petermaize

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He continued down the path, pausing only once to turn and look back.  The sun had finally set, and it was dark. But
it was not the same darkness that had descended on the land just a few hours ago.

 

Inside the hut his wife was sewing, putting a patch on their youngest daughter’s cloak. The fire was
low, and no pot hung over it. Only bread on the table, and water. His wife looked up.

“Did you feel the earthquake?” she asked.

He nodded. “Where’s Joel?”

“With his friends, as always.”

He sat down at the table, and grabbed a piece of coarse bread.

“The entire house shook,” she said. “A jug fell off the shelf, but it didn’t break. I was scared to death.”

He didn’t respond. For awhile the hut was quiet, and his wife worked silently as the single flame
flickered on the stand in front of her.

“He died quickly,” he said. “I was surprised. They came to break the legs of the condemned, but he
was already dead.”

She had no response. Merab didn’t concern herself with politics or religious conflict. Every few years
there was a new rebel, a new savior of Israel. Usually they gathered a small army of malcontents out in the desert, or attempted to stir up the towns to revolt. They all came to nothing. Messiahs appeared, and disappeared. The
Romans remained.

Eventually, though, she got curious.

“Were many people watching?”

“Not as many as I expected.  After the big reception he got last week, I thought more people would turn out to see the crucifixion. But maybe they were scared, or embarrassed. Certainly no one wants to be associated
with him now. Even his own followers stayed away: just a couple of them were there, on the fringes. And some women. And only a few members of the council bothered to show up, after all the outcry they made for his death. It actually was not a very big scene.”

More silence as he munched the dry bread, and then poured water into a clay cup.

“So why did you go?”

She wasn’t looking at him. The nimble, rough fingers continued to work the cloth, the needle rising and
descending. She watched its progress as her husband remained quiet, then cleared his throat.

“I don’t know. I rarely go to public executions. I don’t know what I expected.”

“That he might save himself at the last minute? Fly up into the sky and land on the top of the Temple?” She was smiling, still not looking up.

He wasn’t insulted, but he didn’t share the joke. Their eldest daughter walked in the door, carrying a
pail of water from the well. He smiled at her and the girl said hello as she poured half of the pail’s contents into the jug.

“I’m going back outside to talk to Sarah,” she announced, setting the pail on the floor. Now her mother
looked up from her sewing.

“Only for a short while. I don’t want you out late.”

“Yes, I promise,” and the girl was gone.

Merab resumed sewing and he continued eating, wishing they had even a little meat. Finally he said what
was on his mind.

“I was able to get close to the criminals after awhile. Most people stood back. At the beginning, there were a few people taunting Jesus, challenging him to save himself if he really was the Messiah. But after awhile everyone just watched, and talked among themselves. The sky got unusually dark about the sixth hour…”

“I know,” she said. “I was at the market, and suddenly everyone was lighting lamps because it got so dark.
Very strange. No clouds that I could notice. Just the sky becoming gloomy. I didn’t like it.”

He waited a moment before continuing.

“But before then, while the condemned men were still conscious and able to talk, one of them was also
insulting Jesus. I remember he was scoffing like the others, even though he was hung up there on the beams. Foul until the end. And he was saying, ‘aren’t you the Christ? Then save yourself, and us!’”

He shook his head.

“But the other one…the other one did the strangest thing. The way he spoke, I could tell that he really believed that this man was the Messiah. I mean, even as they are hung up there together, and just hours from certain death—so obviously this man is not going to save anyone, let alone the nation of Israel—the robber is sa ying, ‘remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ And you know what?”

She stopped sewing and looked up. Her husband’s face was intense, eyes wide.

“Jesus said somethinglike, ‘I tell you the truth, today you will be together with me in Paradise.’ Can you believe it? How pathetic! He’s hanging on a cross and still promising to give people eternal life! That’s when I turned away. It was too embarrassing to watch. Even the guards turned away.”

He was more agitated now than he had been on the long walk home.  He stood up, pacing the length of the tiny hut and turning again to his wife.

“A man who is being executed, by the request of the council of elders and the authority of the Romans, promises eternal life to a condemned sinner! What kind of lunatic is that?!”

His wife didn’t feel a response was necessary.

The hut was too small. He stepped outside. The sky seemed normal now. Stars adorned the heavens. A cool
breeze brushed his face.

“Only a fool could believe this,” he said, then shouted at the sky. “I wanted to believe! I wanted you to
be the messiah. Now you are dead, yet you promise a sinner that he can join you in heaven!”

He thought about the miracles he had heard about. He’d never seen one personally, although some men
at work said they had. But then he also thought about the crazy teaching, the strange, absurd concepts. Love your enemy. Give to anyone who asks. And the ludicrous promise to a criminal, hanging on a cross. As if Jesus could deliver what he promised.

As if he could save anyone who asked.