The Death Of A Savior

The whip landed blow upon blow on His back. Flesh was torn apart again and again until only stark, white bone was showing. He grunted, sensory cells being too damaged to fully recognize the pain. “That’ll teach you, ya Nazerize scum.” The Roman soldier said with malice. He brought the whip once more onto His body. The flail was embedded with bits of broken glass and sharpened bone, making the pain double. He groaned, and fell from His knees, unable to support Himself any longer. The centurion whipped Him harder. “Get up, ya w***e!” He yelled into His ear. One of the other guards surrounding Him said,
“That’s forty. No more or you’ll kill Him.” The one holding the whip stopped, nodding his head, making the horse hair mohawk on top of his bronze helmet shake. One of the soldiers brought forth a purple, tattered robe, and a crown made of two inch long, twisted, thorns. The centurion smiled, and forcefully placed the cloak on Him. He then preceded to thrust the crown of thorns on His head, making blood gush from the wounds. His face, and the rest of His body, was covered in the sticky red liquid. All of the soldiers laughed, spitting on Him and making fun of Him.
“Look who’s the “King of the Jews” now, eh?” One said.
“He couldn’t hurt a fly, much less cast out demons. The poser.” Another said.
“Come, it is time to take him to Golgotha.” The centurion said, which translated, means “Place of the Skull.” The man wrenched the hole-filled cloth from His body, just causing more agony. He clenched his fists in an attempt to stay silent. Two Romans picked Him up by the armpits, and made Him stand, even though he was exhausted. Four more had picked up an extremely heavy wooden cross, and dropped it on His already torn-apart back. He strained under the effort, barely able to stay standing. The roughly hewn cross dug into his skin, splinters piercing blood vessels. The guards poked Him out of the courtyard gate with their spears, and into the massive crowd that had gathered. They yelled and screamed at Him, mocking Him and calling Him vulgar names.
“Blasphemer!” A man yelled.
“You say you’re the Son of God, eh? Well, what happens when you die?” Another yelled out. He just kept on moving, slowly and agonizingly. The mob clawed at Him, trying to rip Him limb from limb. There was only so much the soldiers could do to keep them away. He took step by step, inch by inch, with fierce determination. Finally, He ran out of strength. He fell down to the dusty ground, the cross falling on top of Him, digging his rotting flesh into the dirt. The soldiers saw, and one of them said to a nearby man,
“Hey you? What’s your name?”
“Simon.” He replied.
“Carry the cross the rest of the way to Golgotha.” The soldier ordered. Simon dared not complain. He picked up the cross from the fallen Man, and trudged behind the mob as the soldiers helped Him up, and pushed Him onwards towards the hill. He wasn’t even recognizable as a man anymore. He smelled like death itself, and the sight of Him would make the most hardened sailor want to throw up. The pain He was feeling, even without the burden of the heavy cross, was still too extreme to put into words. Yet still on He went, towards the place of His death.

They finally arrived at Golgotha, the Place of the Skull. The mountain was actually shaped like a skull, hence, the appropriate name. He plodded obediently up the grass covered mountain of a hill. Simon followed, and dropped the cross on the ground next to a grouping of soldiers, who had assembled before the ordeal had started. The soldiers who had led Him to Golgotha forcefully shoved Him down on the cross, the wood once again digging into his back. He moaned, as he knew what was coming next. Two men came forth holding three large, rusty nails, and a hammer. They laid His arms and legs out straight, so His body matched the shape of the wooden cross. They then drove a three inch nail into His wrist with extreme force, nailing Him to the cross. He cried out in agony, the rusty iron penetrating a blood vein. They did the same for the other wrist. Making sure He had enough room to wriggle around a bit, the two soldiers crossed His ankles and drove an exceptionally long nail into them, the iron dagger going through both ankles and halfway through the wood of the cross. The bone in His body rubbed up against the iron, making it hurt all the more. He cried out, barely being able to stand it. And yet, He knew it was the only beginning.

The soldiers had trouble putting the cross upright, but eventually they did. They did the same thing to two criminals as they did to Him, nailing them to crosses and setting them up. He struggled to draw breath, as he needed to lift Himself up, putting more pressure on His legs, which were already ready to snap from the pressure. But He tried to stay alive for as long as He could. People below Him cried and wailed. Even though He was loved by many, even more people relished in the thought that He was dying a most painful death.

He was on that cross for hours upon hours. Only once did a soldier take pity on Him and gave Him some sour wine to drink. He felt His time was coming. Every evil deed, all the sins humanity had, and ever will commit, was pouring into His soul. His Father in heaven looked upon Him from His throne. And God looked away. He, the one on the cross, gave a shout, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” Translated, it means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Onlookers said,
“He is calling to the prophets.” At that moment, Jesus Christ, the Holy One, the Lamb of God, the Savior of the world, cried out for all of mankind to hear,
“It is finished!” And, He gave up His spirit. The earth shook, like a massive earthquake. Dead holy people came to life and were seen by many. The curtain in the Temple, which meant to separate the common folk from the holy, was ripped in two, without anyone every touching it. One of the soldiers who was guarding Jesus, exclaimed in sudden realization,
“This truly was the Son of God…” For nothing like that had ever happened before.

After the spectacle had ceased, a certain man, Joseph, came to the authorities and asked if he may retrieve His body and bury it in the Jewish fashion. They game him permission, and he took Him off the cross and to his burial site. Now, the Jews did not bury their dead in the ground, but placed them in specially carved-out caves and rolled a large stone in front of the entrance. This is what Joseph did, after wrapping Jesus in linen and spices. They carefully laid Him down on a hard stone slab in the tomb, and then sealed it. Bystanders sniffles as they tried to hold their crying in as four civilians shut the tomb with a giant boulder. They walked away sad, their Savior gone forever. Or so they thought.

Three days later, four women were on their way to the tomb to place more spices on Jesus, so that His body would be preserved longer. As they walked, they wondered, “Who will open the tomb for us?” As they hadn't thought about this until then. But when they arrived at the site, they were astounded. The tomb was already open! And inside, Jesus’s body wasn’t there! And sitting on the stone, was an angel! His clothes were like lightning, as bright as the sun itself. He said, “Why are you looking for the One who has risen? Didn’t He say, He would rise after three days?” The women nodded, to stunned to speak. The angel said, “Go, tell Jesus’s twelve disciples.” The women dropped all the things they carried and ran, ran to tell the Twelve. (The Twelve are Jesus’s main disciples, though He had many more.)

The group sprinted down the road, their long dresses making it difficult. Then right in front of their eyes, a man appeared out of thin air. They stopped dead in their tracks. “Greetings.” The man said. Immediately, the women recognized Him as Jesus. They fell to the dusty ground and worshiped Him. “Do not be afraid, but go tell my disciples that I am going to see them.” And told them the women did.

READ MORE IN THE HOLY BIBLE, IN THE BOOKS OF MATTHEW, MARK, LUKE, AND JOHN. IT’S ALL 100% TRUE.