The Ultimate Sacrifice

            I was going to be sick. I wanted so badly to turn away from the scene, to wake up and find that this was all a bad dream. But this was not a dream, and I wasn’t going to wake up.

            A hand gripped my shoulder. I turned around looked into the tired, worn face of my father. His eyes portrayed the sadness I felt in my heart.

            “Here He comes! The King of the Jews!” the crowd yelled mockingly. They spat, jeered, and shouted louder as the Teacher approached. I gasped in horror.

            The Teacher’s body was disfigured almost beyond recognition. His flesh was bloodied and raw from the flogging with the cat-of-nine-tails. His face contorted in an expression of agony. Blood ran down his eyes and cheeks. The thorns in his crown had been plunged into his skull.

            Where his beard had been, there were now patches of raw, bloody flesh. He stumbled under the weight of the cross strapped on his back. With every step, pieces of wood and dirt rubbed viciously across his wounds.

            Suddenly a man standing next to me hurled his spit in the Teacher’s direction. I almost reached out to strike him in my anger. How could this mob treat Him with such contempt? What could He have done to deserve such torture?

          I turned and hid my face in my father’s shoulder as the procession continued.

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            His gasping could be heard all across the hilltop. He struggled vainly to push his body up to draw another labored breath. His lips were parched and cracked from thirst.

            Suddenly the sun disappeared. Darkness surrounded me like night. I felt goose-bumps run up my arms as the cold wind pulled against my mantle. What was happening? Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani!”

            If this man truly was the Son of God, why had God forsaken Him? What was the purpose in all this?

            The Teacher let out a cry that pierced straight to my heart. How could this be happening? And then, it was finished.

            Without warning, I felt rumblings under my feet. The hilltop swayed. I turned to run, but my foot caught on a stone. Frantically I grabbed for something to steady myself, but there was only air. I cried out in pain as I landed hard, cutting my arm on a rock.

            “Tirzah!” I heard my father call.

            “Over here!” I shouted back.

            “We must return home,” he said as he gently lifted me off the ground. “There is no more to be seen.”

            We turned to walk home. Clutching my arm, I looked back. What was the purpose in all of this? If He truly was the Messiah, then how is He going to rescue us now?

To be continued. . .