Passion

My version of the story of Christ's death and resurrection.

I stood before the Great Council, the Sanhedrin. My hands bound, my robes stained with blood of the servant whose ear Peter had lopped off. I had been in deep prayer when they arrived and swept me here into the chamber, and now I awaited the question that I knew was about to fall upon my ears. All of my talk about The Lord as Abba and Father, as my work being the work of The Lord, my forgiveness of sins, all of that talk around me... Maybe talking in the third person was a bad idea, with the Son of Man and the like. But I stood, hands bound, betrayed by one of my brothers, as I look for a familiar face in the crowd; none but Nicodemus, the one who I think might be on my side. But I'll never know. As I ponder my predicament, Caiaphas the High Priest approaches.

The High Priest stares me down, the deepest of scowls planted on his face. "Yeshuah of Nazareth," he snarls, "Son of Joseph of the House of David, I ask the following question, as I remind you that you are in the presence of The Lord, and The Lord tells us to never bare false witness."

"That said, are you the Son of The Lord?"

"I am."

The chamber erupted then, the Pharisees screaming in outrage. Their shouts echoed throughout the chamber, and many kicked at the ground. The High Priest exclaimed "Such blasphemy shall not be tolerated under The Lord!"

"Stone him!"

"Nay, crucify him!"

The High Priest raised his hand, calling for silence. Suddenly, there was an eerie quiet within the chamber. In a very small voice, the High Priest declared "It is not our place to decide the fate of this retched, sinful blasphemer," turning to me now, I saw the grin on his face, "We merely decide whether or not to put him before the Jewish people." He turned to face the Sanhedrin once more, and raised up his voice, "Who is in favor of putting this man- this hypocrite and blasphemer- before the sons of Abraham, and let them decide his fate?"

Slowly, hands went up. At first it was merely a few, the eldest members of the council. But as the most well revered raised their hands, the younger Pharisees caved in, raising their hands. Within a minute, every hand was raised; save for one.

"Nicodemus!" exclaimed Caiaphus, ""Can you explain your misgivings?"

Nicodemus stepped forward, and taking a deep, contemplative breath, said "Caiaphus, it is Passover! The Jewish people are not willing to congregate over this one man! And besides, he is merely a preacher, albeit a radical one, but a preacher nonetheless. Just another rabbi! Do we wish to ruffle the feathers of his many followers by prosecuting this man? And on the Passover no less, our greatest of feasts!"

The other Pharisees began to mutter amongst one another, several of them nodding in agreement with Nicodemus. Caiaphus retorted "Nicodemus, you've been had! This man is no rabbi! He is a liar, a glorified con at best!" Turning to face the council as a whole, he raised his voice even louder, "He welcomes sinners and lepers to his table, he says he forgives sin, and worst of all, claims that he himself is The Lord! The Jewish people have every right to prosecute this man as seen fit!"

The Sanhedrin swelled once more with agreement. Nicodemus shook his head at the High Priest and sighed, "Caiaphus, your sight is short, but I am in no position to deny this council the right of majority. Do what you will, but my objection stands." He now walked towards me, and gripped me by my shoulders. He looked into my eyes, and I saw a deep sadness and tenderness stirring within him.

I had met him on previous occasions, when he caught one of my sermons, and on another when we briefly talked about my teachings. I know from the grace of my Father that this moment here would be the last time Nicodemus and I would meet in the flesh, so I look at him and say "Fear not, Nicodemus, for nothing they can do to me will make me any less sure of what I must do. I do it for you and for all, brother. Let them do to me what they will."

A tear ran down his face, and he choked back the softest of sobs. His gripped my shoulders more firmly, and leaned in, planting a kiss upon each of my cheeks. "Shalom, brother," was all he said.

He walked back into the throng of Pharisees, standing near the front, within view of Caiaphus. He gave a silent nod, and Caiaphus spoke once more: "So then it is settled! Tomorrow, we deliver this man to Pilate, who will present him as one of the options for the people to free as our Passover gift from the Romans. It shall be between him and Barabbas."

No more dissent arose from the council, and Caiaphus waved to his servant to take me away. Two burly men gripped me by both arms and dragged me out of the chamber. They led me through a great deal of halls and stairs, until we arrived at a dark, dank room with a heavy metal door. They tossed me into the room, no light and a moist, cold floor, and shut the door behind them. I began to pray out loud, knowing that my Father will provide.

