Mark

27.38 - 27.40

I knew this would be our fate. Barbaras never lied to us. Our death was certain on the battlefield or up here on the crucifix.

I don't want to die. I was willing to give my life for a cause until my life actually came in danger. I wish I had not followed him into that battle. I wish a sword had found me and not this awful thing. This is not a way for a man to die.

I know we hang here as an example to others who might consider standing up to Rome, but I also think we are an inspiration. I don't mind being before them so that they are not invulnerable. And I do hope that our death will inspire some to fight.

And now they have brought this man here instead of Barbaras. Why? Has our leader escaped death? Why would he not fight for us? Why would he not want to be here with us? He led us into the battle; he should be here dying as we die. Instead there is this broken man. What is that above his head?

"The king of the Jews?" I've heard of him. I see he's not very popular here. They are wagging their heads at him. I couldn't care less. If we could not topple the government with our swords, how could he do it with his words? I admire his bravery but he's also an idiot. And I am not a fan of idiots.

I think of the things that he must have endured without ever having had the satisfaction of killing his enemy. I don't think of myself as a killer but it is a wonderful feeling to see the face of your enemies disappear. To see his life leave him. I don't believe he deserves to live if he would enslave us the way he does. If he would fight for those that would destroy us. Yes?

I wonder what words he would speak now if he could. As we hang here together I wonder if he will say anything to us. He looks like he's been torn apart. He looks like something ate him and spit him out. I doubt he will speak. I doubt he has words now.

I would like to ask him though: What is the satisfaction of fighting your enemies without the sword? Without a weapon of any kind? I suppose he would say his weapon is his word. I have heard of his words. He speaks of love.

He speaks of love. I have love for my family. I have love for my people. I have a love for freedom. These are the things I love, and that's why I'm willing to fight and die. It's like he committed suicide.

They have killed him. The people that he tries to save have killed him. What would he say now? How would he interact with them now? Will he love them now?

Would he love me? Would he accept me, a man who has murdered? A man who has fought against the law. I fought against the laws he contradicted as well. He went into the temple and attacked those who would be holy. Hypocrites. I suppose there is a part of me that doesn't mind that in the least. To fight that wave without a weapon seems foolish, but as I hang here thinking about these things, I wonder if his fight is stronger than mine.

Will I be remembered? I'm sure my family and friends will but will others remember the things that I did? Do I remember other soldiers who fought? Last year? Yes. 100 years ago? No, of course not. We remember the leaders. But this man is not a soldier. Even with his skin torn from his body and his bones broken, you can see that he's a leader.

I don't think I could accept a man who teaches and speaks as the man who would lead a revolution. But maybe I'm wrong. There are those around us now who are wailing. There are those around us now who are broken. Crying. Devoted. Disciples. They will spread His word.

אָמֵן

“Then were there two thieves crucified with him, one on the right hand, and another on the left.”

“And they that passed by reviled him, wagging their heads,”

“And saying, Thou that destroyest the temple, and buildest it in three days, save thyself. If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross.”

27.41 - 27.44

A Reminder:

Fill your mouths with this blood and taste it in fish that you pull from this river. You bathe in it. You will sink in it.

I will smash you, your children and your wives with a million frogs. I will bring them down upon you and make you regret.

And now you will feel the horrible discomfort of having your skin eaten. And not just your skin but the skin of your animals. You will turn swollen red, and you will scratch yourself until you're bloody. And you will beg for mercy, but there will be none.

And now you will see a blanket fall from the sky. It's black and makes a horrible noise. And your mouth and your nose and your ears will be filled with the angry trembling of flies. And you will know who brought this upon you. And you will live in misery because of Me.

And now look into the fields. Look at your oxen. Look at your lambs. Look at your sheep. Do you see them deteriorate? Do you see them stumble and fall over on their faces and on their sides and whither? There's horror inside of them now eating away at their organs. Eating away at their blood. That horror is Me. You have made a terrible mistake.

And now there is ash, and you see it filling up every corner and crevice and blocking out the sun as it descends. And you are full of sores. Your skin erupts. There's nothing smooth on your arms or legs or faces. You are disfigured and distorted with these warts and boils. I am that dust. I have caused this devastation to you.

Now look up if you dare. We are in the middle of the desert and yet do you see what's falling from the sky? That is frozen rain. That is hail. Each one of those will hit you like a rock. I will stone you because you sin. And the pain you feel and destruction you see is My hand. Don't forget that.

And with all that hail sitting on the ground you will see another rain coming from the sky. This rain will have wings. This rain will be hungry. Locusts will cover everything and eat everything that is growing. And when they are done there will be nothing left that is growing. No more fields. No more trees. Nothing but dust. I will have stolen all of that from you. And you will know My Name.

יהוה

And now you may close your eyes because it won't matter. I will bring darkness on you. And you won't know the difference between being awake or asleep. Only the blind will be unaffected. But everyone else will join them. Because the blackness will stretch everywhere and there will be no relief. You will not see me but you will feel me.

And now, give Me your firstborn.

Do you see My power?

“Likewise also the chief priests mocking him, with the scribes and elders, said,”

“He saved others; himself he cannot save. If he be the King of Israel, let him now come down from the cross, and we will believe him.”

“He trusted in G-d; let him deliver him now, if he will have him: for he said, ‘I am the Son of G-d.’ ”

“The thieves also, which were crucified with him, cast the same in his teeth.”

27.45 - 49

Where are my plagues? Where are my locusts? Where is the darkness that should surround my enemies? Will you deliver me from Egypt? Will you take their firstborn so that I might be free?

