhhgggg!

�� With Jesus' shoulders now centered on the beam, an old soldier takes hold of a hand and places it at one end.� A strange silence takes hold.� A cloud rushes to hide the gaze of the sun.

�� "Don't watch it," the old soldier advises.� "Try to think of something else."

�� Jesus turns his head and looks up from his place on the ground into anxious faces, some of whom have turned back around despite his nakedness.� They try to comfort him with their eyes.� If they only understood.� But very soon....

�� The soldier takes hold of a hammer laying on the ground near him.� "Hand me a spike, someone!"

�� Jesus tenses in anticipation of the first blow.� His muscles quiver, his stomach knots.� Tears rush to his eyes.� He clinches his teeth, even though some are loose from earlier beatings.

�� The soldier feels for the bones at the bottom of Jesus' hand.� There, where the pulse of life is found, he places the cold steel rusty spike.�

�� Jesus stiffens in anticipation of the assault.�

�� The hammer falls and the first cruel blow sends the pain shooting up his arm, racing through his body, and exploding in his head.

�� Aggghhhh...gh...gh...gh....

�� Oh, Father.� Help me.

�� He instinctively reaches with his free hand for the punctured one, but another soldier grabs it and pulls it back out of the way.� � Another brutal blow falls on his quivering flesh.� Trembling fingers strain to fold down in an impossible attempt to grasp the spike and remove it.

�� Aggghhhh!

�� And another.�

�� Aggghhhh!�

�� And another.�

�� Aggghhhh!

�� "Let's fasten the other hand down now."

�� Finally, with two contemptible spikes piercing his arteries and torturing his ever-weakening body, Jesus is forced to stand. �He nearly faints.� Two soldiers support the beam, keeping Jesus from falling backward.� They back him up to the tall upright beam darkened with the blood of countless other victims of justice.�

�� With each step his flesh is torn and the punctures in his mutilated wrists stretch larger.� They go slowly so that his wrists do not go back through the spikes and free themselves.� Still the torture.� His muscles cramp and fiery pain shoots helter skelter through every inch of his body.�

�� Once there, two more soldiers on ladders lift up Jesus' crossbeam a few torturing inches to wedge it into the cut-out section of the upright beam.[9]�

�� Aggghhhh....gh....gh....

�� The two beams are secured together.

�� Agghhhh....gh....gh....

�� Jesus' entire weight is now supported by two thin tearing spikes and the bones at the bottom of his hands.� He writhes in agony.� In his wildest imagination, he had not anticipated such pain.� Such horrible, hideous pain.

�� The old soldier now kneels on the ground before Jesus.� He takes the victim's left foot and places it over the right foot.� Jesus, preoccupied with the pain in his upper body, is not yet aware of what they are about to do to him next.

�� A larger and much longer spike is handed to the soldier.� Once more with the hammer.

�� Aggghhhh!

�� Aggghhhh...gh...gh.

�� With three skillful blows the spike is sent merciless shooting through the top and arch of one foot, then the top and heel[10] of the other foot, and finally into the upright beam.

�� Uhhhhhhhhg!

�� The pain shoots like fiery arrows through every nerve in Jesus' body.� He shudders in agony.

�� Now the Savior is firmly attached to his cross.� His feet, barely a hand-span above the ground, grotesquely knot up in protest.� So close to relief.� So close.� But instead, the cold spike holds on, refusing any help, defying any relief.

�� Jesus is temporarily oblivious of any voices around him, for the trauma seizes all thoughts.

�� When the soldier shouts, "Hey, hand me his sign!" he does not hear.

�� The soldier climbs on one of the ladders at the side up to the top of the beam.� His hammer has one last job.� The sign declaring the felon's crime is nailed to the top of the cross over the Savior's head.� Each blow of the hammer shakes the entire structure and sends shock waves through Jesus' body.�

�� Aggghhhh!

�� And the soldiers all stand back in satisfaction.

�� Suddenly, without warning, Jesus' lungs beg for air, for now he cannot get his next breath.� He gasps and struggles for oxygen.� �� Uhhhhcgk....� Uhhhhcgk....� Uhhhhcgk....

