Joseph of Arimathea slowly walks down the dusty dirt road, the limp body of The Messiah weighing down his arms. Nicodemus walks behind him with the hundred pounds of myrrh and aloes across his shoulders, his breathing labored. Joseph says nothing as The Lord's blood stains his robes and splatters his face and arms. Mary, The Messiah's mother, stumbles heart-broken behind him and Nicodemus, and a crowd of disgusted Jews follow not far behind, spewing hateful words and cursed vows that would assure their place in Gahanna.
When the beautiful garden where his resting place was to be comes into his view, Joseph turns around to face the crowd, cradling the limp neck of the man in his arms closer to him. The crowd leers at him, and he glares back at them, angered that they can't see the mistake that they made. They took an innocent man's life, God's Child's life, and threw it away like it was nothing!
"No one said that you must follow Nicodemus and I to the final resting place of The King of the Jews!" He shouts, cradling The Son of God closer to him. "If you don't like him, then don't watch him!"
Breathing out, Joseph nods to Nicodemus and he stands back with Mary as Nicodemus grunts as he pushes the stone away from the grave that Joseph had paid most of his life's money towards.
Looking down at The Messiah's battered, serene face, he looks over at Mary's face, who was staring blankly at her son's dead face. He shifts so that Jesus is closer towards his mother. She chokes back a sob as she cradles her son's dead body close to hers once more, and gently runs a hand over his bloodied face, bushing back his knotted hair, matted with blood and dirt.
Joseph gently pulls Jesus away from Mary when Nicodemus comes out to say that they are ready to prepare him. Mary falls to her knees and sobs into her hands. Joseph turns back once more to the crowd to shout, "This man, The Son of God, will be prepared as if he were to be presented to God in heaven!"
The crowd shouts and throws rocks and other objects at him and he hunches his body to protect Jesus as best as he can. Ducking inside of the grave, he blinks to get used to the lantern light that Nicodemus lit. Gently laying Jesus down, Joseph grabs a new garment, one of a dazzling white, and he grabs a damp cloth before starting to slowly wash away all the blood and sin of this innocent lamb.
Nicodemus goes to work on Jesus' hair and face, and he gently pulls the thorns out of his scalp, throwing the blood-crusted broken thorns off to the side. The two of them work in darkened silence, and Joseph can't push the darkening despair that was crushing him.
What are they going to do now that their Savior is gone?! How are they going to be saved?
"I'm done with him. Shall we finish this off?" Nicodemus breaks the silence awhile later. Joseph looks up, slightly dazed, and he nods, moving his cloth away from the wound in The Savior's side. Joseph lifts Jesus' limp body up, and Nicodemus helps put the white garment onto Jesus.
Placing the burial cloth over the body and aloes and myrrh, Joseph bows once more at The Savior, before slowly getting to his feet. When he sees the waiting crowd, he glares at them, shouting angrily, "Is this what you wanted? That your only chance to be saved, is gone? Because that's what you got!" He holds up his bloodied hands, and doesn't wipe away the tears on his face. "It's done. Over."
When the rock is sealed over the grave, he sinks to his knees, unaware of the legions of angels behind him, all sinking to their knees and bowing, their swords and wings sinking to their sides as they mourn the loss of their Lord.
Oh God, please, save us, my God, my God, oh why have you abandoned your children…why have you abandoned me?
My children…
"Crucify him!"
He stumbles, his breath shaking as he trips, clutching onto the cross, his bloodied hands slipping on the sweaty wood. Simon of Cyrene catches his hand and hauls him back up to his feet, both of the men panting hard. He stares into Simon's eyes and nods once, his blood staining the man's face as he touches his cheek.
"You will be rewarded greatly in the kingdom of God." He pants, choking on his blood.
"Am I really, Messiah?" Simon spat, crying out when the guards whip him with the bloodied leather whips. "Then why hasn't he come? Why won't he save even you, his precious Son?"
"I find no guilt in him…I am clean of this man's blood, do what you want with him; I find no fault in him."
My children, what did I do to you to deserve this?
"Crucify him!"
He cries out when the nail cuts through his skin and bone, digging deep into the wood, the tree that would damn him. Groaning, he rolls his limp neck to the side, not even feeling the nails break his hands or feet in his haze. "Father," He groans out, his blood dripping down his hands. "Forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing…"
Looking up through his one good eye, he sees the crowd that was forming to watch the three of them. The man beside him laughs in pain, his blood dripping to the ground below. "What will you do now, Savior? There is no one here to save you…to save us!"
The skies darken, and the wind picks up, shaking the three of them unsteadily on their trees. The other man cries out in fear, "Lord! Please remember me when you come into your kingdom!"
He gasps a lone piece of wood digging into his back wounds. "I tell you the truth," he wheezes to the criminal beside him. "Today you will be with me in paradise."
Seeing his weeping mother, his human heart hurts with something close to the feeling of despair and loneliness. "Dear woman." He calls out in a hoarse voice. Mary rises to her feet to meet his eyes beneath his bowed head. "Here is your son." She turns to John, her lip trembling. "Here is your mother."
John nods, pulling Mary closer to him. A lone raindrop falls and hits him on his bloodied head. He groans, his mouth agape as he throws his head back, "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?"
The skies rumble in return, and he closes his eyes, head hung to the side, his chest heaving with exertion to get breath that will seize soon enough. "I am thirsty…"
His loving mother falls to her knees in front of him, gently stroking his wounded feet as one of the guards gives him a sponge filled with vinegar and gall. He chokes at the bitter taste and heaves out a breath.
Father, why is it so hard to breathe?
"He saved others, why can't he save himself?"
Ah, I need not to save myself; if it means that you all will be saved…Leaning his head back once more, he cries out, "It is finished!"
Rain starts to fall and the guards shout out, trying to get cover. The criminals stare up at the sky in wonder, and he keeps his head to the ground, his blood being washed to the ground. The price for being obedient unto death…
"This fellow said, I am able to destroy the temple of God, and to build it in three days!"
He cries then, cries for his lost children, for his mother, for the separation from The Father. Crying out in a loud voice, he shouts his last words in his human form, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!"
"Crucify him, the one who calls himself The Son of God!"
His breath slowly escapes his parted lips, his head falling to the side, his eyes meeting his mother's before rolling back into his head. He feels the saints pulling parts of his soul from him to come back from the dead, and he bows his head in darkness and lets his soul go.
His eyes snap open and his mouth opens in a silent scream, his body jerking to life. Blindly he pushes the burial cloth away from him, the silky cloth gently brushing his face. Sitting upright in the darkness, he presses his hands to his face.
"Dear Father…is this a dream? Am I still with Satan?" He whispers into his hands. Breathing out, he calms himself, and swings his legs over to the side of his 'bed'. He stumbles as he presses his hands against the stone of the wall and he pauses, pressing one hand over the other.
He laughs out in disbelief when he feels the holes in his hands, and throws his head back in praise. "Thank you Father."
With this new found finding, he steels himself until he finds the opening for the tomb, but he frowns when he can't find purchase to push the rock away.
My Son…call upon Gabriel. He will come to you.
"Gabriel…" He calls out, pressing his hands against the stone. "Come and serve your Lord."
The stone slowly moves away, revealing a boy of about 17 years of age, and he smiles at the boy, nodding his thanks. "Gabriel…you may go if you wish."
The angel bows, his true form melting over to show a being that humans could not fathom.
Breathing out, he tilts his head towards the evening sky. "This is my last will…and then all my children will believe."
"Christ our Lord…" Gabriel sings out, the legions of angels behind him echoing his praise as they follow in Jesus' footsteps. "Is risen today…"