He is Risen Journey to Jerusalem

The following is an exerpt from my very first WIP written before I actually knew how to write a novel. It’s been cleaned up a bit, but still not ready to send out into the world, yet I wanted to share a few scenes with you because I researched the crucifixion in detail and want you to grasp the power of Christ’s sacrifice through this FICTION piece.

Maharai and Peleth are characters in the story, both searching for truth and freedom, though they’ve taken different paths. Open your hearts to Jesus and his sacrifice today!

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Maharai’s spirit plummetted as he entered the flogging arena. Grinning spectators awaited the next victim, encouraged by the Romans to see the torture of anyone who opposed their power. His eyes met Jesus’ for just one moment as they bound him to the whipping post. Why didn’t he escape? Everyone knew he had the power to. Stripping Jesus of the robe and clothing he wore, the two soldiers carefully chose their weapons.

Maharai eyes pleaded one last time as Jesus braced himself for the first blow. Jesus’ back arched in horrific pain as the ends of the whip sunk into his back, tearing his flesh. Maharai wanted to scream for them to stop, but no words escaped his lips. No, this can’t be happening. I must still be dreaming. But the sound of the whip striking Jesus’ back shocked him to reality. Though the agony could be seen on Jesus’ face, he didn’t cry out as he anticipated the next blow.

Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three… Maharai turned to the soldiers who took turns, conducting the whips in rhythmic harmony. They looked exhausted, maybe they would quit. Thirty-one, thirty-two…Blood spattered across Maharai’s cheek How much more could Jesus take? Thirty-nine…forty…Wait, you’re supposed to stop at thirty-nine. Maharai turned away and sobbed into his hands as the whips continued to rip at Jesus’ flesh.

Drying his eyes, Maharai noticed the pounding had stopped, only the heavy breathing of the soldiers could be heard. He looked up as they mocked Jesus, placing the robe back on his torn flesh. Jesus winced, but didn’t call out in pain. Then twisting together a crown of thorns, they pushed it deep into his head. Blood streamed down his disfigured face as the huge thorns pierced his forehead.

Maharai wanted to cry out “ENOUGH”, but his throat was paralyzed as the tears began to fall freely. Then the soldiers grabbed a staff, shoved it in Jesus’ hand and fell down on their knees. “Hail, king of the Jews,” they mocked, striking his head with the staff over and over again, driving the thorns deeper into his skull.

The soldiers ripped off the robe, tearing open his wounds and put Jesus’ clothes back on his body. Maharai watched in disbelief as they led him to be crucified. Maharai hardly recognized the bloody and disfigured body of Jesus as he passed in front of him. His face was swollen and unrecognizable, yet his eyes hadn’t changed. They were still full of life…of hope.

Jesus’ body collapsed under the weight of the beam. Wasn’t it enough that they beat him, must they make him carry his own cross as well?

Maharai let his tears fall freely, unashamed of his emotions. He trailed the crowd following Jesus, his own sandals smearing the blood that feel from his king.

Jesus struggled with every step, his body raw and his energy spent. Maharai sprung forward as he saw Jesus fall. But there was nothing he could do. He was too far away and the soldiers- they called a man out of the crowd to carry the cross for Jesus. At least Jesus could rest a while before he was nailed to the cross. When they arrived at Golgotha, two men already hung on crosses. The middle cross was empty, waiting for Jesus.

Maharai never imagined this would be his first view of the large rock with the face of a skull. Never in a million years could he have imagined his king would be tortured, humiliated and crucified between two criminals. Maharai turned away as they stripped Jesus of his garments, the only thing covering his nakedness.

He held his ears, anticipating the deafening sound of the hammer and nails that would pierce Jesus’ flesh and bone. But the pounding of the nails still startled Maharai and he jumped at the sound of the iron shattering Jesus’ wrists. He hid his head between his knees, trying to muffle the sound until it was over. He began to sob uncontrollably. It was too much to bear. Yet, he couldn’t leave. Something, someone compelled him to stay.