---

I prayed fervently all night long; sleep eluded me. At some point, the door was thrown open, and I was awash in light. Two men picked me up once more, and dragged me to Caiaphus, who stood some distance away. We made our way over to the outdoor auditorium at the center of the city. Jerusalem bustled around Passover, so we had some difficulties getting through the crowds. Roman guards guided us through, knocking down pedestrians as we went.

After some time we reach the auditorium. Already there is a large crowd gathered, awaiting our arrival I suppose. I am led towards the stage by the same two guards as before, my wrists bound as I walk. I am met by gazes of bewilderment and awe as we approach; they do not believe it is I, Yeshuah, the great preacher who they know, as I am disheveled and weary. I climb the steps onto the stage, and I see Pilate at the center.

He looks old, the dry sand of Jerusalem caked in his wrinkled Roman skin. his grey eyes seem tired, the eyes of a man too far-gone to be bothered anymore. He is dressed in full Roman regalia, to scare the Jews into respecting him. He stands behind a podium, hiding the sword at his hip. his right hand rests upon it, his left on the podium.

Across the stage from me is a very filthy man; his hair is mangled and mangy, his face caked with dust and debris, and his robes yellowing and reeking. Standing without sandals, his feet are bloody, gnats biting at them. He has a wildfire in his eyes, and a manner of breathing and stooping as he stands that suggests severe wrongdoing. This is Barabbas.

I stand to the right of Pilate, Barabbas to his left. The people stand all around the stage, speaking amongst themselves. Many towards the front I recognized; Simon Peter, Mary Magdalene, Salome, and James. I also recognized several of them from the Temple, those who had heard of me and sought out my wisdom. My brother Judas stands towards the back, afraid to meet my eyes. I am not angry with him, and we will meet in Heaven one day soon. Nicodemus stands with the other Pharisees towards the front of the crowd, and I give him a nod of reassurance. Caiaphus spits into the ground, scowling at me.

Suddenly, a cry rises from the crowd, somewhere off to the left. A singular voice cries out "Free the anointed one! It is Abba's command!" At that, the crowd swelled, surging towards the stage with a general shout. Suddenly, Roman soldiers came up from the sides of the stage. They beat the crowd back with their clubs and shields; men fell backwards over themselves, bloody and battered.

Pilate raised his right hand, and the crowd fell silent immediately. Their respect came only from fear, as they know what he is capable of. I cannot help but grin slightly at the thought; if they had that much respect for my Father, I might not have to die, or even have been born for that matter. But it is too late for that, and selfish of me to think such things. I taught my followers that His will must be done; so be it.

"Sons of Abraham!" Pilate's voice boomed, despite his aged appearance, "Lend me your ear! As we do every year, we've gathered to free one prisoner, as a Passover gift from Caesar himself to you. This year, we first present to you Barabbas, accused of murder and incest." The crowd loosed a rousing boo then, and Caesar raised his hand once more, as the crowd fell silent once more, having seen the soldiers' hands move to their clubs once more,

"Now, we present Yeshuah, accused of blasphemy and treason." A smattering of talk went through the crowd; it truly was him, the one everyone had been speaking of. Pilate continued "Of these two men, who do you wish to free?"

Caiaphus was the first to shout "Free Barabbas! Earthly misdeeds can be forgiven, but Yeshuah of Nazareth claims to be God incarnate, and The King of the Jews! This cannot be forgiven!"

The crowd began to stir once more, not knowing whether or not to believe the High Priest. Even Pilate seemed taken aback, and he stepped away from the podium, approaching me. He grips my shoulder with one hand, and quietly asks "Is it true, are you the Son of God, King of the Jews?"

I look into his cold grey eyes, the eyes of a man who had seen his fair share of lies and misdeeds. I answer him firmly, "There is only one true King. He is my Father, and the Father of all"

He steps away, seemingly disappointed with my answer. He is wary of the crowd beginning to stir at the words of Caiaphus. "Do the people wish to see Barabbas free?" he asks, the slightest hesitation in his voice.

A man towards the back screams "So be it! Free Barabbas!" The crowd followed, letting out a shout of approval. As the volume increased, chants of "Barabbas! Barabbas! Barabbas!" rained down upon the auditorium. Pilate forcefully threw up his hand once more, seemingly angry.

"Fools! You truly wish to see a murderer amongst you once again?" Once more, the people let out a cry of affirmation. "So be it then," Pilate looks at me with weary eyes and a heavy heart, then turning to Barabbas says "Free him, and let him go out amongst the people!" Two Roman soldiers walk up to Barabbas, and unbind his hands. Barabbas lets loose a hearty laugh, rubbing his wrist where, just moments ago, he was bound. He descends the steps of the stage, and raises his hands high above his head, and the crowd looses a cry of joy.

