The man gazed out upon the throng before him. Faces blurred
together in a red haze as the blood and sweat from his brow streamed
into his swollen eyes. He blinked, momentarily clearing his vision, and saw
the suffering in his mother's eyes. Holding her up was one of his dearest
friends, a man with whom he had spent the last three years travelling,
and teaching. They had laughed together, cried together, prayed together.
But this was something he had to do alone. He had to die...alone.
The raw wounds on his back chafed against the wooden cross upon
which he hung. He could hear the soldiers laughing, and could vaguely see
their forms as they gambled. The winner, he knew, would take possession
of his torn, ragged garments. His blood flowed like a crimson river from his
wounds. All eyes were upon him. Some filled with disdain, some with compassion.
The man strained to take a breath, pushing up on the spike the
soldiers had driven into his feet. The agony was intense, but he had to
do it in order to breathe. Gulping in air, he again allowed the full weight
of his body to rest upon the spikes in his wrists.
His mouth was dry as a desert wind, he could barely swallow. How
he longed for just a taste of cold water! A soldier, as though able to read
his thoughts, offered him a sponge soaked with wine vinegar. As thirsty as
he was, he closed his eyes and turned away from it. The soldier shrugged
indifferently, then walked back to his post.
To his right, a criminal hung, screaming insults at him in his pain
and fear. But to his left, was another who was also a convicted of a crime.
This one was humble, and spoke gently. The man promised this criminal that
they would be together when this was all over.
Several long tortuous hours passed. The man could discern voices
in the crowd.Some mocked him and spat at him. Others were familiar to him.
These ones called out in sorrow and anguish. Each time he struggled for breath,
the pain would overwhelm him, but not once did he lose consciousness.
Suddenly, the sky grew ominously dark, though there was not a cloud
to be seen. Then the strangest thing happened...that could not be understood
nor explained. Only the suffering man knew what was happening, and the
utter horror of it was worse than anything a human mind could contrive.
He experienced the terror and anguish of every woman who had been or was to
be raped. He physically felt every torture inflicted upon every human that
would live. He suffered the excruciating withdrawal pains of the drug
addicts of the future, and waves of despair came over him as he accepted
the loneliness of children abandoned and abused by their parents. He took
upon himself every sin that man was going to commit, and screamed out to his
Father as it became too much to bear. But his Father could not look upon him
in this condition. For the very first time in his existance, he was utterly
and completely alone. His lungs screamed for oxygen, every nerve in his body
throbbed in agony, and when his torment was complete, he chose to die.
Summoning up the strength to push upon the spikes in his feet one last time,
he took one final look at the horde around him, and called again to his Father.
"Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit," he gasped aloud.
And then...Jesus, the Son of God, died.