He looked up at Jesus as they placed a sign above his head. ‘This is the king of the Jews.’ The people gawked and sneered at him. “He saved others,” they said. “Let him save himself if he is the Christ of God, the Chosen One.”

Jesus pushed up with his feet, trying to breathe. His face grimaced in agony, but color returned to his face. Then he exhaled, relieving the pressure on his feet, but his face contorted again. His hands…the nails…the pain was too intense. How long would he suffer? Hadn’t he been through enough? Jesus’ faced turned blue and Maharai willed him to breathe. Jesus gasped and sucked in air, but despair filled Maharai’s heart.

The soldiers taunted Jesus. “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself.”

But Jesus remained silent. He didn’t’ even cry out in anguish.

Phinehas smiled with satisfaction. “So! You who are going to destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, come down from the cross and save yourself.”

Maharai sickened at every insult. Then he heard Jesus’ plea from the cross. “Father…forgive them…for they don’t know…what they are…doing.”

What was he saying? How could he forgive them now after all they’ve done to him?

The criminal hanging beside Jesus joined in the ridicule. “Aren’t you the Christ?” he said between gasps for air. A crow perched on the cross, ready to strike the man blind. He turned his head and shrieked as a soldier threw a stone, scaring the bird away. He glowered at Jesus. “Then save yourself and us!”

“Don’t you fear God?” said the other thief, his eyes resigned and gentle. “We are punished justly. We’re getting what we deserve.” He looked over at Jesus. “But this man has done nothing wrong. Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

Jesus struggled to answer him. “I…tell you…the truth…today…you will be…with me…in paradise.”

Why didn’t Jesus save himself? It didn’t make sense. Maharai held his throbbing head and watched the color fade from Jesus face. If he didn’t come down off that cross soon, he would die. If not from the shock and infections from the scourging, then the Crucifixion itself would finish him off. What a humiliating and cruel death. It was meant for criminals. Jesus didn’t deserve to be nailed to that cross. The Messiah wasn’t supposed to die…not now…not this way.

Maharai turned to the soldiers, arguing about how to divide Jesus’ garments. They were fighting for his clothes and he wasn’t even dead yet. How could they be so cruel? But the Romans were cruel, barbaric people. Just look at the cross. The squabble escalated until one soldier decided lots should be cast for the seamless tunic. The winner wrapped it around himself and paraded infront of Jesus. Maharai wanted to vomit in disgust.

A chill swept across the valley. Maharai shivered, noticing the sun which seemed to have lost its shine. He was tired and hungry, though his physical discomfort didn’t even compare to the agony of Jesus.

Maharai heard Jesus gulp in air and then cry out, his voice straining to be heard. “My God…My God..why have you…forsaken me?” His outburst startled Maharai. How could God let this happen to his Messiah?

“I am thirsty,” Jesus said, his voice weak, his energy drained. A soldier soaked a sponge with wine vinegar and lifted it up to Jesus’ lips. Jesus sucked in the liquid, coughing and spewing the sour wine as he struggled for a breath. “It is…finished…” He gasped again. “Father…into your hands…I commit…my spirit.”

“No!” Maharai cried, his heart pierced with despair. But as Jesus fought for one last breath, Maharai could see it was no use. Then Jesus’ head slumped over and Maharai knew Jesus would never be king.

It was only three in the afternoon, but an eerie and mysterious darkness blanketed the sky. The mound rumbled with fury, the ground shaking violently. Maharai fell to the ground in disbelief. His crying had ceased. There were no more tears left. The only thing to do now was to go home.

As he hurried down the road where Jesus had carried his cross, whispers circulated among those he passed. Then a steady chatter. A roaring hysteria? He shook his head in disbelief. Was someone praising God…in Greek? He turned and saw the Roman centurian who had strutted infront of the cross wearing Jesus’ tunic. It was true. He was praising God.

“I spoke with a man who was once dead,” the centurian said. “He was walking the streets of Jerusalem. He said there were others who were raised from the grave. Surely this was the Son of God.”

