(AN: Do you know how I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Christ wasn't just killed by the Jews, but by all men? When I hear these hateful neo-pagans [most of them atheist-posers] ignorantly and hatefully state 'Your God was nailed to a tree, my god has a hammer'. That is proof that 1] hate is a natural human thing, [some even dare say that hate was made by Christianity, though that very statement proves that atheists are not above plain old, cold-blooded, reason-less hate] and 2] even if Christ went to the white men rather than to His chosen people, the result would be the same: death. We're all guilty of killing Him with our sins, and therefore I strive once again to make that known in this story. It was all man that killed Joshua, not just the Jews or the Romans.)
(Okay, enough ranting. I know I've been going mostly in English in this story, but I just have to insert a bit of the original Hebrew into the mix, or else you won't get Simeon's response. Also, though it might push the boundaries of acceptability, I would imagine that Satan used every trick at his disposal against Christ that day on Golgotha, which would validate The Last Temptation of Christ, aside from all its other inaccuracies. I tried to capture some of Christ's mental anguish, but that's a little harder to do than just pages of torture. I hope you can get my point. And I do think that Satan would have tried weeping at Christ, begging Him to come down, if nothing else to make Him lash out in anger at those who cried for Him. Seriously, Satan was getting desperate here)
(The Latin name for the road to Golgotha just sounds so awe-inspiring, that I decided to keep it here. We also get to see the cameo of our second 'good' Roman. Now put on the Second Act of Handel's Messiah and behold the Lamb of God as He goes to die!)
Crucifixion
Via Dolorosa. The place of suffering.
The quickest road from Antonia to Golgotha.
The skull-shaped hill outside the limits of the city of Jerusalem.
Two captains of the centurions rode up outside the gates of the fortress on horse-back.
"Good day for an execution, Quintus?" the one asked.
"Not this day, Cornelius." replied the chief captain. "Not today."
"You seem grim, my friend." Cornelius noted. "Is something wrong?"
Quintus turned toward his old war-buddy, his friend as long as he had been in Judaea. He was like a brother, as dear to him as his servant whom Joshua had healed.
One who believed in Him as well.
"I've fought many battles, Cornelius," Quintus said. "I've slain many men, enemies of the Empire, men who killed my compatriates in arms. I've never doubted my orders before, but this..."
"What about this?" Cornelius asked. "I thought we were killing Barabbas."
"No," Quintus stated. "These insane people asked for him to be released."
"Then who are we taking to Golgotha?" Cornelius asked again.
"Jesus."
There was a silent pause, broken only by the cries of "I'm innocent!" coming from the Bastard's two cohorts as they were brought out of the prison.
"The one from Nazareth?" a somber Cornelius inquired.
"Yes."
There were no more questions from either of them, for they were both very sad at this news.
"Captain!" Cassius, one of the guards assigned to the detachment to Golgotha, approached Quintus' horse. "We're ready."
Quintus nodded his head, checked his horse and then turned to his friend.
"Come, Cornelius. We're off to crucify an innocent Man."
The procession was long, with Quintus leading the company of soldiers at the head. Behind him came the Bastard's two accomplices, who were not given freedom from their master's punishment. Each of them had a large wooden cross, which they had to carry all the way to Golgotha.
Towards the end marched the Pharisees, and in front of them the soldier Marcus with a whip.
In front of him walked Joshua, carrying His cross as He had told His disciples that they must do.
But for Him, the burden was a million times worse than it could have ever been for the two thieves. His shoulders and back had been torn to bloody shreds, and the heavy wooden cross pained them all the more. His head also was heavy, but, since a crown of thorns had been embedded into His head, He could not rest His head anywhere without causing great pain.
The city of Jerusalem was large, and the roads would be long. But they would not be empty, for everyone of the inhabitants of the city had come out to see Him crucified.
Soon the streets were getting congested.
Every step farther, the weight of the burden of the world's sins were multiplied, making the weight of the cross heavier.
Every step farther, the doleful cries of the women who sympathized with His pain rang in His ears.