�� He tries to raise himself a little by pushing up with his feet and out with his arms, but finds that his arms are cramped nearly into paralysis.� Yet he must get that breath.�

�� His will to live overcomes his fearful dilemma.� He pushes himself up, cringes in pain as he scrapes his raw back in the process, and takes a sweet breath of air.�

�� His body sags again.� But now he cannot exhale.� His lungs once again beg for relief.

�� Blood gushes out in mocking pulsating rhythm from the half severed arteries in his wrists and feet, almost as if from the nails themselves. Most of it spills to the ground, but some of it streams treacherously across his arms as if in search of some-thing.� Finally it, too, stops and drops silently to the ground.

�� "Father!"� He groans and lifts his head toward the heavens.� But a sharp pain again shoots through his body.� He jerks, and for a moment he stiffens, then slowly gives over to a spasmatic twisting, twisting, twisting.

�� "Father!" he pleads, "give them," his voice choked and broken, "a full pardon."

�� Jesus' head falls forward and his eyes fill with tears of agony.� Pardon?� He missed getting the pardon.� So he passes it on to his executioners.� And to everyone else in the world.

�� For me, Jesus?� For me too?� I'm the one whose supposed to be up there.� Not you.� I'm the one who makes myself God so I can make my own rules.� I'm the one they should have beaten mercilessly.� I'm the one they should have stripped naked.� It's my body they should have driven those spikes into.� The pardon.� It includes me too?� Me?

�� "They don't realize," he chokes, "what they've done...." [10]

�� His head falls again, but immediately jerks back up with another attack of convulsive cramps.� Each time they attack, he tears at his own wounds once more, and the half-congealed blood begins once again to flow unconstrained. [11]�

�� Ahhhhhh!

10:00 AM

�� "Did you hear that?� He even goes as far as calling God his father. Who does he think he is anyway ~ his son?"

�� For awhile Jesus cannot hear the insults.� His own cries of unbearable pain drown them out.� But finally they subside.� He can hear clearly now.� How he dreads what he hears.� He looks in the direction of the laughter.� Suddenly it isn't funny any more.

�� "Hey, aren't you supposed to be the king, our commander-and-chief?" one of the soldiers shouts at Jesus.� He turns toward his buddies to make sure he's got their attention and approval.� They grin in response.

�� "Well, if he's not going to drink the wine, we may as well."

�� The wineskin is passed around.� With each swig that soldier salutes Jesus.� "Hail to the chief!"

�� More hideous laughter.

�� "Well, why don't you command us to take you down, sir?"� He waves his wineskin at Jesus and swaggers around him like a cat circling its prey.

�� Laughter.� Laughter that won't go away.� Derisive, sneering laughter.[12]

�� Four of the more senior soldiers huddle together on the ground in front of the cross.� In a pile are the clothes of the condemned.�

�� "Well, is there anything worth keeping?"

�� "The ones belonging to that Jesus are pretty bloody."

�� "Well, the tunic isn't good for anything but to use as shop rags.� Someone got a knife?� We'll divide them up."

�� "I could wear one of those robes hunting, and put the other one in the bottom of the manger for the horses."

�� "I'll take the sandles.� I've got three teenage sons."

�� "This robe here is the last of them.� It belongs to the one in the middle.� Well, how do you like that?� There's no seams."

�� "Hey, you're right!"

�� "Wonder who bought that for him?"

�� "It would be a shame to spoil it by tearing it up and making handkerchiefs out of it.� Let's flip a coin for it." [13]

�� In a few moments the new owner of the robe off Jesus' back is determined, and the four stand up to stretch.

�� "Oh hum.� Looks like another long day ~ a hot one too."

�� They walk a short distance over to the side of the crosses and recline against some rocks to watch the crucifixion.� The sun continues to climb to the pinnacle of the sky. [14]

�� "The crowd's larger than usual, isn't it?"

�� "Yeah.� But you must remember these Jews are having us execute one of their prophets.� Strange people."

�� "This one in the middle claims to be their king, does he?� Well, if this is the way they want to treat their king, it's none of our business.� He's always good for a joke though."

