Holy week reflection 3:
He is dead, I mean I found him, I mean he’s gone…..
The man…. The man in the street with the child, and the eyes and the hands…… I am finding it so hard to find the words, I am in shock, total shock.
I went looking for him, stupid I know in a city of thousands of people but a had a strange feeling like I knew I would find him.
They said that the crucifixions were taking place and its always a good laugh watching the cretins struggling with them heavy wooden crosses through the streets, with everyone shouting and mocking them. I pushed my way to the front, full of excitement, as the crowds whipped up the atmosphere to a near frenzy. There was so much emotion in the air you could almost taste it. Mourners, friends and relatives of those being punished, the authorities enjoying exercising their oppressive powers over the mob.
It was then I saw him, the man with the hands and the eyes, although he was now a changed man, broken, revolting to look at. The shock made me sick where I was stood. What had he done? Why was he now nearly dead? His eyes, them amazing eyes were now battered almost closed with the swelling, the hands, them strong hands broken, wet with blood, shaking.
Before I could gather my mind, a Roman grabbed me and threw me at the man’s feet. I was ordered to carry the huge cross beams the man was dragging on his back…..
I picked up both wood and man and everything else around me seemed to disappear, a stillness engulfed me the shouting crowds seemed to fade to a distance.
It was just me and the man again, here, back in this moment.
We spoke briefly, his words were like a lightening bolt of peace striking my soul, it was the final stroke of the brush in a master piece, it was the daylight after the darkest of nights….
We walked on…. together.
Now he is gone, but something of him remains, somewhere inside of me, I do not know the words but life seems to have begun, not ended.
I need to get away and find a still place to think…..