Pilate slowly raises his hand for the fourth time now. He extends his other hand towards me, and says "Then what of Yeshuah? What do you wish to do?"

Once again, Caiaphus is the first to exclaim "Crucify him!"

The crowd, once again, becomes uppity at the words of the High Priest. He has a way of doing that to the people, a gift from my Father I suppose. As the people grow louder, I see Peter holding Mary in his arms, James and Matthew looking on. Nicodemus stands amongst the Pharisees, holding his head in his hands.

The people chant "Crucify him! Crucify him!"

Pilate calls over one of his soldiers, and he says to him, quietly enough that the people do not hear him, "Take him away and beat him. Make it brutal, break his body and spirit, but don't kill him. Leave him alive. I'll try to calm them here."

So it was. That soldier, along with two others, took me off of the back of the stage, and led me towards a large open area behind the auditorium. There was a tall, freestanding pole in the middle of this space; here was the beginning of my end.

---

The Roman soldiers lead me over to the pole, and raise my hands above my head. They undo the bindings of one of my hands, running it through a ring on the pole above my head. They reattach my bindings, holding me to the pole with my hands high above my head, face buried in the wood, I feel a hand reach out and grab my robes, and pull them from my body. I stand naked, nothing but the sandals on my feet.

Suddenly, there is a loud crack, and I feel the most powerful of pains across my back. It felt as if a thousand strands of magma were flung across my spine, leaving my body raw. I knew what it was; the scourge, a whip with three strands of leather rather than one, each strand having pieces of bronze and bone embedded within it, meant to inflict the most pain possible.

Again, the pain flashed across my back, and I let out a scream. Once more, the scourge cracked across my body. I heard a laugh, and one of the soldiers approached from behind. "A crown of thorns for the King of the Jews!" he exclaimed, as he thrust the crown upon my head. The pain was excruciating, as every thorn embedded itself in my skull, without actually penetrating into my brain. I gave into the pain, screaming at the top of my lungs, and let all of my weight rest upon my wrists and the pole. I hung practically suspended by my wrists, the agony taking me off of my feet. The blood from my head begins to run into my eyes.

Again, the scourge is brought down upon my back.

And again.

And again.

Blow after blow, crack after crack. My flesh is practically wide open, the blood streaming down over my buttocks, thighs, and legs in a constant flow, warming my legs but chilling my core. I could feel the stiff desert breeze against my spine, which was practically visible. The soldier did not stop, and continued laying blows upon me. I cried out with every strike, pain and agony streaming down my face alongside blood and sweat.

At last, the blows ceased. One of the soldiers came from behind me and removed my wrists from the pole. I collapsed to the ground immediately, pain wracking my body. I am grabbed by the forearms and dragged to my feet. They threw a white cloth between my legs to cover my nether regions, and then a red cloak over my shoulders. The fabric made contact with my raw back, and it burnt to the touch. They drag me back out towards the stage, and I let out a deep groan. I cannot walk on my own power; the soldiers do most of the work.

I arrive to the stage, and gasps escape from the crowd. I am bloody and battered, clearly close to death. The soldiers prop me up against the podium, and I put all of my weight down on it.

Pilate steps away from the podium, disgusted by my appearance. But as he steps away, he extends a hand towards me, saying "Look at this man, or at least what is left of him! He has been pushed to death's door, beaten and scourged by my men! After all of this, can you free this man, as I believe he has seen the error of his ways!"

Caiaphus emerges from the crowd, and is restrained by Roman soldiers. He pushes forward, and screams "If you have pushed him to death's door, allow us to open it and send him in! The blasphemer and accursed man must die, for the glory of The Lord!"

The crowd roared in agreement, and my disciples could merely look on. I understood their predicament; we cannot fight my Father's will, and this is it. I have submitted to my fate, and so must they. Pilate looks at me once more, and I see a glimmer of sadness and compassion in his eyes, before they return to their regular, detached state. He says "So be it, then! He will be crucified!" He walks over to me, and places both hands on either of my cheeks, and quietly says "I'm sorry for what they're about to do, but I tried to spare you. May the gods have mercy on your soul"

I laugh at him, involuntarily spitting blood at him. As he wipes my blood from his brow, I say "My Father will receive me with open arms, and we will redeem all of them of their sins." Pilate flashed a brief smile, before putting on his stone-faced mask. He turns away from me and back towards the people.