My God. My God. Why have you forsaken me?

“Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land unto the ninth hour.”

“And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? that is to say, My G-d, my G-d, why hast thou forsaken me?”

“Some of them that stood there, when they heard that, said, This man calleth for Elias.”

“And straightway one of them ran, and took a spunge, and filled it with vinegar, and put it on a reed, and gave him to drink.”

“The rest said, Let be, let us see whether Elias will come to save him.”

27.50 - 27.53

I have lived inside him for all these years, and now I must go. I must slip out of him so that all that's left is a husk. It is a difficult duty, but there is no choice. He cannot cling to me anymore. He has no way of holding me inside. I am his ghost and I must go.

But before I go I will make it clear to those who cry or scream with sorrow or anger that this man was who he said he was. And I will shake the earth. And you will see the graves split and later the ghosts will climb out of their holes and run through the city. You will see this miracle when you see him again. He will be back. He doesn't need me to rise again.

“Jesus, when he had cried again with a loud voice, yielded up the ghost.”

“And, behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake, and the rocks rent;”

“And the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints which slept arose,”

“And came out of the graves after his resurrection, and went into the holy city, and appeared unto many.”

27.54 - 27.55

He is He. He is He. He is He. He is who He says he is. The son of G-d. I have seen Him. My spirit will not protect me. This armor might as well be skin. He is the son of G-d. He made the earth crack. I bend to Him in fear.

“Now when the centurion, and they that were with him, watching Jesus, saw the earthquake, and those things that were done, they feared greatly, saying, Truly this was the Son of God.”

“And many women were there beholding afar off, which followed Jesus from Galilee, ministering unto him:”

27.56 - 27.57

A womb and a tomb are the same thing in this story. My son left one and he will leave the other. I cannot cry. It feels like a sin. I cannot be His mother. I am His child. I am like all the rest who sit at His feet and listen to Him speak.

His birth was painful. His death will be painful,too. And His rebirth will heal. I was a window. An angel opened me and His spirit came in. I cannot close that window now. I will not let grief stop me from feeling His blessings.

Among which was Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of Zebedees children.

When the even was come, there came a rich man of Arimathaea, named Joseph, who also himself was Jesus' disciple:

27.58

Remove his body. Give it to his friends and family. Let them bury him as they see fit. In his death I can be his friend. In his life I was not.

“He went to Pilate, and begged the body of Jesus. Then Pilate commanded the body to be delivered.”

27.59 - 27.60

I am the air and the darkness inside of his final home. Joseph of Arimathea carved this tomb one day ago. It has never been the grave of anyone but maybe the worms that once lived in here. And now it will be the final place for Jesus of Nazareth. When they roll the stone back in its place, I will be the only thing in here to protect him. He is wrapped in fresh linen. His wounds have all been cleaned. He is as fresh as a man born in the straw and stars of a stable. I have known that air. I have been the air. I was there with all the livestock and the worshipers who came to see him. And I have stayed with him his whole life. I have been through his lungs. I have been a chill that he felt in the middle of the night. And I have brought him relief when the sun was so intently watching him that it seemed to melt him in the middle of a sermon. I am his air. And I am the darkness of the night when he was born. I am the dark that sits surrounding him when everyone else is asleep and he is busy giving birth to the words that would one day change the world. I'm the darkness when he felt forsaken. When he felt alone. When the blindness consumed him as he choked to death hanging off the cross. I was that blackness that he could not see. And now I'm here. I will call him and comfort him and give him the chance to be a human for one last day. One last day as just a man.

“And when Joseph had taken the body, he wrapped it in a clean linen cloth,”

“And laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock: and he rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulchre, and departed.”

27.61

I knew I would love a man who was not a man. I knew I would love a man who could not love a woman the way men often love women.

I married a word. I slept with an idea. He found dignity in me, and I found the man in him. Because there was a man. He had to be a man.

He had to be someone who could die, and so he also had to be somebody who could live. And to be alive means to be loved. And I loved him. I did.

I loved him as G-d, but I loved him as Jesus as well. Until he came, all I knew was torment.

Choices I should have made were made for me when I was very young and weak. My choices have been stolen by men who wanted my choices for their comfort and their hunger.

They wanted my choices so that they could feel alive. And so I was left with nothing. Broken. All my body knew was how to be neglected. And so that's what I did.

I went about the work of being neglected and broken and abused. And when the men came to me, there was nothing left for them to steal.

And so all they did was use me. I was like a pencil. I was a tool. I was something you might take into the field in order to harvest. But I was not hard. Not hard enough.

I was still made out of flesh even though I could not feel. Because everything inside me had been stolen and replaced with something that couldn't move. I was dead. And that made it easy to do what I do.

To do what I have done. And as they piled into my door and let their offenses touch me, I turned myself into a fire. I made myself into a bloodless stone.

And you could not roll me. You could not move me. All you could do was climb on top of me and finish and then be gone. So when he chose me, I did not feel. He was one more man.

But when he did not climb on top of me, the stone broke. And somehow I climbed out. And when I did he was there with his hand and clean water and he washed me. And I was baptized by his steady love.

It’s a love that has never eased or changed. It is not the love of an ocean. It is the love of a lake. It's a quiet place where you fish. And that's what he did.

For all of us. We were his fish. I was no more special than anyone else. It's just he saw that I needed more. Maybe a stronger line. He was so adept at getting us all into the boat. I'm just glad that I'm no longer drowning.

And there was Mary Magdalene, and the other Mary, sitting over against the sepulchre.