�� "They don't seem to be paying much attention to those two thieves though.� That's unusual."

�� "I heard its the holier-than-thou religious leaders who put the pressure on to do this."

�� "Aren't they supposed to be getting ready for another one of their holy days?"

�� "Yeah, I think so ~ Passover Easter or something like that.� Has something to do with sacrificing the lamb of God."

�� "The guard was doubled in Jerusaslem, you know.� Don't want any riots.� You don't think there are many of them until they start coming in from all parts of the world." [15]

�� "You said it."

�� "Hey, I'm taking bets on how long they'll last."

�� "That one in the middle is already half dead.� I give him twelve hours.� The others?� This time tomorrow for the smaller guy, and a day and a half for the big guy ~ Number Three."

�� And the minutes of unrelenting agony creep by, each one an eternity long....�

10:30 AM

�� Oh the pain.� The writhing, seething, shooting pain. �How can another moment be like the last?� It can't.� But it does.�

�� Uhhhhhh....

�� On and on, endlessly, each joint screaming, calling out for mercy.� Relieve me!� Relieve me!� But there is no relief.

�� Uhhhhhh....

�� Execution hill is located just off the road leading into Jerusalem.� It serves to warn commuters to be careful and not break the law.� At least, don't get caught.

�� As commuters pass by on their animals, some make them buck in order to make fun of the situation, some yell obscenities, some pull off the road and get off their animal to satisfy and saturate their depraved curiosity.

�� "Poor souls.� Did Big Brother Government pick on you?"

�� "Hey, you left your clothes somewhere.� You're gonna get sunburned up there."

�� "Look!� A parade!" [16]

�� ....oh the pain.� In Jesus hands, his arms, legs, feet.� His head is about to explode.� If it only would.�

�� But there are things still to do.� He must hang on despite the onslaught of unrelenting torture.� Things to do.� Even on the cross.

�� "Aren't you the one who said you were going to tear down the national Temple?� I wouldn't go around admitting such things," a newly arrived traveler calls out.

�� "Then you were going to rebuild it in three days!" a stranger responds.

�� "Well, if you're so good with tricks, Jupiter ~ or whoever you are ~ save yourself!"

�� "How about the Son of God performing a miracle?� Fly down from your cross!� Well?� Come on now!� It isn't like we're asking you to fly to the moon and back for us.� Just fly down from the cross and over here.� Twenty feet shouldn't be far."

�� "Why not?� That should be a snap!"

�� "Then, we'll believe anything you say.� So, how 'bout it?"

�� "We'll even treat you to breakfast.� Had breakfast yet?� Of course not.� You'd just puke it back up."

�� "Look at those ribs!� I could strum them like a lyre."

�� "Personally, I'd like to believe you were both God and our king.� It would sure beat the system we've got going now.� So come on down and help us out." [17]

�� Jesus tries desperately to sort through the pain in his body and the pain in his soul.� Confusion invades his mind like a fog, but he fights to clear it up.

�� Come down?� Down from the cross....� cross....� cross....

�� They promised they'd believe you then.� They'd follow you then.� Would the Father go for it?� Would it work?�

�� Don't think like a fool.� Of course it won't.� Your work will be unfinished....� unfinished....� unfinished....

�� The confrontation.� He's still got to face the last confrontation.� He's got to stay in the clutches of agony to have the confrontation.

�� Oh for some relief....�

�� Come on, Jesus!� In a snap you could be down, you know.� The pain would be all over.� You were pierced, just like prophecied.� So it's all over.� That's all you have to do.� Now fly down from the cross.� You've done your job.

�� No!� That's not it!� Stay there.� Stay on your instrument of torture.� Stay long enough to finish everything up.� There is even worse ahead.

�� Maybe you could just skip that part.� You've done everything else.� One thing shouldn't make any difference.� Just one part.� God could overlook it.� God forgives people.� What if....

�� No, you can't do it this way.� It won't work that way.� You've got to stay and suffer.� Stay.� Suffer....suffer....suffer....

�� For eternity.� Their eternity.