Two servants mount the stage, one carrying an empty basin, the other carrying a pitcher of water and a towel. The latter pours water over Pilate's outstretched hands, which the other catches in the basin. Pilate wrings his hands under the water, and shakes them dry before patting them with a towel.

"I have washed my hands of this man and his fate! Crucify him with the assistance of my men, but know that Pilate is free of obligation!" Pilate dismounted the stage, and left the auditorium. I was once again dragged by two soldiers out of the auditorium. Outside the main entrance to the auditorium, I see the others constructing the cross; my cross. Suddenly, a tear is mixed in with my blood and sweat, as I begin to sob.

---

The soldiers remove the cloak from my shoulders, causing the wounds on my back to sear even more. They toss the cloak to the side, and it is picked up by a beggar, who runs away with it. Now I stand in nothing but the dirty loin cloth they provided, supported by the arms of two soldiers. They release their grip on me, and I fall to the ground. One of them kicks me in the ribs, shouting "Get up and take up your cross, swine!"

I rest on all fours, the pain radiating from my rib cage now, alongside the pulsating sensation in my skull and the fire that runs across my back. I force myself to stand, ignoring the searing pain. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I stood on my own power. I gingerly take my first step, as blood seeps down my entire body. Establishing a foothold, I slowly make my way towards the cross.

After what seemed like an eternity, I reached the men who held my earthly hell. I stood before them, and they placed the cross over my right shoulder. The wood made my already burning back scream, but I did not cry out. The crowd cheered when they placed the cross upon me, and I took my first step. I have begun the journey to my resting place.

---

I had no way of measuring how far I had to walk, but my body told me it was too far. I walked very slowly, very gingerly, feeling the weight of the cross bearing down on my body. I don't know how far I've walked, but I just collapse.

The cross clatters to the ground next to me, and I lay on my stomach, letting the dusty sand of Jerusalem mix in with my blood, sweat, and tears. As I lay there on the ground, I wallowed in this moment of peace. For a split second, I didn't feel the searing pain running along my back, or the prying touch of the thorns embedded in my skull, or even the weight of thousands of sinners on my shoulders; I felt free.

But that feeling eluded me when I suddenly felt the foot of a Roman soldier impact my spine. I scream in agony, as he has lit the flames along my back once more. I writhe in pain, feeling his foot on my back long after he took it away. I am dragged to my feet once more, and the cross is placed on my shoulders once more, and I begin my journey again.

It is not long before I begin to tire once more. I stumble, but do not fall. After stumbling, I look up from the ground and meet the eyes of my mother. Her eyes are sad and weary, welling with tears. The dark circles under her eyes tell me that she has lost much sleep over my predicament. My body tells me to carry on, to not stop and comfort her, but I cannot indulge myself so. I hobble to her, and she grips my face with both hands.

Openly weeping as she wipes blood from my face with her hands, she says to me "Oh my Yeshuah, my poor Yeshuah, why must this be?"

My voice is shallow and hoarse, but I respond with "Mother, you knew that this was my fate from the start. My Father's servant told you of my role in this world, and this is the fulfillment. I am who am, Mother, let me do His will."

Her face is covered in her own tears, but she has stopped sobbing. "My Yeshuah, promise me you'll be alright? That Father will take care of you?"

I smile; my mouth dripping blood, my teeth bloodied and battered, but a smile nonetheless. I say to her "He will save not only me, Mother, but all of you, because of what I am doing today. I am the fulfillment of His Law, and this is His will. I do this for you and for all. This is the Way I must travel. Take care mother."

A final tear rolls down her face, as she lays a kiss upon my bloodied cheek. I must carry on now, and I take my first wearied step.

The Roman guards see that I am slowing, and notice the crowd becoming restless at my pace. One of the guards approaches me, and takes the cross from me, dropping it on the ground. His voice is crisp, similar to what I believe a young Pilate would sound like. He exclaims "Is there anyone here willing to assist this man along his road to hell? He is weak, and requires a helping hand."

A man escapes the crowd, and wordlessly takes the cross from the soldier. The crowd lets out a cheer, and I walk alongside this solemn stranger, now bearing my cross. He is a large man, taller than me, and very broad. His beard is scraggly and rough, exuding the image of a traveller. My voice weak, I ask him "What is your name, brother?"

He replies, in a voice deep and stern "I am Simon of Cyrene. I was in the city for Passover, and heard of a great preacher. I sought you out, only to find that you had been arrested. So I stood, waiting for you to pass. I was told of your great feats, healings and feedings, and thought that this was the least I could do for the Son of The Lord."