Maharai shook his head in confusion. He couldn’t comprehend what was taking place. Shouts rang from the Temple. “The temple curtain has been torn in two. It is ripped from top to bottom right when the priests were sacrificing the lambs.”

Yet, none of this mattered to Maharai. Jesus was dead. There was no Messiah. There would be no kingdom. Jesus was gone forever.

***

 

It was a cool morning as Peleth immerged from his hideout scratching his scraggly beard. The fragrant air filled his nostrils with the sweet smell of perfume and spices. Nahash and the others were sleeping in the empty tomb which had been their place of refuge for the last couple of weeks. Barabbas had a smile of satisfaction on his face as he dreamed about his next attack on the Romans.

The sun was just coming up over the horizon when Peleth felt the ground begin to shake beneath his feet. “Not again,” he said as he ran to get away from the falling rocks. When he looked up, he saw the stone from the tomb across the yard had been rolled away.

“What in the world is going on?” he thought as he ran closer to get a better look at the tomb where they had laid Jesus’ body the other day. “I bet those disciples of his are stealing his body.”

Peleth hid behind a tree and saw two men that seemed to glow as if they had been hit by lightening. Bowing down before them were three women. He noticed that the two Roman guards who were stationed at the tomb were lying motionless on the ground.

Peleth heard one of the men ask, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He is not here. He is risen! Remember how he told you ‘the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men to be crucified and on the third day be raised again?”

Peleht watched in silence as the women got up quickly and ran toward Bethany. When the men had left, Peleth ran to the tomb and looked inside. It was empty. He ran over to where the body was supposed to be and saw the strips of linen, but no Jesus.

“This can’t be,” he said shaking his head as he walked from the tomb. Suddenly from out of nowhere, a bright light struck him and he fell to the ground. As he regained conciousness, he thought he had been hit by lightening and had miraculously survived. Yet, as he looked up he noticed there were no clouds in the sky.

He shook his head in confusion. The sun blinded his eyes as a man stepped into his view blocking the light. He helped him up. “Peleth,” he said.

“How did this man know my name?” he wondered. “I’ve never seen him before.” Yet as he looked closer he began to recognize the man. It was Jesus.

By now Peleth was a little panic stricken and blamed his vision on the mysterious bolt of lightening. “Peleth,” the man said again. “Don’t be afraid. It is I, Jesus.”

Peleth didn’t know what to say or do. “But, you’re dead! I saw them crucify you,” he said shaking his head in disbelief.

“Peleth, I’m very much alive,” he said. “Come and see. Feel my flesh and touch the place where they put the nails.”

Peleth did what Jesus asked and was convinced that he was indeed alive. He fell to his knees in shock and reverence.

“But I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

Jesus smiled at Peleth. “This is what has been written in the Scriptures. The Christ will suffer and rise from the dead on the third day, and repentance and forgiveness of sins will be preached in his name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. You are a witness of these things.”

Peleth’s heart beat faster as it began to soften to the words of Jesus. It was as if his eyes were opened by the blinding light and he now understood all that was taking place. And with this new knowledge, he threw his face at the feet of Jesus and wept.

“But Jesus, it’s my fault,” he cried out in shame. “I was there. I called for Barabbas to be freed. It’s my fault they killed you.”

Jesus lifted Peleth to his feet and looked into his eyes. “Peleth, in a way you are right by saying it is your fault I died. But my blood was shed not because of you, but for you. You see, this was God’s plan from the beginning and nothing you could have done would have stopped it from happening. I willingly gave up my life for you and for everyone else who will believe and ask for forgiveness. My Father in heaven desires to know you Peleth, but this world is full of so much sin. And it is this sin that has kept you from God. You of all people should know how easy it is to be led astray. But God has given you a gift, if you will only take it.”

Peleth looked up at Jesus. “What is this gift?”

“It’s the gift of forgiveness and everlasting life,” Jesus replied.

“Where is it?”

Jesus reached his hand towards Peleth, “It’s right here. All you have to do is ask for it.”

Peleth fell to his face once again and repented of all his sin.

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