The following post is by Seth Haines and inspired by To Think’s Redemption Story.
The entire lot of us were puppeteering, pulling strings on Roman marionettes and giving them the mocking words —“all hail the King of the Jews!” Romans and Jews are not so different. They give themselves so willingly.
Each of us followed the instructions we received from on low, and our platoons laughed and reviled in the spiritual realms as this rebel miracle-worker struggled up the hill of the skull. I pulled another string, and the nearest Roman guard dragged him up by his raw and bloody shoulders and spat in his wounds.
We led them all up the hill, Jesus meek and mild, and I raised the hammer hand.
The hammer clanks nail, Man cries out…
And that’s when I see Mary. A pitiful prostitute, she was easy pickings. She had followed Jesus around as if his presence was spiritual garlic, as if it would ward us away. And I suppose for a while it worked.
“Weeping Mary, don’t you worry. When your savior is dead, I will come comfort you. And I will bring a hundred friends.” The platoon laughed as I mocked her and him. Yes, pitiful prostitutes are not much different than Romans and Jews.
We watched as Jesus forgave them, and though we winced a bit, my cohorts screeched, “Forgive them? Why don’t you save them, King?” Yes, we were executing orders perfectly.
He cried out recognizing his forsakenness, and a cacophony of jeers rose to the point of deafening. In the middle of this rancorous, victorious display of hatred, most of my soldiers missed his last breath. But as we sucked life from him, his Spirit broke forth full of glory and doom and that same Spirit hovered in the heavenlies and turned to face us, a band of traitorous angels. He said it again, those words he previously uttered in desperation, but this time they broke like a lion’s roar filling a prey-filled valley, “It is finished!”
As dread filled me I gave the order to retreat and I heard rocks breaking and saw the veil split in two, lacerated by the sword of his words. Retreating, I looked over my shoulder to see Mary Magdalene shaking in the quake.
And we fled from her.