Amazingly, I have it in me to smile once more. I look at him, and I say "Thank you, Simon. Your deeds will not be forgotten, and my Father will look down on you with great favor."

"So be it, rabbi," came his reply. As we continue down the road, a Roman soldier approaches.

"Enough mercy for him!" shouted the soldier, taking the cross from Simon's back. He compels Simon back into the crowd, where he dissipates amongst the hundreds of bodies. I pray that he finds peace in this world, even though I will not be able to.

The soldier places the cross on my shoulder once more, and I carry on. The pain in my back is excruciating, flames dancing across my spine. The thorns dig themselves deeper into my head with every step I take, or at least it feels that way. My feet ache, my shoulder pierced by splinters from the cross. Blood and sweat pour down my face, seeping into my eyes and causing them to burn. But for the sake of His Chosen People, as they like to call themselves, I walk forward.

I draw ever closer to the location of my death. Suddenly, a woman in the crowd flags me down. She is a simple woman, dressed in the plainest of clothes, but carrying a white cloth. I walk up to her, still baring my cross.

"Sister, what is your name?" I ask her, my voice even frailer than before.

"Veronica, rabbi," she says, as she takes the white cloth and wipes my face with it, wiping away most of my blood and sweat. She continues "I couldn't bare to look at you filthy."

"Thank you, Veronica. I pray that there are more people like you in this world." I grin now, and wryly say "Don't lose that cloth."

She looks down at the cloth, seeing my face imprinted upon it. A single tear rolls down her face, as she says "Be safe, master." I carry on with my cross.

Not thirty laborious paces after meeting Veronica, I can see the hill out in the distance. Two crosses are already up, and they only wait for mine. As I begin to fathom the reality of my death, I fall. My knees hit the ground, and my hands follow suit. The gravelly sand digs into my knees and palms, as the cross remains laden on my shoulder. My breath sounds loud, even to me, and it is heavily labored. A Roman soldier comes over and drags me to my feet, cross and all.

As I look up, I see a group of women sobbing as they look upon me. I call out to them, my voice lame and jagged, "Sisters! Weep not for me! I do what is necessary for all of us. Weep not for me, but for all of those who do not believe; for only those who believe will not have to carry their cross."

A soldier strikes me in the calf with a club, but I do not fall. "Move on, man!" he shouts, and I oblige.

I am some 50 paces from the foot of the hill they call Cavalry. My death is imminent; the salvation of Man is imminent. But I fall again. The crowd laughs at me, and I begin to weep. My tears stain the sand below my face. The pain is excruciating now, and I can no longer take it. Don't these people know what I'm doing for them? For every soul who walks this earth and had walked the earth before them? I lay my life on the line to be mocked? To be laughed at? What is this, Father? Why must this be?

The soldiers pick me up once more, but take away my cross. I cry out in agony, no longer seeing the use in solidarity. I am alone now, no one to bear my cross or wipe my face or weep for me. I, alone, must die.

---

The soldiers lay my cross down on the ground next to me. I pant and gasp for air, barely able to see anything through the blood streaming down my face. A soldier kicks me in the rib cage, knocking me down onto my stomach. I feel a rib crack as a soldier removes a strip of my clothing, leaving just enough to cover my genitals. Two soldiers approach me, one grabs my wrists and the other my ankles. They hoist me up, sending a bolt of pain down my back. Then, they drop me down onto the cross, sending splinters from the cross into my already torn flesh.

I lay there now, pain scorching through every fiber of my being. I stare up into the sky, at the clouds slowly loitering by. One looks like a basket, another like a fish. Then one that looks like a table, and another fish floats by. Then, a cross, and even a dog.

But the momentary distraction soon fades, as the soldiers return with a mallet and three nails. They spread my arms out onto the cross beams, and one presses the nail against my wrist. He lines up the mallet, and swings down hard. I scream in intense pain as the nail goes straight through, embedding itself in the wood. He goes to the other side, and repeats the process. Once again, I cry out in agony.

Now, he goes down to my feet, and puts my right foot over the left. He places the nail right over where the ankle meets the foot, and swings harder than before. Again, my body writhes in pain as my shouts ring through the hills of Jerusalem. My breathing is heavy, and my body is in searing pain. They raise up my cross, and I feel my rib cage suddenly pronounced against the skin of my abdomen. It's hard to breath now, the cross suffocating me. My death is suddenly all the more real, and I begin to weep on the cross.

