Balance And Control

Grim and Numb

I really hate humans. They are so quick in their judgements and acts of violence, the two paired together like partners in a deadly tango, interlocked for eternity. The Romans seemed to have mastered the dance quickly, always leading, always holding the power. They would do anything to remain in charge, eliminating anyone they viewed as a challenge to their authority. Jerusalem wasn't perfect, but it seemed Jesus' presence created hope that someday they'd be free of the shackles of the Roman Empire; they believed he was the key.

But now their hero was being paraded through the streets, stripped down to a meager tattered loincloth that hung loosely at his hips. His eyes were sunken and plagued with shadows as he stumbled along, a large wooden cross carried on his back. It was clear he was burdened by its weight, but he remained stoic, following after his Roman Guards without a single ounce of fear.

They had branded him a traitor and a threat, simply for existing and doing the unimaginable. He was to be crucified, a form of punishment that was inhumane and brutal. But I guess any form of punishment handed out by the Romans was extreme and incredibly cruel. They would hang him by his hands and feet, nailing him to the wood, and wait for his death. The Romans had no conscience, showed no mercy, and I could do nothing to save him.

It wasn't like the gladiator fights, where no one would notice the loser's absence. He was too important a figurehead to try and hide away from the world. That, and he was stubborn. So, I watched with the rest of the crowd, in utter silence and mourning, as they paraded him through the town, up the hill, carrying his fate on his back. The women wailed and sobbed; the men offering prayers and hymns. Children hid behind their parents' legs as the funeral procession continued on. "איש מת הולך," they whispered. Dead man walking.

The others did not know I was in attendance. I had snuck out during morning duties, disguised as a local, a shawl covering my head. I didn't know why I felt compelled to attend such an event, especially since my disdain for the man was so great. But no one deserved to die this way. I owed him my respect at least. I made sure the skies remained dark; cheery sunlight would be a mockery on such a day. I trudged along with the pilgrims as we joined the parade, keeping a somber pace until we reached the crest of the hill.

Two men were already atop it, nailed to their own crosses for crimes unknown. They could've been murderers or thieves. They could've simply looked at a Roman soldier the wrong way or flirted with the wrong girl. No matter what their trespasses were, this penance was not deserved.

As soldiers held Jesus against his own pyre, it was as if the world was holding its breath. No one dared move a muscle. The only sound was the clink of stone against nail. The deed had been done.

Jesus crowed, "ברך את האל, כי הוא איתך". (bless the lord, for he is with you)

A response of "hosanna" and "amen" rippled through the crowd, beginning as a low murmur and growing to a shout, becoming a unison eulogy for the son of God.

A tear dropped from my eye as the sorrowful cries of the believers echoed across the hilltop, ricocheting off the armor of the monstrous Romans. No matter what I thought of this man, the truth of the matter was that the people's savior was dying. I felt weak and like an imposter as I stood among them, listening to every agonizing confession and heart wrenching word they spewed. I raised my hand to the sky, allowing a beam of light to break through the gray clouds. It illuminated the cross, casting an ethereal glow over the dying form of Jesus, son of Mary.

"Do not let my death be in vain, my people. Now go, let a man die in dignity," he instructed.

The crowd did not move.