Out of Time Part 3

 I lay on my mat. 

It was no use. 

The restlessness, the hopelessness drove me to my knees. "Adonai!" I slammed my fists on the ground and screamed to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. 

"My people have looked for Messiah and I was sure Jesus of Nazareth was the One!" 

Thoughts of Mary his mother, ran through my mind. "He will rise again." Even though she was clearly heartbroken, she seemed to believe her words, the words he told her.

But, how? How could he raise himself from the dead? Why did he have to die? He was the Messiah. The soldiers mocked him, and said, "If you're the Messiah, why don't you save yourself!" Why didn't he? He raised Lazarus from the dead, that was true. But, to raise oneself from the dead? I did not understand how that would be possible.

I hid behind a row of bushes in my nauseated state. I was sick from grief, and  I continued to wrestle with despair. How could this be true? How could Jesus be dead?

I wandered on the path to the tomb. I had to be near him, even if it was at the tomb where he lay.

I was jolted from my thoughts when two women ran up the path, almost knocking me over. as they rushed toward me.

 They grabbed my shoulders as they shouted. "We saw him!"

They were breathless. Their faces were radiant, yet stained with tears as they continued. 

"We saw him! Jesus! He is alive!"

I held on to one of the women. I struggled to get words out. "What do you mean, you saw him?"

"We went to the tomb to anoint his body, and the stone was rolled away! We walked in and his body was gone!"

Anyone who was there knew there was no way anyone could roll the stone away.

"Are you sure you are not deluded in grief?"

"We are sure," they both shouted at the same time. "We left the tomb, heartsick. Then, we saw him! He came to us! He spoke to us!" 

"We are going to tell the others!" They ran off, as if they hadn't heard anything I said. If they did, my words didn't sway them.

I heard laughing and shouts of praise as they danced and ran down the path. 

My head was spinning as I leaned against a nearby olive tree. 

"Are you ok?" I saw the shadow of a man behind the tree.

"Yes. I am," I nodded.

"You don't seem ok," the man said.

I chuckled even though I wanted to cry, wanted to yell at him. How could he not know about Jesus?

"It is my Master. He was innocent. They killed him...my own people killed him. I don't know what I'm going to do without him." My body shook as I held back sobs.

"It was a very dark day," he said.

"Yes, it was. It was the worst day of my life. I watched. I didn't try to save him. I failed the man who loved me most. How can I go on? Time will never be the same." I shook my fist in the air. "I don't understand any of this. Then, these women came screaming up the path, saying such cruel words."

"What did they say?" The man asked. 

I snickered. "They said they saw him. Isn't it enough that he is dead? Now these women are making a mockery of my Lord, Jesus of Nazareth, who I love." 

"I see. That would seem cruel, " he said. "You are very confused."

"Yes. Yes, I am. Confused. Lost. Alone." I bent my head and tears came.

The man was silent for a minute.

He walked out from the shadow of the branches.

"It's ok. You are not lost. You are not alone. My mother spoke to you and said her son would rise again. She told you the truth."

At the sound of his voice, I looked at him.

Such splendor, and glory radiated from his whole being, that I fell to my knees and beheld my Master. 

I saw the holes where the nails had been driven just days earlier. 

"Master! Master!" Tears streamed down my face as I beheld Jesus Christ of Nazareth. 

"It is you. It is true. You are alive!"

"I AM," he said.

Nothing mattered at that moment. My guilt, shame, sorrow and defeat were gone.

My Master lives!

I've got to tell somebody!

"You must tell everybody," he said as he smiled at me.

He laughed and as I blinked, he was gone.

I ran to catch up with the women.

"He's alive! He's alive! Just as he said! My Messiah lives!"

"He is alive!"

Copyright 2021.Diane Homm

Out of Time Part 2

 

The last I remember, I was watching the followers of Jesus lead his mother away. "We will return early in the morning," they said as they leaned in close to her. As they left, I heard men arguing about the inscription above the cross. "Take it down! Change it! It should read, he CLAIMED to be the King of the Jews." A deep authoritative voice shouted back, "It shall remain as it is. It says what it says. 'Jesus of Nazareth. King of the Jews!' " 

The air was still. I looked around. I must have wandered away from the cross, and leaned back against a stone, too exhausted to go any further, and fallen asleep. I dusted myself off and walked toward the cross.

Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea held the ladder up against the cross where Jesus' lifeless body hung. There were others with them, including Mary his mother and Mary Magdalene. None of them spoke, but slowly and reverently removed the body of Jesus from the cross. 

As one last tribute, Mary asked to hold her son, one more time. I couldn't imagine the pain, the heartache she must have felt, but she did not cry. She held a piece of linen with oils, and wiped his beaten and bloodstained face. She removed the thorny crown, as only a mother could, careful not to cause any pain to her child. She cradled his head in her lap, and kissed him. As he was anointed with oil, she was there, resolved to be with her son as long as she could. He was wrapped in linen cloth, and a strip was given to her.

She bound his head with the length of linen, and that is when she wept. She sobbed and rocked the son she knew was the Savior of the world. 

The men carried the body, and Mary, Jesus' mother walked alongside Mary Magdalene. I don't know what came over me, but I ran and joined the procession.

"Mary, mother of Jesus," I said.

She looked at me with tears running down her face. 