The crowd has begun to gather. Right up at the front, I see my mother, Mary Magdalene, and my brothers James and John. They have come to watch me die, despite having already seen my agony. I cry even more; why must they suffer as they watch me die? Haven't they done enough for me?

The crowd begins to taunt me; laughter and jeering, throwing garbage at me. I shake my head; they're so foolish. Knowing what I do for them will hopefully come in due time, but their stubbornness now is astounding. Looking up to Heaven, I muster all of my strength and scream "Father, forgive them! They know not of what they do!"

The crowd laughs even louder now, and my pain is even greater than before. I look into the sky, and I release a roar of pain. I look at the men to my left and right, the former a murderer, the latter a thief. The murderer looks my way, and says "You fool! If you're the Messiah, then save yourself and get off of that cross!"

The thief lets out an unexpected laugh. I slowly turn my head to him, and he says to the murderer, "You're the fool! He does this for the sake of all of us, to ensure our new life!"

He turns to me now, love and fear of my Father deeply embedded in his eyes, "Please, find a seat for me in paradise?"

I look at him, gathering myself, and say "My Father will find you in death, and bring you to new life because of your faith in me. Fear not, brother."

I suddenly feel a tearing pain in my side. I cry out, knowing that this is the end. Lights pop behind my eyes, blinding me of the world. I cry out, and then quietly ask, "Father, oh Father, why have you forsaken me? Forgive me, and forgive us all, but please, take me to Your Kingdom." Then, I blacked out, and I faded away from that world, falling into a trance.

---

I awoke some time later in a dark, dank cell, fully dressed in a white robe. The bars of the cell are black as tar, as well as the floor and the walls. It is dark, the only lighting being dim oil lamps emitting a strange red light, as the scents of almonds, rotten eggs, and burning flesh stain the air. Occasionally, a bloodcurdling scream pierces the deafening silence, sending chills down my spine.

Speaking of my spine, it no longer burns. The flesh of my back has closed, and the crown they had placed on my head was gone. The blood and sweat that ran down my face is gone, but there are now holes in my wrists and ankles from where the nails once were. I feel that the physical pain is gone, but I feel an emotional weight clinging to me.

I lay on the floor of the cell, hands behind my head; where am I? Why am I here and not with my Father? I begin to worry that perhaps I didn't die, that they took me down and threw me away somewhere. But that's impossible; their medicine is not capable of healing my wounds so efficiently. So what is this place?

As I ponder this, the bars of my cell rattle. I bolt up from my lying down position, and look between the bars. An elderly man stands there, one hand resting on a walking stick made of obsidian, the other holding an oil lamp. His features were shaded by the hood of his robe, but I could vaguely make out an almost reptilian face. He suddenly spoke, his voice cracking, scratchy and frail: "Stand up and follow me, Yeshuah." At his words, the bars of my cell flew open, and he made his way down the block of cells.

I stood and followed him, thinking he could perhaps lead me out of this place. As I followed, the faces of the oppressed and the damned stare out at me from the cells, and I suddenly realize where I am: Hell.

We at last emerge from the long line of cells. A large open field is before me, populated by weeds and the wandering souls of the lost. Some ten feet away from where I stand, there is a horse. This horse is decrepit and emaciated, its ribs clearly visible against its flesh. Its skull is clearly pronounced, and its eyes bulge out of its head. Pale and sickly, I don't know how this horse remains standing.

The old man approached the horse and mounts it with stunning ease. Even more stunning, the horse is still standing! But the old man waves his hand, telling me to approach. "Mount the horse, Yeshuah," he commands.

I do as I'm told, and I'm surprised at the strength of this horse. As I get settled in the ancient saddle, the old man snaps his wrists on the reins, and the horse bolts off through the field. The speed at which this horse moved was astounding, and the wind blew my hair back. Before I knew it, we were on the other side of the field.

We arrive in front a house. It's rather large, but a simple design. Seven large columns stand in front of a massive door, and it is a single floor, far longer and wider than tall. Flames were etched into the door. The elderly horseman gave me a push off of his horse, and said "He's expecting you." He rode off without another word.

I approach the door to the large house. The door's flames seem almost real, and they appear to be moving. Warily, I push on the door, and I find that it opens easily. To my surprise, this house is merely one room; one massive room. The walls are a pure white, reflecting the light from the hundreds of lamps along the wall and the fire pits scattered throughout the room.