�� ....Oh, my God, my God....

�� "Hey you!"� A recognizable strain in the voice.� "Son of God!"� He chokes.� "You're some sorry excuse," he rasps, "of a God."� It's the robber being crucified on his left.� Number Three.

�� "Jesus!� Is that your name?"� He strains and gasps for air.� "If you're so good," he struggles for air, "tell your God to save...you...and...us!"� ��

�� "Yeah!"� It's the other robber.� He jerks with spasms.� "Hurry!� Do your stuff!"� He stops to grasp a raspy breath.� "A command.� A miracle."� He lifts himself to free his lungs and winces with the pain in his hands.� "Please, get us out of...this...mess!"�he gasps.� "Please!� I don't...wanna...die! I'm not ready."�

�� Silence from the crosses.� Nothing but silence.� And groaning in agony.

�� "Well, that's what I thought," retorts Number Three.

�� "Religion!� It's bunk.� Always was.� Always will be." [18]

�� ....On and on, deeper and deeper.� Harsh, horrible, hideous, hanging on, never letting go.� No relief, no release, no anything but this excruciating pain.� Oh the pain....

�� The spasms.� The unrelenting spasms.� They're back.� They knot Jesus' feet and twist them, involuntarily pulling at the rusty stake.�

�� Uhhhaaah!

�� Uhhhaaah! [19]

11:00 AM

�� "He saved others.� But he can't save himself!"

�� The crowd of spectators on the hill continues to grow.� High priests, religious scholars, and several of the representatives of the Temple to the government have gathered and are standing in front of everyone calling out to the sufferer in the center ~ the troublemaker.�

�� Sometimes they stand eye to eye with him, spit in his face and walk away in triumph.� He didn't even strike them dead.� He's a nobody.

�� "What a fraud!� He sends everyone to heaven.� But he's headed straight for hell!"

�� Laughter.� Holy laughter that wallows in the mire of haughtiness.

�� It's the priests.� They've come to bless the condemned.� They're having trouble with the one in the middle.� How can they bless such a hypocrite?

�� ....Go away!� Let this body die in peace!� But no.� It stays.� The pain, shooting through his defenseless body.� On...and on...and on...and....

�� Uhhhaaah!

�� "You would think the King of the Jews could demand some respect.� If he's so good, he can break away from those spikes.� He's bigger than they are.� How about it, your highness?"

�� "Yeah!" replies one of the Temple representatives.� "Just hop on down and we'll believe in you!� Is that a deal?"

�� ....Oh merciless, guile, treacherous enemy!� Persist in your evil, reign now.� But....

�� A professor of religion gets right up in Jesus' face.� "He trusts in God?� Well, let him show us by example what the definition of trust is."

�� "Pray to God for release.� Then surely God will do whatever he asked!"

�� "Indeed!� After all, he actually said he's God's son!" [20]

�� ....Twisting, turning, torturing.� Have mercy!� Have mercy!� Have mercy....

�� Listen to them, Jesus.� You can stop all the pain.� You can breathe again.� You can will the punctures away in your hands and feet.� You can will your back whole again.� You can will your eyes to go back to normal.� You can will your teeth back in place.� Just a bad dream.� Go ahead, Jesus.� Listen to them!

�� After all, you're only thirty-three years old. [21]� You still have your whole life ahead of you.� What if you're really not the son of God?� Either denounce who you claim to be so they'll take you down, or perform a miracle on yourself so you'll know for sure.

�� Jesus, God is nearby.� He's touching your feverish brow and enveloping you in his love.� And the angels.� They're getting ready for your homecoming.� Remember?� Remember how it used to be?� ��

The longer Jesus' weight is carried by the spikes, the more his joints slip out of their proper location.� The droning of his pain slips almost secretly from his nerves and little by little sneaks into his bones.�

�� Harder and harder it becomes for Jesus to get his next breath.� Still harder to exhale.�

�� His muscles smashed, his bones immobilized, part of him dehydrating, part of him bloating.

�� Uhhhhcgk.... Uhhhhcgk.... Uhhhhcgk....