And the laughter from behind of those who hated Him filled His ears.
The cries of "Forward!" from Cornelius, who took the vanguard at the rear punctured the roar of the crowd every few steps onward. The sting of Marcus' whip tore again at His back.
And everywhere, the whispering voice of Satan filled His ears, taking advantage of every last moment to make Joshua fall.
It would be a very, very long walk.
Joshua did not listen to the provoking cries of the crowd, or the mocking of Satan. He knew He had to continue, for this was the plan of Salvation and He had chosen it upon Himself out of love for those around Him. But the weight of the sin of the world was crushing down upon Him with even more strength than that of the cross He bore. It was no longer a physical weakness, but a mental weakness that sought to permanently sever His connection with the Father and to crush out His life.
Already, even as there was, to Joshua's eyes, no sign of hope at the end of this crucible...
It seemed that Golgotha might as well be on the other end of the world.
Unable to walk another step, Joshua stumbled and fell to the street, the cross crushing His body as it fell on top of Him. Not noticing that the prisoner was unable to continue, Marcus laid down upon him with whip and foot.
"Get up, you Jewish dog!" howled the Aryan, kicking Joshua in the stomach. "You're not done yet!" He laid in upon His already broken back with the whip.
"Leave him alone!" ordered Cornelius.
It was only the command of a superior officer that stayed Marcus' hateful hand.
"Are you blind?" Cornelius scolded. "He cannot carry His cross! Find someone to carry it for Him!"
Marcus scanned the crowd, looking for someone of strong build. Unfortunately for the race-proud Aryan, there were none of his own people in sight and he himself would not stoop to carrying this condemned man's cross.
He saw a broad-shouldered Cyrenian man gaze silently at Joshua.
"You, Cyrenian!" Marcus shouted, pointing at him with his whip. "Carry this weakling's cross!"
The procession continued, with Simeon the Cyrenian carrying the cross for the wounded Man, while He clung onto the arms of the cross.
It was burdensome, but Simeon knew that he could carry it. But what puzzled him was the fact that this Man could not. It was not THAT heavy. But there was something in this Man's eyes that made him feel that there was more to His suffering than met his eye.
They came at last to the Damascus Gate, and to the side of the skull-shaped hill. Here was a spot, on the side of the hill, that was easily spotted by travelers and those on the city-walls. On the hilltop were trees, and those in the roads down in the valley could not see it. Here was the chosen site.
Where the crucifixion was done.
Simeon dropped the cross at the hill-side and was ordered to leave.
The soldiers then stripped the prisoners and laid them out upon their crosses. At first they stretched their hands out to the nail-holes on the large wooden planks, then secured the hands with ropes about the wrists.
Quintus then gave Cassius a skin of the most foul-smelling, hideous tasting sedative, and ordered it to be given to the prisoners. The first two took it, but once a drop fell on Joshua's tongue, He spat it out and refused to drink it.
"Ha!" Marcus mocked. "You like pain, then?" He reached over and pulled a foot-long spike from the pile.
The spike was placed carefully over the palm of Joshua's hand.
The Romans had perfected the art of torture, and crucifixion was one such. They knew where to drive in the nails, so that the bone would not be broken, but the spike would rub against the bone, causing excruciating pain.
"Hey, Cassius!" Marcus called over to the other soldier.
"Yeah?" the Italian solider walked over to where the Aryan knelt over Joshua's cross.
"Didn't you hear what they said about this Man?" Marcus asked, indicating to Joshua.
"They said He's the King of the Jews." commented Cassius.
"I heard they said He's the Son of their God." Marcus laughed. "It's appropriate. The son of their God shall be nailed to a tree..." He rose the hammer in his right hand. "...by one whose fathers' god wields a hammer!"
The hammer went down upon the head of the spike.
The dull thud echoed in their ears.
The pain was unbearable, a shocking blow of pain screaming from Joshua's hand like lightning.
Over and over again it pounded, until the nail was securely in place.
"The weak man doesn't cry out!" Marcus laughed, stroking his straw-colored beard. "Soon enough, dead-god. Soon enough."