Despite the seemingly bright atmosphere, the one piece of furniture in the room is frightening. I spy the throne sitting right in the center of the room. It's constructed of only bones, bones piled on top of one another and somehow held together. Skulls and femurs align to build a massively tall chair, and looking at it for too long sends icicles shooting down across the back if my neck.

Suddenly, a voice breaks the silence, making me jump out of my skin, "Magnificent, isn't it?"

I turn around, and a man is standing directly behind me. His blonde hair stands in stark contrast to his dark brown skin. His eyes are a deep shade of red, burning like the fires of this Hell. His robes match his eyes, a dark red that goes down to his ankles and covers his arms. His hands are large, but clearly scarred by some sort of trauma. I wonder what scars hide beneath the robes he wears.

He repeats his question, "Magnificent, isn't it?" His voice reminds me of the tax collectors who invaded my Father's house, but he continues, "All bones of the sinners, of the damned souls that are now under my domain. Every time someone dies and comes down here, a bone is placed into this marvelous piece of work. Absolutely lovely"

A smile is plastered across his face as he approaches me. his teeth are almost canine, sharp and clearly pointed, as if ready to bite, He looks at me, placing an arm around my shoulder. I ask him "Who are you?"

He lets out a laugh, a snide, almost mocking laugh. He says to me "I am known by many names, Yeshuah. Some call me Molech, others Satan, others still Devil and Demon. But you, my friend, can call me by my true name: Lucifer."

I am bewildered; surely this is not the one who has tempted me before? "You look nothing like the one who met me in the desert."

He chuckles now, saying "Because that wasn't me. It was one of my underlings. Very rarely do I venture out of my realm, seeing as your Father doesn't like when I do. So here I stayed, awaiting your arrival!"

"Why am I here?"

"Because you're a sinner! Fully human and fully divine, wasn't that the deal? Well that fully human comes with sins, and all sinners have to go through me!"

I am confused. I never did a thing! As if reading my mind, he says "Ah, but you have! Being human means original sin, my boy. That is sin. Also, your anger towards the merchants in the Temple wasn't all that pleasant, son. Aren't you supposed to turn the other cheek to the offenders? Oh, and worst of all, you accused your Father of abandoning you! That sounds very sinful to me, lad."

I set my jaw, and tried to not strike this man. "What do you want of me?"

He lowered his voice, and leaned in close, whispering into my ear, "I want your soul, Yeshuah, and nothing less."

I looked at him, and he threw back his head and laughed. "Don't you see, Yeshuah? This is where you're meant to be! Those people laughed at you, spat upon you, called you a liar and a blasphemer, when you were the most pious amongst them!" He released me then, and took a step towards his throne, and stood facing me.

He continued, "Yeshuah, you can do better than them! Those useless souls mean nothing to powerful men like you and me! You and I, Yeshuah, could take over everything, Heaven and Hell, land and sea! Just join me, lad, and we'll do great things!"

"Why would I ever join you?" I retort, "All you do is bring death and pain!"

"Aw dear boy, don't you read Scripture? Was it not your Father who destroyed all of mankind, save for a single family, with a great flood? Was it not Your Father who burned Sodom and Gammorah to the ground, once again sparing but a single family? Was it not your Father who has his prophets be persecuted and murdered?" He raised his voice up even louder now, saying "And now, doesn't your Father allow the sick and the homeless, the orphan, widow and alien, to die mercilessly? Didn't your Father leave you to die in agony, to die as people mocked you and desecrated everything you stood for?"

He lowers his voice to barely a whisper, and comes to stand next to me once again, saying, "Who is truly bringing the death and pain, Yeshuah? He left you to die, and I offer you the world. Truly, I say to you, that only through me will you see a new world."

I began to believe him, this man calling himself Lucifer. My Father has allowed so many injustices, against my people and even myself? Ludicrous! Perhaps this man truly can give me the world. I turn to him, and ask "What must I do to take control with you?"

He smiles once more, and pulls from beneath his robes an apple, handing it to me, saying "Eat of this, Yeshuah, and your mind will become clear."

I take the apple into my hand, and place it to my lips. But before I sink my teeth into it, I thought of my mother. My dearest mother. She had more faith than anyone, more than even me. She gave her son up simply on the word of her God. If she can trust in Him, than so should I.

I cast the apple into the ground, and cry out, "You have no control over me Lucifer! I shan't give in to your evil ways!"

His smile turned cruel then, and he looked at me. His put out his hand, and balled it into a fist. As soon as he did this, I fell to the floor in agony. The wounds along my back returned, sending scorching pain through my body. The robes fall away, leaving me naked, and the crown is once again embedded in my skull.