�� The rhythm of indistinct breathing interrupted only by the spasms that gradually creep up his legs.

�� Ahhhhhhh!

�� How can he keep going?� And going....� and going....

�� "If you're God," Jesus hears, but this time to one side on his same level, "get us down from here!"�

�� His voice is desperate.� It is stronger than Jesus' for he has not been beaten.� He knows his torture will last longer.� He knows it will drive him mad.�

�� "I can't stand it any longer!� Pleeeeeasse!"� He's hysterical.� "Pleeeeeasse!"

�� Jesus does not waste his breath on rebuttals.� They're not important any more.

�� "Pleeeeeasse!"

�� The other condemned man intercedes.� An intercessor for Jesus?� An intercessor?� He's changed his mind?

�� Number Three has had time to think.� The mockers on the ground have been preaching a sermon.� They hadn't intended to.� The mockers actually believe in Jesus and his miracles.� They'd have to or they wouldn't have executed him.� They're actually afraid of him. [22]

�� He has had time to remember.� The things his sister talked about the time he made her shut up.� The things the guy at the tavern made him listen to while he stood in line for beer.� That speech he heard from some guy at the river while he waited for the ferry to arrive.� They're all making sense now.

� �� Despite his own torture, Number Three calls back with a gruff rasp.��

�� "Shut up!� Leave him alone!"� He coughs.� "Don't you get it?� We're actually suffering," he gasps for air, "with a man from God!"

�� He twists in agony to get the words out.� Words his sister and buddies never thought they'd hear him say.� Words he never thought he'd say.�

�� "We're guilty!� You're guilty!� I'm guilty!"� He pauses to fight for another breath of air.� "We deserve our execution!"� And another pause.� He raises himself up.� The mutilated skin around the stakes stretches and tears and screams for relief.�

�� "Uhhhhhh."

�� "But Jesus.� He's innocent!� He's innocent!"

�� Then, in spite of the stinging effort, he turns ever so slightly and implores.� "Jesus?"

�� The Savior turns his eyes, then turns his throbbing head as far as he can manage.� Their eyes meet.

�� "Jesus, take me with you!"

�� But don't you know he's dying?

�� "You're going to do it beyond the grave, aren't you?"� He pauses for air.� "Can I be there when you do?� I'm not much.� But," another gasp, "take me along....with you....� Promise?"

�� Touched by these words, Jesus stretches and pushes upward in defiance of King Pain, and gasps.

�� "I promise," his voice stronger now, "this very day you're going with me to paradise!"

�� Paradise?� The garden of God? [23]� A garden where soft breezes blow, cool waters flow, and restful meadows grow?� A garden of rest and joy and carefree living?� Paradise?�

�� Number Three tries to transcend his pain to imagine where he will be in a few hours.� It helps a little, for he finds his muscles slightly more relaxed.

�� Jesus finds solace in his own words.� A reminder to himself.� Thank you for asking, he rasps.� But reality hovers.� Always the present reality to contend with.� The painful reality.

�� He gives in once more to the torturing strain of the spikes.� He groans.�

�� Uhhhhhhhh....

And gasps for air.

�� Uhhhhhcgk....

11:30 AM

�� If only there was a little more air.� These starving lungs.� Just a little more air.� Oh to breathe again.� Full.� Deep.� But you dare not try.� The pain far outweighs the lack of breath.� Air, more air, please someone....

�� A woman's form walks up to the shamed and suffering body of her son.� Next to her are her sister, Salome, [24] and her dear friends, both named Mary.� People used to tease about the Mary triplets.� In days when life was simpler.

�� Jesus looks around to see if it is safe for her to come this close.� He realizes the soldiers are pre-occupied off to one side.�

�� Supporting the grieved mother is Salome's son John, Jesus' very best friend.

�� "Oh, Mama...." he whispers inaudibly to all but her.

�� "My boy," she responds with her eyes.

�� Mary stands there quietly, her eyes fixed on her helpless son through unbearable tears.� She tries to control them.� The tears.� She must be brave for him.

