Barabbas

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.)

 

Barabbas

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.

Two thieves

And a rebel leader.

We wagered amongst themselves

Which one it might be.

I knew

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.

The descendant

(However distant)

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

For freedom.

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

For me. 

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

And forgiveness

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

To ensure

The correct choice.

“Who will you choose?” 

Pilate shouted and held out his hand. 

“Barabbas or this Jesus?”

Of course,

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.