He walked over to the other side, picked up the second spike and placed it over the correct spot.
"So much for their king!" Marcus roared in mocking laughter to the other soldiers, before sending another hard hammer-blow down upon the head of the spike.
"Cry out, Joshua." a voice whispered at His ear.
It was Satan.
"You don't even have to condemn them," Satan said, with pity in his voice. "It's painful, I know it is. I wouldn't blame You for crying out just a little bit."
But He would not let the Enemy have that satisfaction.
Like a sheep to the slaughter, He opened not His mouth.
"In the name of my father's gods," Marcus commented. "This bastard won't cry out!" He kicked Joshua's crown of thorns deeper into His head. A loud, mocking guffaw came from Marcus' lips, then a wad of spit struck Joshua in the face.
"Father, forgive them!" Joshua cried out. It was not in self-pity, or condemnation.
Only in love.
"They...do not know...what they are...doing!"
"Oh we don't, do we?" mocked the Aryan. "But I do! I'm killing you, Jesus." He struck Joshua in the chest with his foot. "What's to forgive about that? I love it!"
"Marcus, that's enough!" Cornelius shouted. "Tend to the others."
A scowl came across the Aryan's twisted face as he threw his hammer away and walked off to see to the thieves. Cassius took the wooden foot-stool and propped Joshua's feet up, one on top of the other, until His knees were bent upward. A single, two-foot long spike was then pounded through both of His feet, securing them to the foot-stool.
Silently He continued praying for all of those gathered about, torturing Him to death.
Even to Marcus the Aryan.
For He loved him, and would not have this ignorant sin held to his charge when brought before the Father to answer for his crimes.
Even in death He showed the mercy and love of God to those who had not even accepted Him.
Who choose to revel in the filth and sewer of sin rather than accept Him.
After the feet were secured, Cassius took Pilate's epitaph from captain Quintus and nailed it into the wood above Joshua's head.
"This one's ready!" Cassius shouted.
Several able-bodied soldiers then took ropes and hoisted the cross upright, placing the base of the cross into the cross-hole that was dug into the mountain-side.
A loud 'thud' echoed on the mountain-side as the cross rested at its base.
From every corner of the world, those who had heard the truth from the lips of the scattered children of Israel gathered in Jerusalem to keep the Passover. At least one from all the tribes of man now converged on Jerusalem, ready to take part in the sacred tradition of old.
On their way to the holy city, they saw a crowd gathered at the side of a skull-shaped hill.
"Excuse me," one asked a passerby. "What's going on over there?"
"We're crucifying a traitor!" they would reply. "Come and see."
And so they came to the side of the hill, where the crowds were gathered. No one spoke for the two thieves torturing at Joshua's right and left. No one mourned for them, no one mocked them, no one even bothered to spit on them.
Their ire was turned towards Joshua.
"Look at Him!" shouted Gamaliel. "Cursed wretch!"
"Destroy the Temple and rebuild it in three days, will You?" one from the crowd mocked.
"Come down, if You are the Messiah!" an angry voice shouted, bearing his lip in Joshua's direction.
"He saved others, yet He cannot even come down from that cross!" a third said, shaking his head.
"Come down, that we might believe You!" Simeon shouted.
"He trusted in God that He would deliver Him," Caiphas shouted, pointing his staff at Joshua's uplifted form. "Let Him deliver Him, if He delight in Him!"
"Show us Your might, Son of God!" Annas mocked, thumping his chest like an animal.
Joshua knew that these words came from their own hearts.
They were now fully in Satan's power.
Who mocked Him with them.
"Look at Yourself, Joshua!" Satan roared, pointing at the cross. "You throw away Your life for these godless wretches! They aren't worthy of Your mercy! They hate You! Come down, and show them Your true might! Cast off Your bonds and show them just how wrong they are, they will worship You then!"
Even among those He was crucified with, there was no comfort.
Not even silent neglect.
"So, You're Joshua of Nazareth?" asked the one on the left. "You don't look like much! How could You be the Messiah?"
