Brother Brad has been preaching on “The People at the Cross” and while he has, I’ve been joting down my ideas about those people. So this is a little free verse poetry for all you cool cats out there. (snaps fingers.)
Pilate would release a prisoner,
As was custom.
A way to appease the Jews
On the eve of their Holy Day.
It would be some minor offender usually.
But there were none present
It was only us.
And a rebel leader.
We wagered amongst themselves
Which one it might be.
It wouldn’t be me.
So while the other two argued over who was the most deserving of life
I remained silent.
They called out to a God
They had all but forgotten
Until their capture.
I hadn’t forgotten Him.
I had turned away.
The son of a Rabbi.
Of a king.
I knew the scriptures.
I knew what greatness lies in my blood
And so I was willing to become a martyr
To my own life
And even my soul
I made the decision the day I walked away from my father
And my name
The day I picked up a sword
That I would rather rot
In the midst of Hell
Than to live under the command
Of these barbarians.
That kept us in chains
That kept us from worshipping freely.
So, in a way,
Even though I had walked away from Him
I was doing it for him.
He had promised
How long ago?
To send a deliverer
Someone who would remove
The yokes from around our necks.
The blood of kings
Ran through my veins
And I took it upon myself
To be that man.
Surely that was His purpose
But then I found myself here
And I would soon die for my beliefs
The grandson of kings
On a cross.
What irony is that?
I would not be like these others
And beg for a second chance.
There would be no deliverer for me.
I knew it.
But the two others begged and boasted and blamed
Until I was sick of it.
So when the rumor came in
That the preacher had been arrested
I laughed until I cried.
That wanderer from Gallalee,
That teacher that taught only love
Why had they arrested him?
Surely he had ticked off the wrong people.
And he would be the one to go free.
My cellmates were silent after that.
They knew as well as I did.
The “Minor offender” had just stepped on the stage
And we were dead men.
But then they came and took me out.
Why me? I had no idea.
They stood me beside the preacher.
Then I understood.
He had been roughed up pretty badly.
“You look terrible.” I joked with him.
If you couldn’t have a sense of humor
In a time like this, then what could you have.
He smiled through busted lips
“I can say the same for you.”
His eyes were full of compassion
And I told him I held no offense
I took my place beside him
I knew my part in this drama
And did my best to look savage and wild.
The people were sheep
They were controlled by their emotions.
The religious leaders wanted this man’s head
And I was there
The correct choice.
“Who will you choose?”
Pilate shouted and held out his hand.
“Barabbas or this Jesus?”
Given the opportunity
To release a “real criminal” or this preacher
It was little surprise who they would choose.
“Give us Barabbas!” They shouted
And I looked at him in shock.
What? How could this be?
“Give us Barabbas! Let his blood be on our heads!”
They took us away then,
Pushing us roughly
Because the ruse hadn’t turned out
Like Pilate expected.
But as they pushed us along
He spoke to me
One last time.
He told me
That my deliver had come
And he held no offense.