�� "Oh my son.� My son."�

�� Of all of them, he had always had a special place in her heart.� Was it supposed to turn out this way? [25]

�� She thinks back many years ~ ten, twenty, thirty and more.� It seems only like yesterday....

�� ....Remember?� Remember when the angel of the Lord told you that you were to be the mother of God's baby?� You, Mary, out of all the other women in the universe?� You, God's choice?

�� Her eyes overflow with tears.� She stretches her hand upward and helplessly touches her son's bloody fingers.� Then she touches his face.� She would die for him if she could.

�� ....And remember the time when he was twelve years old, and allowed to make his first trip to Jerusalem?� It was this time of year.� He was so excited.� Remember, Mary, how he headed straight for the Temple and how he ~ just a little boy ~ began to teach the scholars, and how astonished they were at the wisdom of your boy?� About his father's business he said he was.� About his father's business....

�� Hot feverish drops of sweat fall off his face onto her hands ~ those kind, cool hands.� Those tender, caressing, those loving hands.

�� But John notices the people beginning to watch her.� "Who is she?� Who is that woman?"

�� Tenderly but anxiously, for fear that they may harm her also, he reaches up and takes her hands down away from her dying son.

�� Jesus notices what is happening too.� But his mother.� How can he leave her?� He remembers the warning he gave the people, how in only a short time the city will be overrun and burned by invaders.� How can he leave her at a time like that?

�� Jesus thinks it through as fast as he can.� His widowed mother needs to be with her sister.� Salome would be good for her.� Salome is now widowed too, and living with her son.

�� They begin to turn, but Jesus looks down at his mother.� "Lady," he whispers as loud as he can.� She pauses and looks back at him.� He musn't call her Mother.� "Lady, he's now your son."� Then he looks over to John.� "She's now your mother." [26]

�� John tries to smile.� Oh, there is so much left to say.� But they say nothing.� The people are still watching.�

�� So they turn away without a word and walk to the back of the crowd where all the Savior's friends are gathered.� Unnoticed, frightened, forgotten.

�� The sun climbs higher and higher, hotter and hotter.� It reaches its height.� Oh the sun!� That beating, scorching, feverish sun!� Beating.� Beating.� Piercing its rays.� Oh my eyes!� If only someone's hand could make a little shade.� Oh the flame, the brilliant light.� So brilliant.� Too brilliant.� Turn your head!� No, don't!� Remember your wounds.� Look at those wounds!� No, don't!

�� ....Oh to relieve my hands....and my feet....

�� Struggle!� Free yourself!� But no, you can't do that.� Oh the sun!� My flesh is burning.� Burning.� Blistering.� Oh how dry!� Water!� I want water!� Water....please, some water for a dying man.� Water.� My lips, they're cracked, swelled, dry, oh so dry.

�� Some water, give me some water!� I'm thirsty!� Thirsty!� Can't anyone see that I'm thirsty?� Help me!� Someone....

�� But even God doesn't seem to hear.� Instead, he hides his face from the one he loves.� The one he gave up to all of this.� Oh, they had been so happy before.�

�� Jesus at his side at home in all the grandeur of heaven, helping create this world and then with guiding those poor human souls in their almost hopeless struggle to rid themselves of Satan.� Together watching in pride as mankind lifted himself up toward goodness, then standing close when man fell again.

�� Oh, those poor souls.� They needed his son.� And now they are murdering him!� Stop thinking about it!� It cannot be changed.� Sin demands death.� This is man's only chance.� Quick, before you change your mind!

�� Suddenly the sun turns black. [27]���

�� Jesus, it's time.� Time for the Big One.�

�� Jesus, the weaker your body grows, the stronger your soul grows.� Can you believe it?� You must.�

�� It is time....

LIFE APPLICATION

1.�� It is a historical fact that Jesus died by crucifixion.� It is a historical fact that he believed he could save the world this way.� Who could you die for like this?� Anyone?

2.�� If you were being tortured to death for any reason, and had the power to free yourself in the middle of it, do you think you would use those powers?

3.�� How much control do you think it took Jesus to not use his powers to escape his terrible work on the cross ~ paying the debt for our sins?

4. How do you feel about Jesus right now?