"I love your son. I know you don't know me. But, I followed him. I know he is the Messiah. He changed my life." 

She reached out her hands and held mine in hers. "My son, the Messiah. Yes." 

She looked into my eyes. "He is the most precious son a mother could have. I shared him with many. What he said was and is true."

I couldn't stop talking as we walked to the tomb that Joseph of Arimethea was providing for Jesus' body. "I saw him at  the wedding at Cana. I had the early wine and heard when they ran out. I drank the new wine. It was a miracle! I heard all about it! I watched as Jesus interacted with the people there. He danced, he laughed and greeted people with such love."

"Yes. That is my son," Mary's eyes lit up through the tears. 

We arrived at the tomb, and I backed away. It was a sacred time for those who were closest to him.

I marveled at the strength of his mother. I marveled that I knew of such a man as Jesus of Nazareth.

"Oh, that he had not run out of time. There is so much more to do, so many more need to know him..." I covered my face. Such a good man. What would happen now?

Mary touched my arm. "I overheard you."

I looked at the light in her eyes. "He said he would rise again."

I looked at the huge stone in front of the tomb. How could it be?

She smiled. "With man it is impossible. With God, all things are possible."

I couldn't help but smile back at the tear-stained face, glowing with hope. 

"I believe," I told her. 

She turned and walked away with those who sealed the tomb.

I couldn't believe the man called Jesus of Nazareth was dead, and lay in that tomb.

My heart was broken, and yet, her words stayed with me.

He will rise again.

copyright.2021.Diane Homm

Out of Time Part 1

You! Yes, you! 

Heads turned. Some were relieved. At last, they would be free from tyranny.

Other heads turned. Who did he think he was? 

Still others, stopped and questioned. 

Roman soldiers glanced. These Jews had some strange ideas about God, and life. How they treated their own people was a mystery. But, it made the Romans' jobs easier. They shrugged their shoulders...whatever.

He rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. "You! King of the Jews! All hail!" 

 He knew their hearts. He knew some wanted to crown him, some wanted him dead. 

If only they could see - if only they understood. He knew, even after all the time of teaching, and miracles, they didn't really comprehend. 

What they thought they wanted, was not why he came. 

Heads turned toward him, away from him. "You! Yes, you!" 

They found him guilty - of nothing, and everything. 

"This man has done nothing wrong! You deal with him. He is one of your own!" 

The Romans didn't want to deal with him and the Pharisees didn't want him. 

"You! Yes, you! We hate you! Away with him! Free Barabbas. We don't care what he's done.

Take Jesus of Nazareth! Crucify him!" 

A crown of thorns was placed on his head. 

He was beaten beyond human recognition. 

He was spat upon. 

The beard on his face was yanked out. 

He was yelled at and ridiculed and called every degrading name imaginable.

Yet, He spoke not a word. 

Didn't he know?

He was out of time. 

He was about to die a criminal's death. 

He was not criminal.

I know this. I followed from afar. 

I know he knew I was there, but he never said anything.

I was at the wedding when he turned the water into wine. 

I saw how he treated the little children, the elderly, the lost. 

I listened to him in synagogue and heard the words that pierced my soul.

"This day, these words have come to pass in your midst," he said. There were gasps and threats that day. But, I knew. I believed.

I could hardly bare to watch as he carried the cross on the road to Golgatha. 

Covered with blood, flesh torn, his face dripping with blood, he could barely see. Yet, they continued to beat him, and berate him as he struggled.

"You! Yes you! You don't look so brave, now. Where are your followers! They should carry your cross for you!" They laughed. They mocked. The words stung. It was true. They were nowhere close to him.

But, neither was I. 

I ran ahead, but stood behind the crowd already gathered at Golgotha Hill. 

Why didn't he do something? I wanted him to show those who mocked him, who he really was.

But, did I know myself?

I covered my ears when I heard the screams of searing pain when the soldiers thrust the spikes into his wrists and continued to pound them into the beams, not seeming to care that this was a human being.

I could barely stand it as I watched through tears as they raised the cross of the most loving man I had ever seen. 

They thrust the cross into the ground as screams of agony rang through hollow air.

I fell to the ground, sobbing, wishing it to stop, wishing for him to make it stop.

But, he didn't.

He cried out. "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?" (My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?) 

Soldiers were shouting. Others were sobbing. 

I saw him mother as she reached out to her son, the agony in her voice was unbearable.

I wanted to run, look away. But, I couldn't. I was stuck where I knelt. 

Never, had I witnessed such horror.

I looked upon the shreds of flesh and blood hanging on the cross. 

How could anyone so kind, be so hated?

For just a second there was complete silence. 

"It is finished." I don't know how he could have uttered the words, but he did.

As the second passed, the earth quaked, and the sky turned black.

More screams, and wild hysteria filled the air.

I remained. My head down, deep guttural sounds filled my lungs till I felt that I would die along with him. 

I don't know how long I was there, lost in my own despair, but when I looked up, there were only a few people left. 

His mother was surrounded by his followers, They wept.

I looked up.

I saw his broken body, suspended on the cruel cross.

This was it. 

He had run out of time.

All the good he had done, was over. 

Then, I noticed what I hadn't seen before.

The sign above the head of this man I loved.

It read - 

"The King of the Jews."

copyright 2021. Diane Homm