But He said nothing.
"Bah! He's no Messiah!" cried the one on the right. "He's a stupid criminal, like us! Or are You? Huh? Prove me wrong, Joshua! Save Yourself and save us, if You are the Messiah!"
"Leave Him be!" shouted the first. "Are you defiant, even as you suffer punishment? We have done great wrong, and get what we deserve! But He...He has done nothing wrong!"
He turned His head to the one on the left.
He was sorry that he had rebuked Joshua before.
"They said..." he gasped. "that You forgive everyone...even the worst of sinners...Could You...forgive me?"
Joshua only nodded, for His lips could not move from silent pain.
"Then..." the thief asked, grasping hold on the hand of faith, weak though it may be. "to show that...I am forgiven...promise me...that You'll remember me...when You enter into...Your just reward...Your Father's Kingdom."
Joshua turned His head to the repentant thief. Though it pained Him greatly, He rested His head against His shoulder and looked lovingly at the poor man.
"This day I tell you;" Joshua promised hoarsely. "You...and I...will be...in paradise."
The thief broke down in tears, while the other only cursed Him greater.
But Joshua turned His face down to those gathered about Him.
He saw Salome, who had forsaken her mother and father and the riches of royalty to follow Him. Miriam of Magdala, whom He had saved time and time again, showing that not even those considered insignificant by the society of man were beyond salvation. He saw also Joanna and Susanna, and Martha of Bethany, and many other women as well.
They were in tears.
Deep, heart-wrenching, agonizing tears.
"Daughters of Jerusalem!" He groaned. "Do not...weep for Me! Weep for yourselves...and your children! The day is coming...when the barren...and the childless...are blessed! They will...ask for the rocks...to hide themselves! If...they do this...in a green plant...what will...they do...when...it is...dead?"
He looked down at those gathered about Him and saw the face of His mother, held by John.
Her heart was broken.
She now clearly understood what old Simeon meant by "a sword shall pierce thy soul", for she was now in bitter agony, beyond comprehension. She felt weaker than her years, and was near to fainting. As any mother would, she wished that she could take her Son's place if she could.
But even she did not know the full magnitude of what He now did.
Or the love He still bore for her...
Even now...
"Woman!" He whispered hoarsely. He then tore His head out of His shoulder and looked at John. "Behold your son!" He then looked at John, whom He had loved like a brother since He chose him as a disciple.
"John...behold...your mother!"
John nodded, but fear, or love, or some feeling, kept the two of them rooted where they stood.
Fear, perhaps, of the gathering darkness.
It was only the sixth hour after dawn, and the clear morning sun was becoming horribly blackened.
All was thrown into darkness.
"Behold this unnatural darkness!" Quintus said, looking about them.
"Even Apollo covers himself at this Man's death," Cornelius stated. His faith in the old gods seemed as distant to him as the sun was to this darkened hill-side.
But this Man...
"Surely He is a righteous Man!" Cornelius said.
For them, it was but an unnatural occurrence.
To Joshua, it felt like the end of the world.
Here He hung. His body still bore the hours-old lacerations, bruises and lashes from the numerous tortures He received. His forehead had huge thorns dug into His head on all sides. He could not move His hands for they were nailed and even the slightest movement of them caused Him great pain. His aching legs held up His entire body, and kept His shallow breathing from failing. His head was heavy, but He could not rest it against the cross or either of His shoulders without causing some kind of pain. And to make matters worse, the sun was gone and He became cold.
But His agony was worse than just this. He sees the soldiers about Him mocking Him alongside the Judaeans, those He had chosen to be His own special people. The rest were either preparing for the Sabbath back in the city, or remained.
The soldiers were busy dividing up His clothes.
But His own people, the ones He had chosen since before their great-grandfathers were born, were still throwing filth at Him. The very ones He loved more than His own body, and they hated Him for it.
But it was even worse than all this. By becoming the Lamb of God and being our offering, He took upon Himself the blame and punishment for our sins. He bore all the sin of the world, from Satan's first lies to the last sin committed before the end of probation.