Lucifer howls "I took away your pain, and I just as easily replace it! Join me, or suffer for all of eternity!"

I stagger to my feet, and make my way to the door of this place. I fall once, but immediately gather myself up through the pain. I push the door open, and make my way outside. Again, I black out, losing all cognizance.

---

I awake in a cave, lit only by the bright light emanating from the two angelic strangers who stand beside me. One is a curly headed man, olive skinned and broad shouldered, almost certainly of Greek descent. The other is a petite young woman, with golden hair and milky skin. The man addresses me, saying "Yeshuah, are you prepared to rise from the dead for your people?"

Amazingly, I survived the temptation in Hell. "How many days has it been since my death?"

"Three, Yeshuah." replies the woman.

I ask "And what of the Temple?"

The man tells me, "Falling as we speak."

"Then it is time," I say, "Take me up."

The man says, "Take him home, Salome, while I open this tomb wait here for them to realize that he's ascended."

"As you wish, Gabriel." She says to him cordially, and takes me by the hand. With a bright flash of light, I am transported out of the tomb.

---

I appear in a large, well lit chamber seated on a cloud. Directly in front of me is a simple, high backed, wooden chair, similar to ones I crafted in Nazareth. As I admire the craftsmanship, someone comes up from behind me and wraps an arm around me.

It is a large, muscular man. His hair and beard are the darkest shade of black, standing out in stark contrast to His very light skin. His jawline is crisp, and His eyes are a deep brown.

I exclaim "Father!" and wrap Him in a huge hug.

He laughs, a deep laugh from the pit of His stomach, and says, "Oh you've done well my Son! The people will one day see our Kingdom because of your work!"

And so it is. I know live with my father, seated at His right hand, and wait for the time for me to judge all of the people. In a few days, I will return to earth to remind my disciples of their mission, and how important it truly is. They will receive the gift of the ahold Spirit, and carry my Gospel throughout the lands.

My work is done, for now.

Author's Note

I've taken some liberties, but I think I kept relatively true to the Bible
Opinions from believers and non believers alike appreciated,I wanna see if I've done it justice.

Reviews

[jkhatz]

You are only 15?! Your writing is incredibly mature and better than most I've read on this site. I really hope you pursue it in the future. Never, ever stop.

I was captivated within the first few lines. Your dialogue is genuine and you kept the pace throughout. You have a great talent, also, for descriptive writing. You set the scenes up well, you painted clear pictures for me to visualize.

You not only did the old story justice but you've breathed new life into it.

[Will]

Wow! Thank you very much. I really felt like people I know felt disconnected to the old dusty Bible stories, so I thought I'd have a go at it. I'm glad you enjoyed it

[Robbie~xoxo~]

I watched that segment on "The Bible" the other night..and you have done justice to the scene... I am amazed by the details and the intensity of this write...leaves me at awe!
Well done!

[Will]

It's funny that you bring up "The Bible," because I've been watching the whole thing, and the scene where he is in front of the Samhedrin made me want to write this. Thanks for reading, Robbie.

[Careline]

One word. Wow.

[Will]

Thanks a lot Careline :)

[Careline]

no problem.

[Trigorin]

Not bad. You've interpreted this very well, and it's always nice to have a fresh look on things. Your writing is technically correct for the most part and, asides from a few spelling errors here and there, this is very professional.

[Will]

Thank you very much. I tried a great deal to keep away from the grammar mistakes, but I almost always slip a little bit when I write longer pieces. Thanks for the input.

[Rita L. Sev]

Will, this is well done (a few grammatical errors, but they are easily fixed). I like this passage: "Their respect came only from fear, as they know what he is capable of. I cannot help but grin slightly at the thought; if they had that much respect for my Father, I might not have to die, or even have been born for that matter." I can certainly get on board with Jesus thinking this way! Your depiction of Hell and Lucifer, vivid and thought-provoking.
Just finished directing my school's "Passion Play", and your images mesh with our portrayal. Since Jesus' Life and Salvation are are something you connect with, you may want to check out a song that we use in our play at Jesus' third fall - "To Make You Feel My Love" (you may already know it - lots of artists cover it). Sums up a lot of what Jesus may have been feeling...

Great write!

[Will]

I have heard that song from several different artists; great song. But on another note, I was unsure of how I wanted to display Lucifer, so I'm very glad you liked the depiction. Thanks for taking the time to read.