This is a fictional story I wrote some years ago, about a man who had a significant meeting with Jesus (John 9)
What He Saw
Huge tears streaked the dust on his face. He'd skinned his knuckles raw from tightly wringing his hands. An anguished moaned crept from his throat. "No, no, no." The scene was unbearable yet he couldn't turn away. The horror filled his vision, sickening him. When he could look away for relief, his eyes would betray him, drawn to look again.
There, on that hill, the one across from the city wall, the bloody body hung, naked, strings of flesh hanging, the blood dripping from the shredded veins. The fist-pulped face bloated where they beat him and yanked out his beard. And that mockery of a crown; such blaspheme to the royal head!
He buried his face in his hands and his bony shoulders shook with sobs. "Why, my Lord? Today was a day of gladness. We are to celebrate the Passover, remember our heritage, and our day of deliverance. Why did this happen?"
Although larger than normally witness to a crucifixion, it was a typical group. Many came there for the spectacle, to get a thrill from the cruel barbarianism, while others shuddered at it and feared the cruelty of Rome. Then there was the added oddity of the religious leaders yelling insults at the dying man. What were they thinking? They who should know, yet were so angry and filled with hate.
As the anguished watcher looked on, the sky grew dark. People grew uneasy and stared around. Some muttering went through the crowd and some headed back for the town gates. As the throng thinned, he moved up closer to the execution hill, close enough to see the bloody body struggling to lift up, shuddering to inhale. In the torn face, the white, strained eyes swung heavenward as the darkness almost blackened out the sun. For the watcher the dimmed vision gave no respite.
What He Saw
Huge tears streaked the dust on his face. He'd skinned his knuckles raw from tightly wringing his hands. An anguished moaned crept from his throat. "No, no, no." The scene was unbearable yet he couldn't turn away. The horror filled his vision, sickening him. When he could look away for relief, his eyes would betray him, drawn to look again.
There, on that hill, the one across from the city wall, the bloody body hung, naked, strings of flesh hanging, the blood dripping from the shredded veins. The fist-pulped face bloated where they beat him and yanked out his beard. And that mockery of a crown; such blaspheme to the royal head!
He buried his face in his hands and his bony shoulders shook with sobs. "Why, my Lord? Today was a day of gladness. We are to celebrate the Passover, remember our heritage, and our day of deliverance. Why did this happen?"
Although larger than normally witness to a crucifixion, it was a typical group. Many came there for the spectacle, to get a thrill from the cruel barbarianism, while others shuddered at it and feared the cruelty of Rome. Then there was the added oddity of the religious leaders yelling insults at the dying man. What were they thinking? They who should know, yet were so angry and filled with hate.
As the anguished watcher looked on, the sky grew dark. People grew uneasy and stared around. Some muttering went through the crowd and some headed back for the town gates. As the throng thinned, he moved up closer to the execution hill, close enough to see the bloody body struggling to lift up, shuddering to inhale. In the torn face, the white, strained eyes swung heavenward as the darkness almost blackened out the sun. For the watcher the dimmed vision gave no respite.
What was happening? What more were they doing to him?
He stumbled forward, wanting to know, though fearful of what he might see. The road was rocky and crowded with the spectators leaving for the safety of Jerusalem. He moved against the jumble people, going in the opposite direction. At one rough area, he tripped and fell into somebody who cursed, shoving him away. Feeling the clothing of the man, he was amazed it was a priest. The religious man grabbed his robe around him, lifting the hem indecently to break into a trot, hurrying to get away. The man turned, also hurrying, but he wanted to get closer to the dying man.
When he was within fifty feet, a Roman soldier stood in front of him, his spear at ready. Not knowing what was going on, the guards nervously formed a circle around the top of the hill, halting anyone from approaching the three condemned men. He found a place beside a grieving woman and a young man, resigned, knowing this was as near as he could get to the man he loved. His weeping joined their wailing.
When he was within fifty feet, a Roman soldier stood in front of him, his spear at ready. Not knowing what was going on, the guards nervously formed a circle around the top of the hill, halting anyone from approaching the three condemned men. He found a place beside a grieving woman and a young man, resigned, knowing this was as near as he could get to the man he loved. His weeping joined their wailing.
Somehow, as if sensing him, the eyes in the bloody face sought him through the darkness. Did the disfigured face attempt a smile, or was it his own imagination because he needed that recognition?
There was a horrible rasping sound as the condemned man agonized to pull himself up once more to inhale. The tongue poked through the crushed and bloodied lips. The dying man spoke. "I thirst." One of the soldiers took a stick with a soaked sponge and held it up for the man to suck the sour drink. After getting some of the liquid, he looked heavenward, working the moistness into his mouth before saying, "It is finished."
There was a horrible rasping sound as the condemned man agonized to pull himself up once more to inhale. The tongue poked through the crushed and bloodied lips. The dying man spoke. "I thirst." One of the soldiers took a stick with a soaked sponge and held it up for the man to suck the sour drink. After getting some of the liquid, he looked heavenward, working the moistness into his mouth before saying, "It is finished."
The body abruptly slumped, the head flopping to the chest, mouth open, eyes blank. The woman beside him gave a great wail and the young man futilely tried to comfort her. His own heart broke. It was over, the great Rabbi was dead.
The watcher stared at the dead, his eyes flooded with tears. The eyes Jesus of Nazareth restored sight to, only a few days before.
The watcher stared at the dead, his eyes flooded with tears. The eyes Jesus of Nazareth restored sight to, only a few days before.
The End
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