All the sins of the world were now crushing out His life.
The darkness itself, He saw, as a sign that God had rejected Him. The sin He bore had scarred Him, and He was, to His understanding, cut off from the Father...
Forever...
"Elohi! Elohi!" He cried out, tears flowing from His eyes as He lifting His head up to Heaven, against the sound of distant thunder. "Lama Sabachtani?"
Literally...
'My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?'
"Look at that!" Simeon shouted. "He's calling for Elijah!"
Joshua's head fell, and He let out a small gasp.
"I...thirst." His voice was hoarse and His breath shallow.
Cassius took up his spear, jabbed a sponge onto the tip, and dipped the sponge into the bitter mixture. He then rose the spear up, but Joshua did not drink of this.
"Wait!" Simeon said, waving the soldier aside. "Leave Him be! Let's see if Elijah will come to save Him!"
Though the soldier did not fully understand this, he tore sponge off the spear and went back with the others to continue their little game.
On the side of Golgotha, the Great Conflict of the Ages came down to its final moment. All the angels of Heaven looked on this scene with tears in their eyes, barely able to look at the cross. Their commander was nailed in suffering to it, and it tore them apart. On the other side, Satan was now pleading for Joshua to come down from the cross.
What had once been a haughty boast of how much they hated Him, was now reduced to the pitiful begging of a shamed prince, seeing his end just in sight.
"Do not do this!" the Adversary begged. "They don't deserve You! They...hate You! Don't...give Yourself...for these...BASTARDS!"
But Joshua's love for them was deeper than His hatred of sin, and He bore His suffering on in silence.
About three hours after the darkness ended, and light shone forth a little. But the thunder and lightning still struck against the cross, and He seemed alone. But He knew that, though He was about to die, He had saved them all. Not only by becoming their sacrifice had He ended the need of the Sacrificial Laws, but He commended His love for all in, while all were still sinners, dying for them.
And even more so, for every second He hung upon the cross, His torment was eked out to its farthest possible degree by Satan's temptations. He dove into every thought, every desire that man ever possessed. These he brought to Joshua's mind as temptations, showing Him all that He could have if He just gave up the fight, chose Himself instead of saving humanity.
But He gave Satan the same answer here that He gave three-and-a-half years ago, that morning in the desert.
"It...is...finished!" He said, barely able to keep Himself alive anymore.
He had done what, hitherto, no man living could ever possibly have done, and so opened the door for it to be done over and over again by those who believed.
He had come to the end of His life, without sinning even once.
He groaned loudly as the breath left Him.
He could feel the cold of death creeping first to His scarred feet and hands, and then up His arms. He had one last example for all men. Even as it seemed as though He was cut off forever from communion with the Father, He looked up, grasped what little faith remained within Him, and prayed hoarsely:
"FATHER...INTO...YOUR HANDS...I...COMMEND...MY...SPIRIT!"
The cold of death had sunk in. His limbs could feel no more. Then His entire body became cold, and then, all was peaceful.
His body stopped functioning.
His heart, which had poured out so much blood for everyone, stopped.
Bowing His bruised and pierced head, He sighed one last time.
Joshua of Nazareth was dead.
(A thousand songs, from George Handel to System of a Down, go through my head as I finish this chapter, and know that my own sins nail Him to the cross...)
(I sooo wanted to have Marcus win Joshua's robe, then start mocking Him with it [a la ICS Vortex from "The Sacrilegious Scorn"] and then his mocking turns to wailing as His robe burns his hands [like in The Robe]. However, as much as I want to silence the blasphemous, I was scared out of my wits when I first saw The Robe and Burton's character starts crying out in pain because the robe is burning his hands. I thought that not only was that incongruous to Joshua's character, but that it would not be glorifying God to cause someone pain for no apparent reason [though if you ever saw the video for "The Sacrilegious Scorn", you'd want Vortex to get his hands burned for that].)
(Writing this part forced me to do battle with my darkest demons...and I hope you as well, readers, may confront your own darkness and cast it at the foot of the cross.)